Joyful Chaos: Dining With Eleven

Listen as I struggled to gather my crew every night for a family meal.

“Oh good, you’re done barn chores. Perfect timing; dinner is almost ready.”

“Two more minutes, everybody!”

“Joseph I’ll help after we eat, okay?”

“Mary, please run up and open Jean’s door and shut off the music.”

‘Dinner is ready!”

“Grace, I know you love that book sweetheart but, remember, no reading at the dinner table.”

“Where’s Mark?”

“Honey would you lift up Daniel into the high chair?”

“Are we all here? Anyone missing?”

Ah, dinner time in a large family.

Dinner was the highlight of the day with everyone clambering to share their news or simply squeeze in comments into the cacophony of voices. It was a humorous symphony which sounded perfectly in tune to my ears. High pitched baby squeals combined with loud, boisterous little boys.and the quavering of a male teen voice balanced teenage girl’s chatter. Dad’s reassuring bass tones soothed my shrill calls for everyone to listen to the toddler’s newest word. The highlight of this often unruly symphony was the spontaneous laughter punctuating the entire meal.

Life around the dinner table was relaxed and happy because I allowed my children to behave in age appropriate ways. I did not demand adult perfection. The consequences of this decision were messy but well worth the time it took to mop up after meal time. It meant I did not shovel neat, tidy mouthfuls of food into a toddler because we let little people feed themselves as soon as they reached for the spoon. It meant including three-year olds in meal prep, sending five and six-year olds running out to the garden for vegetables and allowing a ten-year old to make the dessert. In other words we valued participation over a neat and tidy kitchen and orderly meal times.

Now I am reaping the rewards of decisions which sent some visitors into sputtering, spirals of incredulity as they eyed my kitchen and the messy faces of my little people after a meal. I feel vindicated when I look at my grown-up kids; they all love to cook and entertain, especially for each other. Just drop by for a quick hello and inevitably they will cajole you to stay for a delicious meal.

It is a simple fact- there is no better way to form deep relationships than conversation over a home-cooked meal. In fact there is no better way to encourage the development of a warm supportive family than with great food and relaxed conversation around the dinner table.

God delights more in joyful chaos than in miserable, tight perfection.

Remembering Christmas Magic with Nine Kids

As I clean and get ready for our adult children to come home from university and work in the city, it is nice to remember the magic of Christmases when they were little. In fact the scent of magic is still in the air, especially as our 3 and soon to be five grandbabies join our family! When you live with nine children, even the most crusty curmudgeon cannot resist the magic of Christmas.

It was still dark outside, way too early for my husband and I; we had worked to set up on Christmas Eve till 2:00 am. Although we couldn’t even pry our eyes open, we were smiling with contentment as we lay in bed, listening to the excited whispers and giggles of our three youngest children. They made their way down the front stairs whispering in awe because one of the older kids had intertwined multi-coloured lights around the banister, transforming the dark staircase into a magical pathway to the tree.

First, the trio ducked into the formal living room to see the presents for the first time and special candy canes on the tree. In our old farm-house, our bedroom was right above the kitchen and we had left the kitchen back stairs door open. Suddenly another excited gasp of surprise escaped their lips as they gazed in wonder around the transformed kitchen.

A gingerbread house, created at night when the littlest kids were sleeping, sat in the centre of the table with a fruit bowl, dishes of candies, nuts and, best of all, sugar cereal! The whole room was edged with coloured lights and Christmas towels, tablecloth,napkins, pot holders with bright red ribbons on all the door handles.

One year a friend at Madonna House, Martha, asked Alison what her favorite thing about Christmas was and she said,

“The pineapple!”.

Her answer shocked Martha but I was simply pleased. I understood that children notice and appreciate the small things. No detail escapes them. Without much extra cash during the year, they still to this day treasure every detail, ornament and treat that was and still is part of Christmas.

When a few of the oldest kids were in their mid to late teens, friends would ask to come over and set up with us. They would cart presents downstairs, arrange them, help fill 11 stockings and hang lights. They were intrigued by our large family with all the hustle and bustle and activity. It was never boring at our house The teens craved the joy and excitement of creating magic for younger children who did not receive many frills during the rest of the year. I think they also craved the sense of stability, of a family grounded in the old-fashioned values of mutual love and respect.

