Delight in the Little Things

One of my daughters and  her husband of three weeks , are celebrating their marriage with a huge wedding reception for two hundred people tomorrow. Mara has planned every detail from the match covers to the large buffet. Most of all, she has poured her creative spirit into making all the decorations by hand with sisters and friends. From green wheat grass in planters, tissue paper flowers in greens and plum to spray painted hydrangeas in purple, sliver, black and lime green. She is creative and can make the most from the least. Everything is gorgeous and perfect in every tiny detail.

Children are born with a sense of wonder and the ability to enjoy little things like a tiny ant carrying a big leaf, a beautiful flower, the feel of waves on their ankles or the warble of a bird. Mara retains an appreciation for detail and she remembers the little things.

Her godmother, Martha, once asked her, when she was about six what she liked most about Christmas. Mara replied immediately, "The Pineapple."

Martha was astounded. My adult children were remembering their childhood and Mara said, 

" I always remember the fresh smell of clean sheets every week."

Such a small thing, yet a child, with a heart full of gratitude, takes great pleasure from it.

Another time Mara was recounting how pleased she was with a plant in her garden. Realizing that she was enjoying such a small thing she laughed,

"Oh my god, I am sounding just like Mum

The ability to take delight in the plethora of tiny details all around me was encouraged by years of  living with tiny children. I am the type of person who notices and remembers details. These stories for example pour effortlessly from my heart and mind. Repeating a conversation, verbatim, just comes naturally because the details remain vivid in my memory.

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 Also the things that raise my spirits are usually small and most people would not consider them significant. For example, one Christmas I was very tired and only one gift sparked joy, real euphoria. It was hand crotched dish clothes from my friend Cathy. ..dish clothes, beautifully made, colourful, something I used a hundred times a day.

Perhaps this is one of the blessings of a large family; the ability to retain the child's sense of awe and to delight in and to remember the little things.

The Sly Fox And The Traumatized Chicken

The sly fox.
No words  better describe our intelligent, resident fox. Red consistently fooled our dumb guard dog by laying his  foxy scent in pointless circles. He KNEW that Shadow, our dog, would mindlessly follow his nose, not his eyes. However, Red was even more adept at nabbing chickens.

About five years ago, Michael was by the house when suddenly a streak of red caught his eye. He was surprised to realize that this was our fox, out in broad daylight. Michael lost sight of him but he yelled for our dog a moment later when he saw a large, white feathered chicken in the foxes' mouth. Red looked over at the dog , who had leaped excitedly over a garden bed, dropped the chicken, ran into some bushes between the chicken coop and the barn, squirmed out and ran into the cornfield. The dog was left in his wake, sniffing  in circles among the bushes around the barn. Of course Shadow didn't catch on to the fact that the fox was  long gone.

Meanwhile Michael rushed over to the traumatized chicken. That chicken had not moved one feather since she was dropped, nor had she uttered a sound! Chickens always cluck, especially when they are frightened or startled. The clucking then rises in pitch and speed and transforms into nerve rattling squawking. Not this stunned bird. Michael noticed that there wasn't a scratch on her because the fox only bite down with his soft mouth. His teeth did not pierce the chicken's skin at all, not one drop of blood. Michael  gently placed the chicken back into the outdoor run and still she sat, silently like a statute!

We all marvelled at the fox's audacity because this episode occurred in broad daylight. Red did not even wait for the cover of darkness, nor did he care that his enemy,our 'guard dog' was around. What he had been doing during daylight hours, for almost  two weeks  was sneaking through the long grass just beyond the chicken wire fence then slipping right into the chicken run and snatching  birds. The whole process had been a silent one. It seems the chickens were as shocked as we were and no chicken alarm was raised. We were oblivious to the fox's tricks till the day when Red became a little too bold. We  quickly fixed the fence , thereby cutting off his easy pickings.

Do not feel sorry for the sly fox. He had a supply of ten chickens to last him a long time.

Our Baby eats DOG FOOD?!

Life was especially chaotic after the birth of our eighth and ninth children because everyone was still fourteen and under.  It was difficult to keep a sharp eye out for my new bundle of energy, Anthony.

As our second youngest, Anthony's basic character has always been pleasant and easy going. His eyes are usually twinkling and a slight smile graces his face.  Most troubles seem to just roll off his back and his small smile often changes into a mischievous grin as he sits back on the fringes of our family stage and observes the emotional drama of his six sisters enfold.

One year, a high school religion teacher noticed Anthony's deep grasp of the feminine mind. During class discussions, after a few male students stumbled out vague answers to her enquiries, the teacher would turn to the class authority on girls, "Anthony", she'd call out," You had six sisters; what do you say?" Invariably, as my son started giving his opinion, all the girls would slowly nod their heads in agreement.

However this agreeable, laid back young man, was quite a character as a baby and little kid.  With his eyebrows lifted up in surprise, his eyes wide open, making sure he didn't miss anything and  with his wiry body, squirming with energy, he was definitely alive. As Anthony peered over my shoulder one afternoon, staring at a friend of Michael's, the 'stranger' said,
 "Boy,  is that baby ever AWAKE! "
Thar short statement basically sums up baby Anthony's personality.

Once he learnt to crawl, Anthony was into everything and made sure that he reached his destination with great speed.  Sometimes, after running to grab  and scoop up this little bundle of happy energy, before he could dive into trouble,  I would realize that Anthony's hands and feet would be still moving, as if he was trying to crawl in the air.

The pivotal point, where Anthony's crawling speed accelerated dramatically, was when he discovered the bowl of dog food. If the dog, Leisha, didn't come to eat right away or left  food in his dish,  Anthony was immediately crawling over  to it as fast as his hands and knees would move. He'd grab a chunk of dried food in his hand and start gnawing on it.
Was he using  it to teeth on?
 Did I not feed that baby enough?
Did little Anthony actually like the gritty,hard, dry dog food?
 I don't know.

