Kids First: Love, Don't Spoil Them

One afternoon an acquaintance stopped by for a cup of tea with two pre-school children in tow. At first she was very nervous and jumping up at every disturbance she heard as the kids played. In an attempt to soothe her nerves I explained,

"Relax and let them have fun; anything that could be broken probably is and anything that is not, probably should be." 

Her mouth dropped open but then she laughed and stopped straining her ears for the smallest sound of trouble.

I am foolish but also proud to say that our house was a very, very fine house with a dog at the door, a cat or two curled up on the best chairs, gold fish swimming circles on my too small counter, sometimes a hamster,  guinea pig or rabbit in a cage on the kitchen floor, paintings and crafts displayed anywhere and everywhere and  of course way  too many plants.

Our living room was a living room with all sorts of activity centres and corners. Prized Lego structures were covered with a tablecloth for meals. After dinner, the older kids and their dad would sip tea or water and talk as they worked on the puzzle.

We lived in a house built for kids because their mental and emotional well being came first. It was so much easier to live this way. I was a fast learner as I quickly realized that tearing down a block city that would host hours of absorbing play the next morning was absolutely self-defeating. I once read, that for a child, the hour put into a block structure is similar to a business man working weeks on a project. Just as a grown man would be devastated to see weeks of work dismissed, so too is a child devastated to have his blocks swept back into the bin, right after he has finished stacking them.

Often we tend to barrel along with our self-important agendas or we strive to keep our house looking too tidy and guest presentable. I often had attacks of guilt, though,  like the afternoon when a six year old walked into our family room that was strewn with Lego,

"Why is your house sooo messy", she wondered.

Or the time a good friend , in an attempt to make me feel better said,

"Your house is very clean, Melanie, it just looks lived in, that's all.

I was not mollified at the time.

 One of my sister-in-laws intimidated me with her immaculate house. I mean the baby undershirts were folded neatly in four and stacked perfectly in the drawer! Do you know how small those undershirts are? I was lucky to get them out of the clean laundry basket and stuffed into the drawer before I needed to use them again.She did only have two kids... but still!!! Then she came over one day to help me attack a project and she leaned on a counter in the kitchen and said,

"Honestly Melanie, I don't know how you ever get out of the kitchen and laundry room!"

Tears welled up in my eyes and I sputtered,

"That is the kindest, nicest thing you could ever say to me."

 I trust that our house was built for kids not just adults.

I trust that our house was one where little people felt loved, safe and respected, no matter what their age or personality.

Penny down thwoat

David was six months old, laying on his back in this crib, while  two year old Mara sat at the other end, playing with a few pennies in a tiny change purse. I was washing the bedroom floor when suddenly David started coughing and then screamed as loudly as he could. I dropped the mop and ran over to scoop up a red faced,crying baby.

"What happened?", I asked Mara.

She kept repeating, over and over,

" Penny down thwoat, penny down thwoat."

"There is a penny down his throat?", I questioned.

Mara nodded but by this time David had stopped crying.

I peered at the three pennies in her purse and then

I drilled myself silently,

"Had I given her three or four coins?"

I couldn't remember.

It seemed impossible that this now calm baby could have a penny stuck in his throat.
Did he swallow the coin and would it get stuck in his digestive system?
 When he nursed later, he kept stopping and whimpering.
 Was his throat simply scratched?
My husband insisted that there was a penny stuck in his throat but to me that seemed physically impossible.

After five days, David was still distressed  when  he swallowed, so I sheepishly made an appointment with my doctor. He looked at the calm baby sitting contently on my lap and sighed,
"I seriously doubt there is anything in his throat but since a lab has just opened on this floor, I'll send you over. Mind you, this is just to reassure you."
Twenty minutes later, I stood in  middle of the waiting room and wailed loudly,
 "There is a penny stuck in my baby's throat!"

Of course I was hustled into an examination room, where an astonished doctor called in  his college to witness this incredible event. The doctor exclaimed,
"Do you realize that I would have sent this baby home if the lab hadn't moved into our building?"