Quit trying to dismember me

The school bus was not scheduled to pull up for another twenty minutes. Six-year old Rebecca, my youngest child, needed both hands to yank the old, heavy kitchen door open, desperately attempting a quick escape for some free time before school. 

 As the door squeaked open, I looked up in surprise.

Before I could comment,  Allison , one of  her many older sisters, whipped around from the kitchen counter and remarked

 ”Rebecca, did you try to do your hair again? The part’s crooked. Come over here and I’ll fix it for you.”

As she slumped towards Allison, Claire entered the kitchen at the same time and looked her little sister up and down,

” Mum couldn’t have picked those clothes for you to wear. The top does not match your sweater. You’ll have to change or keep the sweater buttoned up all day.”

As she stood in the middle of our large farm kitchen, fumbling with tricky buttons,  Mary yelled from the bathroom,

“Rebecca, you forgot to brush your teeth again!”

Suddenly Rebecca through her arms up into the air and huffed out in exasperation,

“All right, all right everybody. Quit trying to dismember me!”

“Don’t Worry Sir; My Boyfriend is Like my Trampoline.”

One of the disadvantages of a large family is that the younger children are exposed to pop culture via  their older siblings.

A prime demonstration of this phenomena was during ’circle time’ in kindergarten. Sometimes the teacher encouraged the children to sing a song, expecting to hear something like “Twinkle, twinkle little star”. She did not get that sort of song from my youngest two.children . This teacher laughed with amusement as she told me what my offspring sang for the other five-year olds.

Daniel sang “Go Grease Lightning” from the movie musical “Grease”.

Rebecca sang some pop song about not dating a scruffy looking guy “who sits in the passenger side of his best friend’s car”!

However, there is usually a positive side to everything . My oldest daughters also taught the younger ones a valuable life lesson through the lyrics to this song,

“Don’t settle for the first boy who gives you attention.”

The lesson must have been absorbed because all my girls are very selective when it comes to boyfriends. In high school, if my daughters date, it only lasts a couple of weeks because they find that the boys are typically  “idiots”. Rebecca’s English teacher was just teasing her, last month, that she was high maintenance and he pitied her boyfriend.  WITHOUT MISSING A BEAT,Rebecca shot back,

“Don’t worry sir; my boyfriend is like my trampoline.”

Her teacher was puzzled, so Rebecca explained,

“I don’t have one!” `

Learning to Take off My Dung Coloured Glasses

Happiness: the fleeting dream that eludes most of us.  I am often miserable, pressed for time, running around  in my insular little world, only catching glimpses of the world around me as I peer  through dung coloured glasses. Yet the solution to my dilemma is remarkably easy.

Stop.

Take off my dung coloured lenses.

Look and really see all the blessings around me.

Appreciate and allow gratitude to come to life within me once again.

A therapist would charge you hundreds of dollars to teach you how to do this, calling this method cognitive therapy.

I will give you this key to happiness for free.

I discovered this secret after years of mothering my tiny children. They taught me to take my eyes off my exhaustion and to take delight in the plethora of tiny details all around me. Little kids are born with a sense of wonder and the ability to enjoy little things. My daughter’s retain an appreciation for detail; they all remember the little things.

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Examples:

• A friend of mine, Martha, once asked one of my daughters, when she was about six, what she liked most about Christmas. She replied immediately,

           “The pineapple in the fruit bowl"

My daughter’s answer astounded Martha.

• Similarly, one evening before dinner Claire, now a young adult, 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.

• A few months back,  Claire 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 sound just like Mum.”

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• 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 brought me genuine joy. It was hand crocheted 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; free cognitive therapy from a crew of little people who greeted each morning with wonder and awe.

What am I thankful for now, at this moment? I am grateful to be alive, breathing and healthy with a husband of 35 years, nine healthy, kids,. four kid-in-laws and 5 grandchildren who turned out so well that I am speechless and teary eyed with relief and gratitude.

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Finding Joy in Chaos

“Welcome to OUR home. We love kids, animals, plants and even you. Just come on in!”