All  I do know is that when we moved the dog dish and huge bag of food to the back entrance,  in an attempt to hide it from the baby, he found  the dog food.  When he reached the dog dish, he dove into it , chomping with gusto. That  spot became Anthony's destination every morning while I was trying to get six kids feed, dressed decently, with notes signed, homework done, lunches made and packed and hair brushed and braided.

 Fianally, I reached my limit; we decided to move the dog dish and food  right out of the house to the wood shed, even if it meant that feeding the dog became more complicated.

Did that stop the crawling baby cruiser?
Not after he was out one day and saw the kids feeding Leisha.
The kids had barely turned away from the shed, when the speedy crawler made a beeline to the dog dish.
From that moment on, I'd yell from the kitchen,as the kids headed for the front door,
"Don't let the dog in and don't let Anthony out!!"

Some mornings, as  older children struggled to keep happy, eager Leisha from following them down the lane,  Anthony would crawl as fast as he could, duck through everyones' legs and  try to squirm out the door. The kids would call out,
"Anthony's headed for the dog food again!"

Raccoons Blew the Transformer, The Calf Broke Through The Fence, The Dog Ate The Turkey....

Every single time  my husband Michael attends a conference or leaves for a fishing or hunting weekend, something  major goes wrong on our hobby farm. This is not  simply the delusions of a paranoid woman, all my kids are well aware of this pattern. Just four months ago,  for example, Michael was gone for two weeks and a total of ten accidents and catastrophes occurred. Part of the disaster list from his last absence is as follows:

1. The fuel tank was red tagged which meant the heating company cancelled oil deliveries until we replaced the tank and this was January. We turned the heat to a very low setting and heated the house with  the woodstove alone.

2.The dog figured out how to open the fridge and devoured the entire meat and cheese drawer. The door was damaged; we resorted to pushing a chair up against the fridge door.

3.The palm sander died . I was refinishing the old pine floors with it the slow way.

4. A friend accidentally damaged the 100 + year old stained glass in the front door pushing the door with his shoulder.It took Michael three days to restore it.

5. 20 cm. of snow fell and my husband is the only one who can drive the tractor which plows our long lane and our neighbours'.

6.A chair that needed to be glued, fell apart as a visitor sat on it.

 As I complained dramatically to a friend, one afternoon, disbelief flashed across her face. Katie, Rachel and Lucy all chimed in, "No ,really; it is true." We all jumped in to the conversation ,adding evidence from over the years. This is a shortened version of our catastropy list which we attribute to Michael's twice yearly departures from out property.

A.Wolf,  a dog we  were dog sitting, ate one of our turkeys, appalling  the subburb kids who were tenting at our place.

B. The calf escaped to the far field; the kids and I ran through knee high drifts  of snow for over an hour using a bucket of grain as bait.

C.The squirrels moved in and ate all the bird seed.

D.The horse broke out, crossed the road and had all of us running or pedalling bikes as we tried to corner him in a huge field.It tok a looong time to get a rope attached to his bridle.

E. The basement flooded.

F. Three baby racoons were chased up a hydro pole by our wonderful guard dog and one blew the transformer  as he attempted to climb down; he  died as a result. The electrical crew , who had arrived in a huge cherry picker truck, argued whether they really wanted to go up there and rescue the wild racoons.

" Do you want to go up there George?"

"Who me? No way. Why don't you do it Harry?"

"No way"

They turned to me and stated,

"Tell you what . We'll turn your power on and just come back tomorrow after they blow the transformer again."

David decided to simply open his upstairs window, point a gun out it and take the racoons out of their misery. The power stayed on.

This pattern has been repeated countless times and is a source of great amusement as we look back. However each time it actually took place,we were all lamenting Dad's absence and praying for his return before anything else could go wrong.

One MUD BATH per Year

An earlier blog detailed the surprising events that initiated our tradition of "ONE Spring Soaking per Year".  The Mud Bath tradition was instituted quite innocently as well on a warm, sunny day in July. It began when I recruited children to pull carrots and cut broccoli for dinner. Of course the toddlers and preschoolers jumped at the opportunity to tag along. It was an adventure to walk through our jungle of a vegetable garden because a tiny person could loose themselves among the tall plants and weed . This transformed the daily ritual of picking vegetables into an exciting adventure. Our garden was massive, with rows that were 75 feet long. The sheer volume of produce we grew was our insurance that that the raccoons, groundhogs, rabbits, deer, mice and bears would not eat it all. We also grew enough vegetables to barter with neighbouring farmers, sold some on the road side or simply gave our surplus to our generous family and friends. Rain had poured down for days, soaking our heavy clay soil. This sets the scene for the drama to enfold. 

Everyone trooped out  into the garden wearing rain or barn boots which were soon coated with sticky clumps of clay.  As David  struggled to pull out a huge carrot, his boots sank  so deeply into the mud that he couldn't lift his feet. Everyone began giggling as Matthew struggled to extricate his younger brother. David was finally set free but left a boot behind. Of course, as he stood on one foot to to free his boot he fell, landing in the deep mud. Matt was laughing too hard to help again; the next rescuer slipped and landed on their bottom with their feet straight out and their bodies coated in sticky clay soil. It doesn't take much imagination to figure out what happened next. The end result was a bunch of laughing kids, covered from head to toe with mud. They startled me when they came to the door and even I had to laugh while I shook my head and tried to figure out what to do with them. Since it was hot enough, we started the clean-up outside. Ruined outer clothing was peeled off outside, feet and legs washed in a bucket of warm water and then kids ran inside one by one, to shower or bathe. Of course I spoke the same proclamation, " Remember, only One Mud bath per year!"