Off to Emergency to endure a day long vigil in a hospital room waiting for surgery. Poor David experienced blood tests and an intravenous needle which was protruding out of his arm and attached to a pole on wheels. I  paced the room and the hall for hours while squirming David, sporting a pink and white striped nightgown, desperately  needed to nurse. David had an avid appetite. After his first bite of solids, he lunged foreward in the highchair while gripping the sides with both hands and snapped down on the spoon. I was so startled that I called Michael into the kitchen. That same baby could not eat for twelve hours!

 Surgery went well. The team presented us with a penny trophy placed in a see through container. My guilt was assuaged because a two year old had the same procedure done right after David.,only this little fellow had used a pencil to push the coin down.We discovered that both pennies were lodged sideways, allowing liquid and soft solids to squeeze past the obstruction.

The doctors and nurses were amused and nicknamed both patients The Penny Boys.

But I Was Using My Mum Antenna!

Rachel was two years old when some sort of bug attacked her digestive system with a vengeance. My doctor ordered the BRAT  Diet (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast) to remedy the lingering diarrhoea problem.

Poor Rachel! It seemed like she was stuck eating the 'brat diet'  forever. She looked so pitiful at meal times as she eyed her siblings plates and the turned back dejectedly to look at her bowl of rice.

Emily, Rachel's partner in work and play, understood her little sister's frustration with this imposed spartan diet; so she decided to do something about it. Quick witted as always, Emily chose to implement her plan when I was safely out of the kitchen.

My Daughter initiated "Mission Impossible" while I was in a darkened bedroom, nursing  our baby to sleep. With the bedroom door open , my  "kid radar" was turned on, alert to any sounds that my children might make. I heard disturbing noises. Up I got, slowly and carefully, not wanting to wake up Katie. I changed her position so  that I could rock her and I made my way to the door and tiptoed to the kitchen . 
My eyes widened in despair as I took in the scene and I whispered as loudly as I could,
"NO!"

What did I observe?
The bread box was open, the peanut butter jar lid was off and wiry and three year old Emily was squatting like a tiny elf up on top of the counter, spreading a thick layer of the stuff on wholewheat, stone ground bread. Rachel stood below on the floor,  both arms out stretched with her tiny hands opening and closing frantically. She was starving and could hardly wait to get hold of real food.  The sound of my voice startled both of them. Emily glanced up briefly and finished  her assignment  even quicker; Rachel glanced over her shoulder and then stuffed the sandwich into her mouth, hardly chewing at all before she swallowed and lunged for another big bite.

And me?
I was stuck because I did not want a cranky baby on my hands and she was not quite ready to lay down.
 Thus, with great strategy and timing, Emily and Rachel  pulled off "Mission Impossible".

I phoned my doctor's wonderful nurse, after this disaster bewailing my misfortune and this major set back in my own plan of attack on intestinal bugs. Olga  laughed,
" You, my dear, don't seem to stand a chance."

my daughter's art

remembering easter art

my fridge door


Once children burst into your life and you see events through their eyes, every celebration is infused with excitment and fun. I recreated activities from my childhood and discovered new ones with my kids.

For me Easter means colouring eggs. If I never had children, I never would have started dying eggs again, which would have been a shame. I can usually be found running around cleaning, putting loads of laundry in,and cooking but sometimes I don't just set up an activity, I actually sit down and enjoy the craft with  my kids. At first we just used the store bought kits. Slowly, as the kids grew older we experimented with crayon designs, stickers and fancier dying techniques.

One Easter, one of our children learned the art of creating Ukrainian Easter eggs and begged to teach the rest of us. Michael bought the supplies, set the kids up and played Handle's Messiah. As the music swirled around us, the kids were silent, completely absorbed in their craft. Every year since, all my kids sit around the kitchen table, dying eggs for hours.  Even though I am still running around cleaning, putting in loads of laundry,cooking, tripping over the dog and helping kids, there still is a special Easter atmoshere that fills the house.

Loving Babies

We are a family of people who are crazy about babies. Should anyone walk into our presence with a baby in their arms, we all immediately surround them, adoring smiles on all of our faces.