Five-year old Daniel is leaping off the fourth stair wearing his black cape, a purple Batman sweatshirt and his 'Mountie' hat. Three-year old Rebecca carries a huge, old purse stuffed with cut pieces of paper and fake money and she is trailing behind seven-year old Grace who is gathering stuff to make a scrapbook. Mary is in the same living room playing "Magic School Bus" on the computer and Claire is upstairs changing her clothes again. Joseph and Mark are building a Lego plane across the hall in the family room but eighteen year old Matt is the brains behind the construction.Alison is on the phone and Jean is listening to music that is way too loud while leaning over the upstairs railing and complaining about life. Michael is tending the animals.

WHAT AM I DOING?

Why I am putting in the fourth load of laundry that day and planning a folding marathon where I sort laundry and literally toss each kid their own clothes to fold

 Guess what?

I learned to be happy in the chaos. I don't have a living room , I have work and play areas. A table in the living room is covered in a 1,000 piece puzzle and the coffee table is Katie's craft station. There are goldfish on my too small counter, a huge dog trips anyone walking through the door and the cat thinks she owns the most comfortable chair in the house and I warn you, do not try to move the queen! My kitchen walls, fridge and cupboards are decorated with all kinds of art and scribble art and I have too many indoor plants.

 

One day my father-in-law tripped over our dog (who did not move, by the way) and he gruffly asked me,

"What is that dog doing in the house? He should live outside."

I laughed and said,

"Welcome to OUR home. We love kids, animals, plants and even you. Just come on in!"

Are We All Here? Anyone Missing?

A mother of 9 grown children reflects on dinnertime: the central hub that held all the spokes of her family’s activities together into one cohesive whole.

"Oh good, you’re done barn chores. Perfect timing; dinner is almost ready."

"Two more minutes, everybody!"

"Daniel I’ll help with that after we eat, okay?"

"Mary, please run up and open Claire’s door and shut off the music."

'Dinner is ready!"

"Lucy, I know you love that book sweetheart but, remember, no reading at the dinner table."

"Where’s Matthew?"

"Honey would you lift up David into the high chair?"

"Are we all here? Anyone missing?"

Ah, dinner time in a large family.

Dinner was the highlight of the day with everyone clambering to share their news or simply squeeze in comments or opinions into the cacophony of voices. It was a humorous symphony that sounded perfectly in tune and in harmony to my ears with high baby voices, loud, boisterous little boys, the quavering of a male voice changing, Dad’s reassuring bass tones and my calls for every one to listen to the toddler’s newest word. The highlight of this often unruly symphony was the spontaneous laughter that punctuated the entire meal.

Life around the dinner table was relaxed and happy because I allowed my children to behave in age appropriate ways. I did not demand adult perfection. The consequences of this decision were messy but well worth the time it took to mop up after meal time. It meant and not shoveling in neat, tidy mouthfuls of food into a toddler because we let little people feed themselves as soon as they reached for the spoon. It meant including three-year olds in meal prep, sending five and six-year olds running out to the garden for vegetables and letting go of pride by letting a ten-year old make the dessert. In other words we valued participation over a neat and tidy kitchen and orderly meal time.

Now I am reaping the rewards of decisions that sent my mother-in-law into a sputtering, spiral of incredulity as she eyed my kitchen and the faces of my little people after a meal. Yet even she looks now at my grown-up kids with admiration because they all love to cook and entertain, especially for each other. Just drop by for a quick hello and inevitably they will cajole you to stay for a meal. It is a simple fact that there is no better way to form deep relationships than conversation over a home-cooked meal. In fact there is no better way to encourage the development of a warm supportive family than with delicious food and relaxed conversation around the dinner table.

“My God! How Did She Get Herself Into That Mess?”

I am conundrum. A rather outmoded sort of woman, ridiculed by modern career women, vilified by the earth’s prophets of doom and sanctified by the religious right. I was the least likely candidate to have a lot of children.I mean, I had never even held a baby before my first born.You would think having nine children would have turned me into a frazzled wreck with a figure like the Pillsbury Dough Boy and a brain gone to mush, but I remain quite articulate, with a quirky sense of humour, standing at 5’1” and weighing in at 106 lbs. Not quite a rosy-cheeked, robust, matronly looking mother of a large brood.