Newborns are not as cluless as they look!

Newborn babies are complex little people who see, hear, touch, communicate, receive information and who above all, remember. 
 However none of us realize how intelligent and emotionally intuitive babies really are.

Of course we can readily observe that loud, sharp or deep voices make them jump but a newborn will turn to look at a voice he remembers hearing in the womb.It was still  amazing to watch my first grand-daughter turn towards her mom's and dad's voices.  She calmed down best when she was cuddled by her parents because she was constantly reassured of their love and devotion while she was still in the womb. Now out in the world, she knows that she is safe and protected especially in their arms.

 All babies are sensitive to the approach of a stranger.
 The most blatant  personal example I can remember is six month old Rachel. I was holding her when a tall, slender, older priest, dressed all in black, gently reached out to hold her. He smiled and patiently waited while Rachel tensed her little body, drew back and looked him up and down very suspiciously. She drew back a second time,even further, and once again glanced from his head to his feet and slowly looked back at his face again. A third time Rachel repeated the process and then suddenly she relaxed, broke out into a wonderful smile and reached her own arms out to lean foreword so Father could pick her up.

That little baby was receiving unspoken messages from Father's facial expression, tone of voice,  body language and emotionall and spiritual 'vibes' that radiated from his inner spirit. In short, even though Rachel was not talking yet, she was not an idiot. We tend to forget that.

Michael and I were lucky because we somehow understood, right from the start, that we were relating to another human being when we communicated with our babies. I stopped and listened when they cooed and then I answered them when they were finished. It might sound foolish but I believe that this attitude instilled respect for themselves and others. I tried to treat them as people,  they just happened to be little people.

Sometimes family and friends were critical of my inefficient way of mothering. I just couldn't make myself mother them any other way. Perhaps it was because I was not used to children .(Remember I had never held a baby before my first born.)  On the other hand, my own mother, like my sister and I, let us 'help' her even as toddlers. Basically, I just included the kids into our life as intelligent  little people with feelings, opinions, tastes and preferences. If these tendencies were respected, they cooperated and worked along side us better. In the end, this impractical, slow way of doing things made life run a  smoother.

 It was also fun, sometimes chaotic and crazy but always humouous

A Fashion Expert at Three.

Emily was and still is very tiny, although she is quite tall now. She was born with a sense of fashion. As an adult , she is classy with a touch of flare that is all her own and I admire her ability to put belts, scarves ,hats and shoes together with just the right clothes. She definitely knows what she likes! However, I did not find this character trait to be as admirable when she was a child . As young as two and a half , she changed clothes often throughout the day

 One day she emerged wearing soccer knee pads, volleyball elbow pads, and a sweatband as accessories, with a white undershirt and underpants. The older kids couldn't stop laughing ; they were so amused that one of them ran to get the camera. 

Emily is a Christmas Eve baby which means she was three when she started school. I really was leery about sending her but she was smart as a whip. She hopped off the bus at noon, after the first day, and announced , with her voice rising in unspoken indignation,
"Do you know that one girl was wearing a jean skirt with a matching jean jacket!" 
Well, if she noticed what everyone was wearing, I suppose she was not that traumatised by school.
Some kindergarten school days I was forced to sheepishly wave  goodbye to the bus driver because Emily had plunked her self down on the porch with her arms crossed refusing to attend school in the clothes I had picked out.

We treasure a video which illustrates Emily's passion for clothes. At least forty people were mingling with each other on our farm, riding horses, climbing up onto a hay wagon and interacting with the farm animals. Recently after pulling this home movie out and watching it again,Melissa suddenly noticed,
"Look Emily has changed her clothes three times already in the video!"
Typical Emily.
 How ever, her talents did evolve and transform into assets rather than deficits, thank God.  For example, one morning  five year old Lucy was slipping out the door for the school bus ahead of everyone else. Emily stopped her in her tracks,
"Did mom or you match that sweater with that top? It does not look right together. Either change or keep it buttoned up all day."

Emily was and still reigns as our fashion monitor. One evening ,Michael and I were going out to listen to a talk.

 Emily looked me up and down and asked,
"Are you going out?"

"Yes", I answered.

She pointed her finger,waving it at me.
"And your wearing that?"

 I knew the direction this conversation was going,
"Yeah." I mutter awkwardly.

" I don't think so! You know that top I bought you for your birthday and the pants Melissa gave you? Go change. You'll look much better and I have just the right belt for the oufit."

Of course Emily was right. 

Once again , just like most of my other children, I did not have the time to clamp down hard on Emily, when she was little, and battle  her fashion choices. This allowed her  God given gift to mature and develop naturally . And I am reaping the fruit of this decision.: after throwing on anything handy for twenty some years, I have gratefully allowed my daughters to choose my haircut, clothes, creams and even convince me to wear make-up. I must admit that I feel much better about my appearance.

My Daughters are loving me.

Two Hundred and Sixty-four individual shoes

When all nine kids were still under twenty, everything was a big deal.

Just to feed, clothe and house the eleven members of our family required energy, stamina and organization.  Everyone's's input was necessary and important to our family unit. After dinner, dishes, kitchen clean-up, homework and homework assistance, lunches, bath time, story time and bedtime all begged for attention at the very same time.
 Of course, no task was simple. For example, making sandwiches  for school meant lining up twenty-two pieces of bread and preparing each sandwich with a particular person in mind because I did want them to actually  eat the sandwich. Even peanut butter sandwiches were made with jam or not, thick or thin peanut butter , butter under the peanut butter or not. A component of this chore was often a survey of the crew to see who wanted what.