When the kids were little, I literally had to watch the clock to make sure everyone would get a chance to hold either our baby or a visiting one. I think the children bonded to each other because even a toddler was given the privilege of holding their newborn sibling. With excitement twinkling in their eyes, barely containing their joy long enough to sit still while I propped up one of their little arms with a pillow,  one of their little arms with a pillow,  they would look extremely proud and pleased as they too held the baby. Bedtime became something to look forward to for about the baby. Bedtime became something to look forward to for about three months after the birth of our newest addititon;  I would wrap the newborn tightly in a warm blanket and let each child cuddle up to a living and breathing 'teddy baby'. This quiet time, to be alone with their sibling allowed warm, nurturing, love to flow between both children and it eliminated jealousy; the focus was no longer just on the baby but attention focused on an older child and the baby.

As I nursed, I gave the older children my mental and emotional attention by listening, talking, reading books to them, helping with homework and even playing with play dough with one hand. I think the Holy Spirit was surrounding us. I can honestly say that no one resented all the time each newborn demanded because we were all part of caring for the baby. Little ones were proud to run for diapers, clothes or blankets and older kids would choose rocking or pushing a colicky baby in the buggy over washing dishes any day.

 I discovered that from the birth of my third child on, community developed where we shared and helped each other. It is lovely to have a toddler giggling as he picks up each toy tossed from the highchair, or a relaxed nine year old watch the four year old ,who is happy and out of trouble as she plays  in the tub for an hour. Seven year old 's proudly read the same book over and over to a three year old, freeing me to run the house. All in all, from a panic attack as I held my first born till now, God completely upended my plans for my life but He knew exactly what I needed to become free and full of joy. 

Make-up and Little Girls

One visit  from Grandma Jean and Grandpa Ron  occurred when Melissa and Mara were about four and five years old.   My two little girls were fascinated as they watched  Grandma apply a touch of make-up each morning because they had never seen anything like it. I wasn't  interested  in make-up in those days and frankly  there wasn't time anyway; I was lucky if I managed to brush my teeth and throw some real clothes on by noon.

Finally, after a few mornings of watching the longing on her  granddaughters' faces, my mom asked, "Would you like me to give the two of you a make-over?"  Melissa and Mara were almost too thrilled to sit still as Grandma applied a light coat of lipstick, mascara, blush and eyeshadow. My mom was delighted with the results; the little girls looked like they could have posed  for a photo shoot. She called me over to enjoy the results and  of course, I was pleased as well . My daughters were delighted with the whole idea of wearing make-up  and glowed with the admiration we showered on them.

"Well", my mom asked with pride, "Would you like to see what you look like now?"

"No thanks, Grandma.", answered Melissa, "We know what we look like."

 Off they skipped to play outside.

My mom and I looked at each other and laughed.

Children are delightful because they are not self-conscious and they really don't worry too much about their appearance. Little people are too busy exploring the world and having fun just being themselves.

Thomas Merton once wrote that frogs and trees are holy because they simply are who they are suppose to be, without masks or false personas. I think the same can be said of little children. No wonder Christ said, "Unless you become like a little child, you cannot enter the  kingdom of God."

I Am An Emotion Vacuum Cleaner. Are You?

I am wired to be an emotion vacuum cleaner that sucks up all my children's pain. My children are all

compassionate vacuum cleaners as well, who attract other people's negative emotions. They are all aware that they were conditioned not only from observing Michael and I  in action but also because they have inherited this trait from both of us.

This problem, The Vacuum Cleaner Syndrome, is a difficult disease to cure. 

 As my daughter and  fellow vacuum cleaner, Katie, asked during a family discussion,

" How can one vacuum cleaner  help another vacuum cleaner?" 

Four of us around the circle smiled and laughed at the image.

Then I blurted out, "Why, show the other vacuum  cleaner how to reverse the hose and blow out the dirt, rather than suck it in and collect it."

That comment released  waves of uncontrollable laughter that actually did blast clean air through all of us.

Compassion and empathy are vital but my tendency is to try to fix my husband and kids by hoarding their pain within my own heart.

 Does my tendency to absorb my children's emotions help them?

NO.

Do my seemingly selfless reactions weigh me down?

YES.