Wen the words The Joy of Mothering popped into my head as a sub-title for my short stories, it was like an epiphany for me because those few words verbalize my experience living with little people. The very existence of a joyful mother of nine children seems to confound people. Embracing an outdated lifestyle on a traditional, small, family farm has been a struggle through confusion, guilt and even public condemnation to finally reach the point where 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 people 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 would become, the words of that article resonated within both my husband and I. Guilt lifted off us and a surge of excitement, a sense of purpose welled up from within. Although it took time to really believe that none of our children were simply a failure of the natural family planning method. Many small experiences kept reinforcing the truth for us that God called each of our children into being with our co-operation. 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 mode, 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,

” What on earth do you mean a witness, a witness to what?- stupidity? 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.”

Once again a blanket of peace wrapped like a blanket around me. It was an actual physical sensation. My mind was calm and my spirit felt strong.

That was it for me; I understood and I said,

“Yes”.

Though I still cringed under disapproval from society, I always understood that my children were saving me by compelling me to dive deeper into my spirit, discovering the power of eternal Love at my core. A love that can stand strong against all opposition

Our Quirky House

Welcome to our house. We love kids, animals and plants but watch out! Don't trip over the dog laying in the hallway.

The kindest description for the house where we raised our nine children, would be quaint. Picture a sprawling, two-storey house built in 1886, with all sorts of quirks. Three sets of steps converge on the upstairs landing as the result of creative home renovations. A window became a doorway to a hundred-year old addition which then needed its own set of three steps before anyone could get through this new doorway. Someone with an odd sense of humour cut a 4 ft 10 inch high doorway to the babyroom, squeezing it under the slanted roof. (When I walked into this room in the pitch dark, I banged my forehead against that door frame every night for the first month after we moved in). That doorway needs another set of three steps off the landing to reach the threshold of the bedroom. Logically, the two shortest people in the family shared this bedroom.The most absurd design feature, though, is the fact that there are six doorways leading out of the formal dining room and another six to the outdoors.

The bathroom, added in 1949 when a local farmer installed electricity, is so tiny that the tub is not even 4 ft. long. I must have a sadistic streak because the times I have laughed the hardest concern my husband and this bathtub. Once I stumbled upon him wedged in the tub with his knees drawn up, trying to keep water off the floor as he rinsed his hair with a princess shower head. I laughed so hard that I ended up on the floor. My husband did not even smile.

Laughter is usually my weapon of choice against the irritations life throws at me but is difficult to laugh at our shallow well which dries up continuously, forcing us to get a truck load of water from the neighbouring farmer. The toilet water pump is in the barn, surrounded by hay bales but still manages to freeze in the winter. We employ ingenious methods to thaw that pump but when it doesn't work we pail in water from an old fashioned pump ourside.

I simply must whine about one more irritation. If you plug two appliances in at the same time in the kitchen, the power shuts off and I resort to sending a kid running down to the cellar to turn the power back on. (I do mean a cellar, with huge oak beams and 2 ft, thick stone walls). That cellar is home to three freezers stocked with our home raised meat and vegetables are kept in the cold storage room. The kitchen pantry is tucked in under the stairs with shelves and old-fashioned hooks to hang aprons and cloth bags of flour, rice and sugar.         

The decorating theme of this unusual house is Early Childhood Art and it is everywhere, on the fridge, on cupboards and walls. Too many plants add to the sense of colour the eclectic combination of furniture is at least comfortable. Generations of former owner, who were all full-time farmers, believed in 4 inch spikes for building barns as well as hanging pictures, So those 4 inch spikes dictate where mirrors and pictures hang because they refused to come out of the old plaster.

The list of quirks is even longer long but it all adds up either to frustration or comedy and we choose to laugh. Yet we also love this quirky house with its thick, pine plank floors, wide wood wainscotting, original door knobs and engraved hinges and stained-glass window.

Now into this absurd house, picture eleven people living in five bedrooms with bunk beds, 13 dressers and huge trunks because half the bedrooms have old-fashioned hooks on the wall but no closets and there is no linen closet. Organizing the clothes and belongings of eleven people is not an easy task without proper storage. I should not have to explain further except to remark that I once lost a grade one reading book for three months in a dress-up bin. You can surely picture the chaos as I madly flung socks about in a 3 foot high wicker basket full of unpaired socks, trying to find a pair or two to throw over the banister to a child rushing to pull a coat and backpack on before running down our long lane to catch the schoolbus.