 If that procedure wasn't daunting enough , someone had to make sure that everyone had clean clothes and shoes to wear the next day.There were indoor and outdoor school shoes, decent runners and play runners, rain, barn and winter boots, skates, both play and good sandals, slippers, shoes to wear with dresses and dress shoe for the boys. This abbreviated list adds up to about TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FOUR individual shoes with the potential to get lost, wet, dirty or become too small.

When the seasons changed , it became evev more of a big deal to organize shoes because we had to sort and put away the shoes that wouldn't be worn for a few months.
I can still hear Emily yelling out,
 "Anthony, you really don't want to keep these, do you?"
Anthony would protest,
"But Em ,they're so comfortable. I like them."
Emily would retort,
"Fine, but if they get any worse looking, I am throwing them out."

 However it was bath time, grooming time, story time and tucking people into bed  that took a lot of creative problem solving abilities as well as a big investment of time. On bad days it became an assembly line. I would add hot water to the tub and the next little one would hop in and start playing as they waited their turn to be washed. Meanwhile I dried a little body , brushed hair and set up a tooth brush for the clean child. They proceded into the family room and dad would put on a diaper if  it was needed and pyjamas, then cut finger and toe nails. Then the clean and groomed kid would hop up on the coach to look at books while waiting for a story.
I resorted to using fans  in the bedrooms to create white noise so household noises would not disturb someone trying to sleep. Another tactic that worked  was to allow a little person to fall asleep  beside an older sibling who was reading in bed after they had "read" their own book.
Whenever we had a newborn baby, bedtime was transformed.  People couldn't wait  to climb under the covers because I would wrap the baby up tightly in a soft blanket and gently place her beside them. I can still see my childrens'  delight as they gazed at the baby and the content, satisfied expression on their faces as they slept cuddled up beside her.

Basically though, even if  I could operate like an efficient machine " if I did not have love", nothing went well.  Only love and peace can soothe a child to sleep.

Why Was the Mother Not Missed?

The mother is  proclaimed to be the heart of thefamily, especially a stay at home mother with a crew of kids, who also helps with a hobby farm. So tell me, why was I not missed after spending three hours locked in the chicken coop?

 This is a funny story in hindsight. However, at the time I was slightly upset because my self- image was battered  because no one even noticed that I wasn't in the house. Now granted, by this time all the kids attended school but still...You must first understand that even if this was a subconscious belief, I behaved as if  I was THE most important member of the family. It took a drastic experience to shake me out of my arrogance.

Ten years ago on a very cold winter day, I decided to accompany my husband to the barn. I bundled up in Michael's extra set of warm boots and coat. Since I am a size 2  in women's clothing and he is  an X-Large in men's sizes, I looked quite comical trudging after him to the barn. We divided up the chores and rushed to finish them as quickly as possible because the wind was fierce. My last task was to water , feed  and gather eggs from our laying hens. Michael passed in the bucket of water  that he had hauled for me and then left me so he could complete his own chores in the large attached barn. A few minutes later, out of sheer habit ,he silently locked the door to the chicken coop  and proceded to  ploughed through the heavy snow and into our warm house.

 I was lingering with the chickens, scatterering extra corn and garain to help the chickens keep warm .There was no wind in there in the coup but it was cold. When I attempted to leave, the door was locked. I yelled for my husband but he was long gone and the house was too far away for him to hear me. The coop is old fashioned and sturdy, built with thick, rough planks, so I could not figure out how to escape. Soon I began to stamp my feet in a vain attempt to generate a little heat. The chickens were upset, flapping about and squawking because I had intruded into their little haven. However, after the first hour, they ignored me and let me stomp around in my little circle.  As I became even more chilled, I stuck my whole head down into Michael's huge coat like a turtle hiding in her shell. My breath  started to warm up my body. I  must have looked like some strange headless man. 

It was extremely boring  in that coop, so I sang songs, much to the chickens' displeasure. I  did experience one flash of hope when I heard my oldest son drive up in his truck for lunch and  then leave again; why he didn't hear my yelling or wonder why I wasn't around to make and eat lunch with his dad and him, still puzzles me.

Just as I was starting to despair, Michael flung the door open and asked, "What on earth are you doing out here?" I poked my head out from inside his coat and said, "I didn't choose to hang out with the chickens, you know; YOU LOCKED ME IN HERE!" Michael had been so absorbed in his work that he really did not noticed  that I wasn't in our large farm house. As for lunch, he figured that I was taking a nap before the mob rushed through the door. Guess what? The house did not fall apart without me and I wasn't even missed till Michael answered a phone call for me. That put familylife into perspective all right.

Parental Pressure Stunts A Child's Development Of their Talents and Gifts

Katie was completely unique as a child with amazing concentration. While four year old little boys were struggling to print or draw, my second youngest daughter would cover sheets of paper with tiny intricate drawings at 18 months old. Once she drew at least fifty  tiny "eyes"  while she stood on a chairand leaned over that paper, in deep concentration, for half an hour.

After we bought her a chalkboard  for the Christmas before she turned two, she was so out of touch with anything but her drawing that she kept drawing her little designs off the chalkboard in a line on the wall and kept going around the corner. We laughed so hard at that example of her quiet passion.

When Katie was a newborn, her hair was thick, black and stood straight up on end and her eyes were huge and very dark brown; they were almost comical  looking the way they popped out in a constant look of surprise. Those eyes seemed to study everyone and everything. Her hair became brown with gorgeous blond highlights that looked like she had streaked her hair but she still has those big, brown eyes that study everything.

How did this toddler fall asleep?
Why by cutting tiny triangles out of magazines until she passed out, child proof plastic scissors still in her hand. I'd gently remove the scissors and cover her with a baby quilt. Once a week I'd sweep up a whole overflowing dustpan of tiny triangles! When I wanted Katie to help, she'd be so absorbed in a craft or art work that she would not even hear me. She really, really marched to her own tune.