Is anyone fixed or set free as I sacrifice my own peace and happiness to try to help my family?

NO. 

Does this Vacuum Cleaner Syndrome destroy everyone's peace and joy?

YES.

The good news is that  a silly image that pictures mum as a vacuum cleaner does reverse this self- defeating, addictive pattern because it makes it easier for everyone to understand how ludicrous I have been .  The laughter that follows releases the tension used to keep emotional pain locked up inside. 

Jesus is the only vacuum cleaner who  has  the ability to literally sucked in everyone's emotional pain, sin etc. and then blow in joy, peace and new life back in to every person who allows Him do His job.

The great exchange; surrender dirt and receive the bright, clean breathe of God and then laugh at how long it took you to let it happen.

Shopping With Teenage Girls is A Tragic-Comic Drama

Ah, the wicked delight I experienced every time my oldest three daughters took their younger sisters shopping for a dress for a special occasion like a grade eight or twelve graduation. grade eight or twelve graduation. After a particular stressful shopping trip, they stumble through the door, complaining about their hard to please sibling. Typically,they roll their  eyes and sputter,
 " Do you want to know what kind of dress she wanted me to buy?!"
It was still a wonderful experience for a young adult to shop with a younger sister and in reponse  to their tirade I'd laugh,
"Oh, we understand what you just went through, sweetie. It is payback time! Now you know what your dad and I went through."

I remember scores of tragic-comic dramas as we shopped with our daughters.  One example is particularly telling. Mara was just thirteen and about to graduate from our country elementary school to high school. Since I was still surrounded by little people and laundry, Dad volunteered, quite innocently, for the shopping expedition into the city.
Four hours later, Mara barged through the kitchen door, glared at me and announced very dramatically,
"I am NEVER shopping with HIM again!"
She stomped through the kitchen and slammed the solid wood door to the hall behind her with a dramatic flourish.

A few minutes later, her father slipped through the front  door, shoulders slumped and silently communicated his exhaustion and defeat.
 "So", I queried tentatively, "How did it go?"
 Michael sighed and began to describe one scene in a dress shop. He had picked out a few pretty dresses which he felt were age appropriate. Holding up a flowered print dress with a high, round collar, he called out to his daughter,
"Mara, this one is very pretty."
Mara responded by rolling her eyes dramatically,
"Daaad...that's way too childish."
The sailor style dress that Michael thought was perfect was similarly dismissed.
Then, Mara pulled out a black, spaghetti strapped, clingy, black dress and squealed,
 "Dad, this is exactly what I am looking for!"
  Poor dad sighed but allowed her to try the dress on.
Mara emerged from the dressing room complaining,
"It makes me look FAT."
 Right then and there, my poor husband's only desire was to sink into a deep hole because the  store attendant and her customer both weighed  about 300lbs. and 350lbs. each.
 Both women chimed in and exclaimed to 115lb. Mara,
"Oh no dear, I don't think you look fat at all!"

Somehow,everything always seemed to worked out.   On this occasion, it was Melissa, Mara's older sister , to the rescue. She borrowed a cream coloured dress from a friend, embossed with swirls and a Chinese styled collar that was decent but not childish. Mara was delighted and her dad was relieved.

It is still a wonderful experience for a young adult to shop with a younger sister. Typically my older daughters returned home, rolled their  eyes and sputter,
"Do you want to know what kind of dress she wanted me to buy?!"

Oh, we know, sweetie,we know.

Teen Drama:"How Much Longer oh Lord, How Much Longer?"

One of my sons , in his early teens, had just announced that he could not stand living under our roof another minute,
 "I'm out of here!", he bellowed, "and don't expect me to come back!"
The door slammed and he tore off on his ten speed bike.  Of course my father was visiting and witnessed the whole episode. After a few minutes, Dad turned to my husband and wondered,
" Aren't you going to go after him?" Michael calmly kept reading, then looked up and explained,
"Oh, I'm not worried. The only place near enough to bike to is one of his buddy's and they don't feed kids over there. He'll be back when he is hungry enough."
Sure enough, hunger brought my son home late that night. Nothing needed to be said. No ultimatums were pronounced because he had been humbled enough by the recognition that he still needed to live at home and attempt to get along with our rules and his family.