This is the scene for all sorts of mix-ups, and mayhem, many of them cause by the house itself. I reacted the only way possible,I laughed. Our laughing transformed that house into a very, very fine house with two cats in the most comfortable chair, a dog that tripped visitors by the door, goldfish on the counter and a guinea pig that squeaked for food every time the fridge opened.

                                                                                

This is the background to all sorts of mix-ups, and mayhem. I reacted the only way possible.. .I laughed. By laughing, that house became a very, very fine house with two cats in the most comfortable chair, a dog that tripped visitors by the door, goldfish on the counter and a guinea pig that squeaked for food every time the fridge opened.

SOCKS: A Subversive Plot

Socks Need To Be Paired! Or Do They?This was the brilliant question I asked myself

The only thing that will kill you as a mother of a large family is pairing socks.

There are solutions. Some are outrageous. For example, I remember a crazy kids, campfire song, that we usually sang in rounds.

♪♪

The “Black socks, they never get dirty;

The longer you wear them, the blacker they get.

Some times, I think I should wash them

But something keeps telling me
Oh, not yet, not yet, not yet” ♪♪

                                                     

I did not seriously consider this option, though. After ONE day stuck inside an active child’s running shoe, socks reek. I had 154 stinky socks to wash every week, at the bare minimum. Oh well, sometimes I did four loads of laundry a day and socks really didn’t take up that much room.

Still socks disappeared into mountains of laundry and I could never find them all.

Do you have any idea where 154 socks can hide every week? I had to look between sheets, under Chesterfield and chairs, behind closet doors, inside wet boots, in school bags, under toy baskets, inside of pant legs and even, if I was lucky, in one of eleven dirty clothes baskets and still I could not find them all.

I had to pair all the socks!

Or Did I?

That was the brilliant, out of the box sort of question I asked myself one day.

New solution:

Buy lots of black socks in every size. Surely some semblance of a pair of socks would be easier to find.

That was the new plan.

I simply tossed the black socks into a wicker basket with a three-foot circumference and a height of two and a half feet and hoped for the best.

However, I had managed to overlook one important fact. I had six daughters. Little girls don’t like black socks. They like pink socks. To make matters worse my mother bought cute socks with frills and bows and patterns that the girls really needed and loved.
None of them were the same! So although I used the toss and throw method of pairing, some mornings found us frantically searching for some appearance of a pair.  

At times I had to literally toss the newly discovered pair over the upstairs railing. One of my kids, who already had their coat and school bag on their back, would catch them in mid-air. They quickly pulled on their socks, stuffed their feet into boots or shoes and flew out the door, barely making the school bus.

People joke about washing machines eating socks. Rationally, I know that this is a silly answer to my dilemma but the more I think about it, the better I like the whimsical answer. I could kill myself trying to control eve

10 Tips for Parents from Mother of Nine9

As a mother of nine kids, people often ask me, “How on earth did you manage without any help? “

 

So I present a list of my top ten tips for a happy family life

1.  Focus on the joy of parenting, not on everything we are giving up to raise a family

2. Mothers, remember, we have one of most important jobs in the world because we forming the next generation

  3. Accidents, mishaps and ruined plans will happen everyday, so laugh.

                                                                   

  

4. Praise works; berating  usually backfires. Give good behaviour lots of attention because children WANT our attention and will do anything to get it.

  5. No need to run around like crazy people, putting our children in every single program .                                                                                                                                                                      

6.. Listen to the baby. Read his expressions and body language. In fact become a baby whisper and life will be much calmer.

7.House work comes second; the happiness and welfare of your family comes first. Don’t fight everyone trying to run a perfect home. It is okay to leave a blanket fort or block tower up overnight, when I know they will play all morning with it.

8..Let children learn to do things on their own, like dressing or feeding themselves even if they look a little odd. Their pride will shine brighter than our need to look like a perfect mum.

9. Put our kids needs first . When I ignored their limits of endurance, I created either a clingy shadow or a screaming monster.Then nothing I did or said seemed to help the situation.

10.Slow down. Let our little ones set the pace. Stop and look at bugs and pretty weeds .