Our daughter, Katie became the philosopher/ artist that she is today partly because I didn't have time to try to "normalise" her or the money to put her in a constant cycle of sports or other after school activities. Katie, like ALL children need time, down time even boring times to discover who they really are, what they are good at and what they like to do.

"Why Did You Have So Many Kids?"

When the words "the joy of mothering " popped into my head as a title for my short stories it was like an epiphany for me because those few words verbalized my experience living with little people. The very existence of a joyful mother of nine children seems to confound people. Indeed, it has been a long journey from confusion, guilt and the experience of public condemnation to reach the liberating point that I am today.

  

I can now shout loudly,"This is my call, this is my vocation, this is my witness to the world."

 After the birth of our fourth child, Michael and I struggled to understand exactly how we were meant to live our lives. We were discussing an article by an author whose main premise was that 'letting go of control and trusting in God ' was not some abstract principle but a day to day practical  call that included  the surrender of our fertility. Of course we practised natural family planning but I was one of those rare individuals who could conceive long before ovulation.

 As my doctor said once, "Ah, I remember reading about a woman in New Zealand, two years ago, who conceived five days before ovulation."

I  raised my hand and chirped, "Well, you can add me to that list!"

Although we could not imagine how large our family was meant to become, the words of that article

resonated within both my husband and I. It took time to accept the fact none of our children were a  failure of  the natural family planning  method. We'd stumbled blindly at times and then a burst of clarity would shine light on our purpose.

For example, twenty-five years ago, I once again slipped into panic, worrying if I was pregnant with my fifth child. Suddenly a wave of peace enveloped me and my whole body relaxed.

I heard these words within me,
"This is your call. This is your vocation. This is your witness to the world."

All sorts of objections rushed into my head,
"People don't understand. They just think we are irresponsible or idiots."

Then  unexpected joy bubbled within me and I sensed these words in my spirit, "I am with you.".
That was it for me; I understood and I said "yes".

Though I still cringed under any sort of disapproval from society, I always understood that my children were saving me by compelling me to dive deeper into my spirit.

ONE Playful Spring Soaking Per Year.

The yearly traditionn,  on our hobby farm, of  "One Spring Soaking Per Year" began quite accidentally. 

Who plans something that outrageous anyway?

Not a well-brought up, city girl such as myself. I would never  dream of floundering on water covered ice and laughing about it.

This auspicious annual celebration began on a sunny March day when every one but the baby was outside in their snowsuits, laughing and enjoying a beautiful spring day. The littlest ones were content to slip and slide on tiny patches of ice near the house but the bigger kids flung themselves down an icy hill about half a city block away.

 There was a fairly deep puddle at the bottom. O course one of my boy's feet were thrown up into the air and he slammed into the water with a grand splash. Everyone froze for a moment but finally Matthew reached to help his brother. As he tried to haul his brother up, he also slipped and was pulled down to lay  flat in the water beside him, fully soaking both of them. Some one started to giggle  as they reached out a helping hand and soon everyone was down in the water,  laughing hysterically.

What is a mother to do with a joyful crew of laughing but drenched kids?

Yell and ruin the fun when the deed is already done?

So I announced,

"Okay everyone, I'm glad you had fun but only One Spring Soaking a year, okay?"

 Everyone readily agreed and then the work began as squealing little people struggled with water-logged boots, mitts and snow suits and ran laughing to warm baths or showers. Water was everywhere, all over the kitchen floor, pouring down the cellar steps. I just pitched  heavy, water logged snow suits  into the cellar to join the mess that was already at the foot of the stairs.

 Meanwhile, those left waiting in line in the summer kitchen decided to play with the bunnies.  Of course some of our pets wiggled free and were soon hopping through the puddles leaving soaked straw in their wake. Bunnies were hopping, kids were slipping, running to warm baths and shrieking

 Laugh, cry or scream ?

 I chose to laugh along with my kids.

Our farm animals wanted to be indoor pets

Living on a hobby farm with a crew of kids provides a wealth of material for a story teller. For example, our farm animals alone were so full of character, that there antics will be the subject of many stories. Of course, the kids enjoyed interacting with the animals but we did as well. My husband  especially liked his intelligent pigs and always maintained that when animals feel loved, they relate to people in extraordinary ways.In our experience, this premise proves to be correct.

I must admit that when my husband scratches, behind the pigs ears, they actually fall asleep. Our goat Daisy and our pony Starlight tried to get into the house because they considered themselves to be part of the family and one, huge, ancient horse  named Moonlight actually did manage to get into the kitchen. 

 Daisy did not like to be stuck in the barn because she was a socialized goat who gave us milk but she also wanted to be  friends.  I must admit that she did have a charming personality. If she hadn't seen anyone in a long time, she'd bleat until someone at least poked their head out of the door and talked to her. She would have made more friends if she had quit eating my flowers or stealing the little peoples' hats and pulling on their scarves. Most of the time she was tied up but a couple times a week, we let her follow us around in the vegetable garden. As long as she mainly ate weeds, we let her be part of the family.

 Starlight was usually fenced in the pasture or in the barn and couldn't get into as much trouble as Daisy but he always tried to open the door of the house by biting the door knob either before or after the kids had ridden him.  Once he actually managed to turn the handle and open the door, much to every ones'  delight. However we made sure he didn't pull that stunt again because it was not easy dragging him out. That pony had a mind of his own.

Now as bratty as the pony and goat were, old Moonlight was a gentle push over, who let toddlers run under him, three year old children feed him carrots and two or three little people sit on him,all at the same time. Through the entire ordeal, Moonlight barely flinched.Once he was plaintively looking through the window. I let him step into the kitchen to eat a carrot.  He passively followed us out afterwards.