To balance out any humiliation, teenagers relish the opportunity to catch us in the wrong.
Michael's usual response to swearing, disrespect or a poor attitude was,
"Leave that sort of stuff at school!" One evening at the dinner table on a Sunday, Michael yelled in anger at the dog. David had just filled his plate and was coming back to the table.  He leaned over , looked at his dad and wi a twinkle in his eye and a huge grin on his face said ,
"Leave that sort of stuff at church, eh Dad!" Michael snapped out of his bad mood and had to smile. The kid was right. David's humour diffused the whole situation and Michael was the one who had to apologise this time.

Teenagers  also love to rile their parents, to flaunt rules and standards in a blind desire to figure out who they are in and of themselves. If I remember this fact, I don't overreact to obnoxious behaviour. I like to compare teenagers to two year olds because the very same dynamic is unfolding, only this time it is a stressful transition from childhood to adulthood that requires many years to complete. I read somewhere that 25 is the age that young adults finally get an adult brain! In our family, we actually celebrate that birthday and welcome our offspring into full adulthood.

Sometimes teenagers, boys especially like to demonstrate their new found strength. David loved to come behind me  in the kitchen and with a huge grin on his face pick me up and swing me around or even turn me upside down!

" Oh well", I'd think to myself, "This too will pass, this too will pass."

Mothering Newborns: Life Stripped Down To The Basics

One afternoon before Easter, I was ironing cotton dresses and shirts for church the next day.

 Six year old Mara watched for a while and then pointed to the iron and asked,

 "What is that mummy?"

I laughed because I realized that this little girl had never seen me iron; I usually used the clothes dryer as my wrinkle smoother when I wasn't looking for perfection but rather efficiency. Actually it was not just the iron that seldom received attention as I mothered a large family, something that I considered essential was eliminated from my life with the birth of every child.

Painting portraits went with Matthew. Other births gave the boot to crafts, dusting, bread making, interesting meals and laundry folding ( each child dressed out of their own personal laundry basket).  As every mother knows,  a newborn takes at least eight hours a day to nurse, burp, rock and comfort, bath, change clothes and diapers( at least ten times a day), and to wash diapers, clothes, receiving blankets, sheets and baby blankets as well as your clothes which tend to get covered in vomit, and other nasty surprises.

The lack of sleep leads to a rather narrow existence where the best days are when you can sneak in a nap or shower and dress before noon. Oh, those were the days when life was reduced to the basics.

Guess what?

Those basics were actually miraculous when I  relaxed and allowed myself to live in the moment, enjoying my newborn rather than bemoaning  all the "important" activities that I couldn't seem to even start. The very fact that everything that my little one required  to grow and thrive was  inexpensive and near at hand was amazing. My baby didn't need a lot of money spent on him, he simply needed arms to hold him, mother's milk to drink and warm clothes and blankets.

 A friend  who had five children, couldn't quite grasp my peaceful demeanour as I sat nursing a newborn with family life whirling about me. She finally surmised that I was content to enjoy the  present experience  of mothering a tiny, dependant newborn.

I think that I was given the gift of understanding that although I strove to do my best, ultimately I trusted that my failings would be covered and hidden by Love.

Hence my motto;  "All shall be well, yes all shall be well....For there is a force of Love moving through the universe that  holds us fast and will never let us go."(Julian of Norwich).

This quote is true, even if the iron remains a mysterious object to your children.

Don"t Try so Hard

People say that children are like sponges; they absorb values, attitudes, culture and spirituality simply through osmosis.  It is not simply a question of  parent's actions speaking louder than  their words; it goes much deeper than that . Both my husband and I were often unaware of the deep spirituality that flowed from our children  to us as well as from us as parents to our offspring.

 For example, I was rocking newborn Mara, one afternoon, 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 had been, ''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.

This episode really seems to be a mystery at first glance but perhaps but this was a simple demonstration of the power of God living in us as we lived, moved, breathed and had our very being in Him.  He took charge of our dilemma by using the most open, articulate member of our family, a three year old. Most of the time, though, God works on our behalf without any awareness on our part because we are oblivious to spiritual reality. It is probably better that way because  we tend to get in His way.

 One day at mass I distinctly heard  the inner voice of God speaking to me. I thought the words were for the church in general; it took years for me to realize that they were aimed directly at ME.

" You think that you are building my church with all your business, but you are hindering my Spirit and my plans. All I need, all I want, is for you to stand before the Cross and allow the fire of my Son's love to pierce your heart, mind, soul and spirit. Then, He can transform you and the fire of His love will pour out from your entire being , transforming the world. around you."


Of course, twenty years later and years of inner work and healing I am just beginning  to allow His love to sink in deeply. I always feel that I am just a beginner.

.For example after the birth of Lucy, my ninth child, I was growing weary of  church people's praise and awe. They'd gush, "Oh, you must have so much grace!"

 I was aware of my egocentric position and I wanted to shout, "No, it's just tea and me!" Meaning that ,in my opinion, it was caffeine and self drive that kept me going.

Out of the blue, as I was rocking my newborn I heard crystal clear,"You don't have a clue how much grace you have."

I used to try so hard  to be a good  Christian parent but as I give up my earnest striving, let go of control and allowed God  to save me through His presence in  in my children, I experience His mercy and JOY.

My three or four oldest children bore the brunt of my earnest mission to raise my children in the faith. I over explained everything. For example, as Matthew was preparing for first communion, I outlined the different kinds of prayer to him- petition, thanksgiving, adoration, praise... In frustration this seven year old sighed, slumped his shoulders and stated, "Mum, I do all that; I just don't use all those words."

The Battle To Get HIM Dressed

When my eighth child was born, every one was thirteen and under. The mornings could be chaotic and six year old David was the main contributor to the mayhem. He was full of energy and good humour but would express it by running up and down the kitchen in between eating, brushing his teeth, gathering  reading books, exercise sheets and his lunch. Somehow with all this activity he never seemed to be able to get dressed.

While holding newborn Anthony over my shoulder and awkwardly putting lunches together with a helper, I'd repeat over and over, as calmly as I could, "David, please put your clothes on."

Finally I came to my senses; there had to be an easier way to handle the morning Battle To Get HIM Dressed.

Then inspiration hit. David's pyjamas were not all that different than the sweatsuits he wore to school. Why on earth did I not dress him in one of his school sweatsuits right after his nightly bath? It was ingenious, I thought.

After the first  day though, I realised  that I had overlooked one vital article of clothing the night before. As usual, David was running up and down the kitchen but this time I was yelling, "David, please put your socks on."

first day of spring:new life

Our Dog is Brilliant Enough to Act Stupid

Labs are often trained as guide dogs because they understand complex commands and have the ability to remember up to one hundred and fifty of them.

I could complain  for this entire post about my still not trained chocolate lab who is brilliant enough to act stupid when it suits him. However I will limit myself to two antidotes and then I will astound you with his gardening skills.

We adopted Duke (Marmaduke) when he was nine months and he stubbornly clung to several bad habits  that were just too much fun for him but a pain in the neck for us. For example,  he constantly leaps up literally in my face, to engage in some sort of mock fighting. Since he is only 14 pounds lighter than I am but all muscle, he is the definite victor in these contests of strength.  After one frustrating encounter, I harshly commanded Duke to stay "down" and to "sit"  about ten times. I finally threw up my hands and said,

"Oh, why don't you just go get a toy instead of attacking me?"

Duke suddenly stopped in his tracks, his ears perked up , he looked at me with wide opened eyes and then quickly put his nose to the ground and began to search for his hidden toys! All of us were shocked, especially since it now works every time.

Another secret weapon that halts mock fighting is an invitation .

"Come on up and cuddle instead of attacking me."
These words instantly transform Duke into a passive lap dog. After a couple of hours, of sharing a crowded couch with a monstousity of a dog,, one of my daughters pushed Duke off the chesterfield when he refused to move. The intelligent dog's reprisal? He purposfully stuck his tongue in her coffee while maintaining eye to eye contact,  slurped and then turned right around and stalked out of the room.
Way too smart for a beast!
No wonder labs are trained to be finely tuned, obedient guide dogs.