 I like to think that The Spirit flowed from our home into the land and swirled around our animals. Many farmers were confounded by the sight of our cat curled beside our hunting dog. Several farmers commented that they had never seen anything like it. Perhaps there was a bit of heaven on earth on our hobby farm and natural enemies became friends.

Chicken Pox Strikes Eight Kids At Once

Imagine this scene.

 Eight children are sprawled  limply on chairs, a chesterfield and on the rug surrounded by pillows,comforters and favourite stuffed toys.  Every one is moaning on and off with fever, lethargy, and itchy spots that are driving them crazy. I dole out acetaminophen, rotate who gets an oatmeal bath (that brings temporary relief), continue the never ending task of dabbing calamine lotion on chicken pox spots and in between these nursing chores, I scramble to fetch drinks and light snacks from the kitchen.

 That was what my house looked like for Epidemic Week when chicken pox attacked my children. The youngest three had light cases but the older kids were utterly miserable with pox in their ears,nose and hair. Matthew had 175 spots on his back alone. As they began to feel better, I lined kids up literally in a row so they could put calamine lotion on each other.
Desperate times call for creative thinking

Human beings are never given a warning before calamity strikes. If I had an inkling of the trouble that would be unleashed by allowing Melissa to go on her first baby sitting job over at the neighbours house, I would have vehemently screamed,
 "Noooo!"

Melissa, Jana, our neighbour and I were confident that with her baby asleep, Melissa would be fine with just a toddler to keep happy and tuck into bed. Melissa left the house excited to finally get paid for what she had done for years at our house ( while I was at home, of course). Four hours later, Melissa called home frantically; both children were whimpering and crying, flushed with fevers and she had been rocking both of them for hours. I gave her permission to give them a dose of tempera. Next day, Jana called; the babies had chicken pox but only a light case . We were not so fortunate.

There IS a bright side to this story. I had only one case of chicken pox left to go!
As well, there is also an amusing conclusion.

Emily as one of the younger children ,was the first child back at school. She loved school and was always very conscientious about homework.  As I saw her trudging home, up a long lane that had not been even cleared of snow yet, I noticed that she looked like a beast of burden. This tiny girl, in grade one, was carrying five school bags stuffed with textbooks and notebooks.
As she came through the door, she cried out in a happy voice,
"Hey, everybody! Look what I brought home, all your homework so you can get caught up!"
I admired her  diligence, but four other people just complained and groaned loudly
" Emmmilyyy!"

The Strange But Wonderful World Of Little Boys

Please, don't try to tell me that boys are just socially conditioned to behave in a different manner than girls. I declare loudly that little boys are intrinsically different than little girls and I celebrate that difference with JOY.

Since I grew up with only one sister, I was stunned by some of the ways that my boys played . It was like I was an observer watching an alien society. As toddlers, my three sons would stare at  wheels turning as they ran toy cars back and forth again and again, totally engaged. in this repetitious action.

It was an inborn obsession that developed into a fascination with any machine that had wheels. Tricycles, bicycles, waggons, lawn tractors, cars and trucks were not only driven but also examined in minute detail. Trikes and bikes were turned upside down to examine wheels, fill tires and fiddle with the gears. Even more hours went by hours went by with my sons' heads stuck under the hood of a car.

My boys also seemed born with the ability to drive anything with an engine. While the girls struggled to learn how to drive cars  (just ask their frustrated father), the boys learnt effortlessly.

One day Matthew was about four or five and he asked for his sister's water proof doll. I was so pleased. I thought,
"Yes! I have raised a son with nurturing instincts!"
When I came back into the bathroom a few minutes later, the head was off the doll and he was holding the rubber tubing that was connected  from the doll's mouth to its bottom. Matthew was making loud machine noises as he lowered the head into the water , filled it, slowly lifted it and then swung  the head around , imitating a crane pouring water into the bucket.

I was astonished and then I started to laugh at my son, my efforts to change him and this whole nature versus nurture controversy.

Of course, I tried to curb aggressive instincts in my sons and I definitely didn't want my first born to have a toy gun.
What did this little boy do?
He found sticks with stumps acting as the trigger and later made guns out of Lego. I just threw my hands up in defeat after that.
Now all three of my farm raised sons are avid hunters, who only shoot as much as their families can eat. (I call wild meat chemical free, happy meat because the animals 'existance is free and they do not have to go through the torture of the slaughterhouse.)

 I am proud to report that all three of my sons are young men who have hearts for people  particularly babies.  In fact they are just as crazy about babies as my six daughters but they relate to infants in their own "masculine" way. David, the first father of the group, tosses his baby up in the air. As Eva shrieks with delight,  her (socially conditioned?) mum wrings her hands anxiously as she watches nearby.

This iscene is natural, normal in all cultures, throughout history and I celebrate this symbol of the glorious diffences between men and women, husbands and wives, mothers and fathers.

VIVA LA DIFFERENCE.

I Slowly Became The Scullery Maid as one of my kids became a Red Seal Chef, I

After about the sixth child, I settled for the old tried and true meals like roasted chicken and mashed potatoes, chicken stir fry and rice, homemade chicken soup, spaghetti, Shepard's pie, pork chops and baked potato, omelet. Good, homemade, from scratch meals but boring. Homemade pickles were the only garnish.
 Mara was a natural in the kitchen from the time she was small. As a preschooler, she always begged to help stir, roll , cut or decorate.  In fact, Mara had an inborn confidence in her abilities that intimidated her grandmother. She was only about nine watching her grandmother make a dessert with a frown on her face.,  " Grandma, that is not the way we do it." Meaning, our method was the best method.

 The first time that Mara made pastry, from scratch, I  gave her directions as I peeled the apples and balanced Anthony on my shoulder at the same time. Her pastry was flakier than mine! It was almost unbelievable; she was eleven years old!