For all his faults, Duke is an excellent gardener. I know that this seems to be an absurd statement but trust me. I speak the truth!

This last fall I was pulling out old grape vines around our property. Duke pushed me out of the way as I struggled to dig up roots and he proceeded to dig furiously with his front paws. Very impressive.

 As I pruned  over head branches, often I only managed to cut half way through the branch. I'd tug and pull but it was Duke's who deserves all the credit for finishing the pruning. He'd leap incredibly high, grasp the errant branch with his teeth and then hang his whole ninety pounds on the branch. that dog saved me hours of work.

Now if we could only become smarter than our dog, all would be well.

Family Dynamics

Divergent Personalities Learning to Live Under the same Roof.

The Experiments Of A RUN-ABOUT Baby

The terrible twos.
Do those words send shivers down your spine like they do mine? Those two little words evoke many awful and amusing scenarios but the most dramatic usually involve  my fourth child, David. As a baby he was a delight with sparkling blue eyes and a warm, loving personality. Physically he was plump and passive. He'd sit quietly, his head whipping from side to side, completely entertained by the activities of his older siblings. 

Anyway, who needs to bother learning to walk when you have three adoring servants to fetch toys for you?
In fact, David was fifteen months before he bothered to walk but when he actually started to move, he didn't stop.

Suddenly this "good" baby mutated into a travelling disaster. There was no malicious intent behind David's activities, just sheer joy in discovery. However, this baby's discoveries were most often messy. In fact,
this run-about-baby's exploits are simply legendary.

One morning, while nursing David's younger sister in the  livingroom,  I realised that David was no longer in the room with me. I strained  my ears to hear what he was up to but the house was oddly quiet, too quiet. The older kids were right outside, near the house but surely David hadn't opened the door to join them all by himself?  Since David was rarely quiet, I quickly put Emily up on my shoulder to burp her and started to try to discover where he was ans what he was up to.

 I found him in the kitchen and I stopped in shock. My fridge  was now covered in a thick layer of peanut butter. Every inch that David could reach was covered, -door handle, hinges, rubber seal... simply everything.

He heard my loud gasp of shock, turned around, peanut butter jar in one hand, with the other hand dipping in the jar for another large scoop and he cheerfully greeted me,
"Hi, Mummy!"

 Try to picture me scooping, scrapping, wiping and  the same time smearing peanut butter with paper towels.
  I then attacked it with very hot, very sudsy water. I  even required  an old toothbrush to reach all those joints and creases. The next week the entire artistic endeavour was executed with margarine! Soon after an entire wall was covered with a crayon mural of scribbles. Now that art job took a week of scrubbing when ever I passed by!

One of Michael's sisters once said to me,
"I am surprised that David turned out so well. I think it was because you didn't come down on him too hard."

 Somehow, I think I was too exhausted to react. I walked around in a daze some days and just let disasters roll off me. My dog eared  child development book  also helped me  roll with the punches because  I realised that I couldn't demand behaviour  that my child was not equipped  yet to mentally or emotionally produce unless it was out of sheer fear.

 I guess I knew David wasn't bad, just a very messy experimenter.

My Children's Dancing Says It All

Thank goodness my children can dance with joy and abandon because I still cannot.

 Often they dance like they will tonight in a circle, facing each other, laughing and relating to each other.  They enjoy each other but are also inclusive and it seems that others get caught up in their exuberance.

To their father and I, they radiate  freedom, joy and light. Thank God that our ceiling is our childrens' floor.  I could weep with relief because they are not starting their lives back at the same point as we did.

Basically we said, " The buck stops here, with us. Do not touch our kids."It was a way of letting go of  negative inherited traits and relaxing into the Light, we opened the flow of blessings for our kids.

People ask Michael and I what our secret is to raising great kids and we must honestly admit that it was  letting go of control, while still  in the darkness,  and trusting in the Light.
All our best efforts, struggles, sufferings simply threw us head long into a stone wall.
Giving up was the best thing that we ever did.

Just look at our adult (and soon to be adult ) offspring dance.

Their dancing says it all.

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.

, 

 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.