Once Mara started culinary school, she loved to take over the kitchen and I was happy to be the scullery maid when she did.  At twenty- one, she won a young chefs contest directed in French , against two French speaking, Cordon Bleu trained chefs who were twenty- five and twenty-six, in their own kitchen!

And what did Mara do to relax on her days  from culinary school or from the restaurant? Cook and Bake. She had discovered her passion at an early age because her talents were drawn out and developed within a family who treated children's contributions  with respect and gratitude. Although, God knows, I was often too scattered to always express thankfulness, my kids knew that they were important.

 I think that is why simpler civilisations have less problems with teenagers;  they take their place as adults in their mid to late teens. Our culture leaves teenagers in limbo, bored, listless and often angry.  Teens seem to thrive when they are given a chance  to contribute to the family or to learn practical, real life skills. Anything from how to fix  cars,  to cook, clean and organize a home or take care of finances, all these skills prepare teens for the adult world.

University bound kids don't  often get a chance to learn any of the trades in high school.  However, Mari Montessori encouraged teenagers  to run all aspects of a farm and the household as well as study. Just as she let little children hammer nails, sweep or pour hot tea into china cups, Mari believed that practical life skills were as important as intellectual studies  in forming well rounded, mature, intelligent adults.

What do you think? Should we bring back Home Ec and Shop for both boys and girls in the schools?

Chilldren NEED To Relate To Real Animals or Else They Will Find A Substitute

I developed the opinion  that children have a deep seated need to relate to animals while watching my own kids interact with our pets and farm animals.  Since I grew up in the city, with ballet lessons, books and a only one loving cat, I was as fascinated as my kids with the arrival of tiny balls of fluff called chicks, cute piglets and tiny kittens.We all gathered around  excitedly, not wanting to miss anything.

 Rachel was and still is my most fervent animal lover.   Before she could even walk, she  exhibited an obsession to find, crawl after, grab and squeeze any and all animals. It was a passionate love for animals, I would say. She could barely talk, so to communicate her desire to hold the hamster for example, her hands would frantically open and close and  she would utter soft little grunts  as she pleaded, with  big chocolate brown eyes, for the cage to be opened . When Rachel realized that she would finally get to hold the hamster, hers hand would literally shake with excitement and anticipation.

Needless to say either I or one of the older siblings had to supervise Rachel because she would tend to squeeze Hammy till his eyes stated to bulge out. Then the cry would arise, "Rachel's squeezing Hammy again. Come quickly!"

Once she could walk, Rachel would haul the disgruntled cat around but Rachel was happy with her eyes  shining with joy. She was in heaven, so I couldn't bear to deny her access to her beloved pets. At least the rabbits in the hutch on the covered porch were more placid than Kitty and tougher than the hamster and she was content to simply stare at the goldfish. Although, she did tend to over feed them. I'd scoop out food from the top of the water to use for the next few feedings

The Canadian scientist, David Suzuki , believes that all children need to bond with animals and if they haven't the chance to connect with real animals then they will turn their attention to stuffed or cartoon animals to try and fulfil that inborn desire. He calls it a "grotesque" substitution. I think there is a lot of truth to Suzuki's idea. Animals are part of creation and to live as we were intended to live, we need to touch the earth, plants and animals as well as other people in order to grow into well adjusted adults.

I agree with Suzuki, do you?

The Red Fox of Fables Showed up at Our House

Remember those fables and stories about the clever fox that were read to you as a child?
Well they are all based on fact.

 A few years ago the male members of our family were out on the kitchen porch enjoying a cool twilight breeze after a hot summer day. Suddenly Anthony whispered,

 "Don't move. There is a fox between Matt's truck and the car"

Michael quietly called the rest of us to join them; there was a red fox, frozen in place with his head turned our way in surprise. It seemed to me that he he was thinking,

"This is my time to be out and about. What are you doing out here?"

He started to trot across the backyard into some bushes between the corral and the barn, did a u-turn, ran up the hill to double doors of the barn,, made another u-turn and then ran down the hill into the corn. Meanwhile our dog was running circles around the garage  with his nose right to the ground.

Dad yelled at the dog,

"Shadow, the fox ran over there."

Shadow looked up, tore across the yard, dove into the bushes, did a u-turn, ran up the hill and down again, then raced after the fox. If this dog had used his eyes instead of his nose, he would have headed straight into the corn.That clever fox hadn't even been frightened nor in a  terrible hurry as he laid his scent down because he knew exactly how to fool a dog.

This scene was typical around our hobby.

When children live close to the nature and can interact with wide open spaces and a variety of animals and plants, they retain their early childhood sense of wonder, awe and delight in nature. We chose to move out to an old fashioned, small family hobby farm because we couldn't afford all kinds of activities for our kids and we did not want them growing up on the steets or hanging out at shopping malls.  This  life choice also gave us the opportunity to raise our own organic vegetables, eggs, chicken, pork and beef and it immediately became a source of great joy.

What do you do with Ghosts?

Michael's father, a policeman, had given our family free tickets to a large three ring circus production. Of course after a few hours of flashing lights, loud music, breath taking suspense, excitment and cotton candy, all six kids were bouncing off the walls.
I didn't usually resort to the television to calm them down but I was desperate. Soon, they were all completely enthralled by a cartoon called "Ghost Busters". At that point, even though I had never let them watch this particular show, I was just happy that everyone seemed to be unwinding.
Not David though. He came barelling into the kitchen and yelled,
 "Mum, mum, you've got to see this show. These guys have a big gun and they just point it at a ghost and kaaboom, the ghost disappears!"
I sighed and said,
"David guns don't really work against ghosts."
David asked, "Well, what does?"
 I explained,
"You shouldn't try to deal with ghosts, just send them to Jesus."
 Dave paused for a moment and asked,
"So, what does He do with them?"
I laughed and said, "Honey, I really don't have a clue."
David said, immediately and I quote word for word,
"I know what He does. He takes them into Himself and fills them with His love." 

Kids Helping Kids

A child has the ability to speak powerfuly into another child's life because they use a kid's vocabulary that is familiar to their friend. Sometimes a child can help a friend when parents or teachers cannot.

This concept was repeated countless times in our family but one of the best example involved my second child, Melissa. 

The old, black phone, which was on the kitchen wall, rang after school. Surprisingly, it was for eight year old Melissa.  My kids didn't usually converse over the phone till they were a few years older but this was a crisis situation.

Audrey, one of Melissa's friends at school, was distraught and  crying over the phone. Her mother had looked up our number on the class list.  She was most likely at her wits end, hoping that by simply talking to a good friend, her daughter would feel better.

Angela, the self- proclaimed princess of the grade two-class at St. Thomas, had treated poor Audrey terribly all day. Melissa was sympathetic but did not indulge Audrey's self-pity.

My daughter raised her voice slightly to catch Audrey's attention and then said, 

"Audrey, how Angela treated you today has NOTHING to do with you. Angela was having a bad day and she took it out on you! She still likes you."

Audrey snapped out of her emotional crisis and was soon chatting happily with my daughter.

Melissa's wisdom astonished me. I couldn't remember explaining this human tendency to her. She must have learned this information just by being part of our family. So much is learned not by just words and actions but by osmosis. When knowledge sinks in and becomes part of a kid, they are able to share and help their peers. That is a powerful tool to help other kids that we as parents or teachers should not ignore.

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The Chicken Fiasco

The Chicken Disaster all stared out innocently enough. I had no idea that I was setting myself up for a disaster of massive proportions.

It began when the butchers  phoned us to change our butchering day to the very same weekend as a conference that Michael was looking forward to attending. Putting on a positive front, I assured Michael that since Matthew was old enough to drive to  the neighbour's large freezers, we could probably manage without him.  Just to make sure that the day would proceed smoothly, we enlisted the help of one of Matt's friends,  as well as a friend of mine, Cathy, to help  run the household and be with the youngest children. David and the oldest girls agreed to help me bag, weigh and record the weight of each chicken. Three days would be taken up with, slaughtering, freezing, cleaning-up and selling chickens to friends and relatives who would drive out to our farm. With my parents coming by the following Tuesday or Wednesday  next week, my trustworthy sister-in-law offered to help attack housework.


Oh yes, to top it all, off Mara had also planned a party for her sixteenth birthday that same Saturday. Any worries I had  about a rowdy group of teenagers were  swarming all over our little farm were alleviated when Karen , my sister-in-law, offered to stay on after supper to chaperon the party in Michael's absence. I would be free to look after bedtime rituals with the little ones. Everything seemed to fall into place.

Oh, the "plans of mice and men"!!!

It had been a hard day, partially because it was very hot for mid -September.  Michael was usually the one to deal with the butchers every year because, although I usually can disarm most people and make them feel comfortable, this family completely defeated any offers of  friendship. They were a rough, burly, dour family who hardly  spoke and gave the impression that they had emerged from Canada's back woods country once a year to kill chickens.  They all looked hung over, smoked so much that a blue haze filled the car along with country and western music. Their vehicle  also displayed a huge set of fluffy dice dangling from the rear view mirror. I tentatively went up to the car which held the female division of the team, to ask them if they wanted tea, only to be greeted with a roar of laughter  as they toasted me with what smelled like coffee laced with whiskey. They were a scary lot and this is not an exaggeration. Actually,   I would say that this assessment is kind! 

They had finally finished their part of the job and left, although  it was not done as well as when Michael was here. David and I were picking up chicken heads and feet, while Matthew and Rob raked up bags and bags of feathers and innards. Mara was frantically cleaning blood from the lane, barn ,tables, wheel barrows etc. before her friends arrived and Cathy was rounding up her three children to go home. The kids were gathering wood for the  bonfire that night and Karen was helping one of my older daughters start dinner. Then I saw a car with a car top carrier!!

My heart stopped.
 I called out, " Oh no! I hope that car passes by and keeps going."
 We were just ready to celebrate when the car did a U-turn and slowly crept up the lane way. I strained my eyes looking for the license plate pleading silently that it was not my parents.
No such luck.
They had arrived five days early, following the directions I had given them.
"Take the Trans-Canadian highway for over 3,000 km. across British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan and Ontario. Then just after Arnprior, turn left at Antrim and we are 3.1 km. on the left."

 My parents entered an alien world. My mother especially is not used to crowds of people never mind strangers. To top it off, the music was LOUD as were the throngs of excited teenage girls coming through the house to use the washroom. Someone brought beer and Mara almost intoxicated her grandmother with her breath.
Oh yes; Michael phoned the house to see how  butchering day went only to have the phone answered by a friendly teenage girl who invited him to the party!!

It actually took only a week or two for me to regain my sense of humour. I told a friend this story with my usual sense of the dramatic.

Still laughing, with tears in her eyes she said, " I will never complain about my life again."

Out of the mouths of Babes

I stood in the kitchen, rocking newborn Mara, while eighteen month -old Melissa sat on her Dad's knee, slowly waking up from a long nap.
The topic of discussion for the last hour was,
''How on earth can we manage to get to church as a family with three little ones, all on different schedules?"  Every choice of service or church had  some complication or difficulty that seemed insurmountable. It seemed an impossible situation and I resigned myself to simply staying at home on Sundays for the time being.

 Suddenly, we were both startled as a flushed and distraught  three year old Matthew came running into the kitchen. He was still groggy from his nap but was able to yell in very loud voice,
 "Jesus says come, Jesus says come!!!

We were both stunned into silence. The deep discussion was over.