This day was different in that the seven-year-old told me that “Mrs. Thatcher” was at my door and she MUST speak with me…NOW. Not really knowing a “Mrs. Thatcher” …I said tell the lady your mom is sick and get her number so I can call her back. The 7-year old did as I asked except only to return moments later reporting that “the woman” said she must speak with me NOW as it is very serious and urgent I come to the front door at once.

Nice. I was prostrate on the couch after several rounds of cheap medication (Tylenol and Advil) and fighting a fever of well over 103° (f)!

Well after struggling to get up and to the door I am greeted by this vision, an older, well dressed, British (?) lady very upset who was angrily telling me that she is “going to have to report me.” Now not too sure it was either the medication or the fever speaking.. so I asked to whom or what body this “vision” would in fact be reporting on me (and my ailing carcass) (?) The answer was astounding…“the authorities.” ( I wondered for a moment if the invasion of aliens as a zombie apocalypse was already upon us and must confess to being secretly excited for a change of pace from being sick!)

“I am going to have to report you…”

Having had high hopes in the past of being carted off for any number of reasons that might force a rest/vacation on my weary soul… I am not one to wave away such offers of incarceration casually. While grasping the wall (as I leaned against it) I did manage to crook my head in such a way as to see past this older women’s silhouette enough to ascertain that there were no “authorities” present that the naked eye could detect.

The thought of being treated to an incarceration where I would be relieved of my duties presiding over this tribe, given clean clothes (I did not have to wash or press) and a bed… plus regular meals and I could stay on this holiday until some jury decided otherwise…was all too tempting!!

I explained to this woman that I was in spite of my cheery disposition… I was rather ill and therefore confused as to why she wanted to apprehend me in the first place. Meanwhile in my head I was trying to account for all the natives in the house wondering if while I was languishing on the couch perhaps some inmates escaped…possibly causing havoc in the neighborhood…maybe trampling the poor dear’s spring tulip bed (?). No, seemed like everyone was accounted for. Besides in scanning for “the authorities” I had not detected any child protection agency representatives as evidenced by no unusual vehicles in the vicinity (when you send those guys to an address like this one you need several vehicles to manage the number of kids being seized).

Now this woman was a mystery.

I took a chance and told her to go right ahead and report me to the authorities. I deserved whatever she had in mind. (!!!) (Had I not been so sick I would have managed at least an evil grin!) Well she looked a little shocked that I would be so compliant and then started to explain.

PLEASE REPORT ME
“An incarceration where I would be relieved of my duties presiding over this tribe, given clean clothes (I did not have to wash or press) and a bed with regular meals and could stay on this holiday until some jury decided otherwise”

Apparently this woman felt I did not care enough about someone who lived at my house. (Now she had my attention.) Could not be the husband (although I am sure he often thinks I do not care enough about him as he reclines in bed trying to heal his ankle from his most recent surgery unable to bear any weight on this limb until at least 12 weeks have passed) but unless he is sending out smoke signals from the bedroom how would his plight have reached the ears of the woman on my doorstep? Doubtful it was any of the kids as this was Mother’s Day and it is the one day a year I am considered “a saint” in my own domain. Could not be one of them complaining…on Mother’s Day.

Now I am figuring this senior gal has perhaps mixed my address up with someone else’s…right?

No…WRONG!

Apparently this whole commotion is because my little white dog managed to get out the front door as the hot water tank technician came into our home on an emergency visit (thank goodness for him…9 kids…everyone sick and no hot water …Mother’s Day notwithstanding) to reinstate baths and loads of laundry for the faithful. All of this because of a little dog.

I think I stood in total disbelief staring…(and NOT because of the Tylenol and Motrin).

…after several rounds of cheap medication (Tylenol and Advil) and fighting a fever of well over 103° (f)!

This lady went on to explain she has a little dog and that if I am this careless in allowing this dog to escape then she will have to notify “the authorities” and I will have to “suffer the consequences.” In all fairness my little dog escapes way more often that a little dog ought or should. Then again with the numbers of kids (and friends) opening and shutting the doors in the house, playing with the dogs, taking them of their leashes (including dogs wiggling out of their collars)…just the general bedlam here…small wonder that this dog’s escape is so swiftly noticed by us.

And no, the woman did not stop there. She went to unusual lengths to describe her passion for pooches (highlighting my apparent disregard for same) and that she had noted this was the second time in ten days that my little white dog had gotten past the front door and taken off to party in the neighborhood. I was not only irresponsible, but what I was subjecting this animal to was criminal (9 kids fussing over her…well maybe). This little dog of ours loves to run. If this critter gets a chance to make a run for it she is gone like a shot and will not come back…even for treats. She cannot be caught until she is good and tired out (much like some of my kids)!  Although the moment the little dog goes missing a search party does go out after this animal.

She cannot be caught until she is good and tired out!”

I guess “Mrs. Thatcher” observed that my little dog was out a whole 20 minutes (last Tuesday to be exact!) until I went in the car to rescue the canine. The observation was completely oblivious to the jail break having occurred as the children boarded the school bus thereby necessitating readying two babies into outdoor clothing and then securing in-car seats so that I could chase down the mongrel of mine in my car. I was going to try to put the effort into the conversation to let this woman again understand NONE of this is intentional and then I simply realized this woman was likely suffering from not able to mind her own business.

I reached a new level of understanding. My chaotic life was giving this woman purpose. So be it (possibly the migraine strength now Advil talking).

In the end I was disappointed that “the authorities” did not apprehend me. I could use a night or two of decent sleep, clean clothes (I did not have to wash), a hot (uninterrupted) shower and three squares a day that I did not have to shop for, cook, serve or clean up after. It did occur to me that often the 7-year-old is on the loose in the neighborhood and I have yet to have so much as one tantalizing offer of incarceration.

Who knew…the dog is missing for 20 minutes and my break might be just around the corner…thank you Mrs. Thatcher!

The Garden Goat (happily anticipating a future incarceration)

The Garden Goat happily anticipating a future incarceration

“In the end it adds up to a significant amount each month…”

Considering the bunch here (and the option of “extras”) I have had to become a professional practitioner in the magical art of grocery shopping and the more important art of financing those outings. Some days it I am sure it would be considered outright WIZARDRY!

I currently average about an extra $300 per month (minimum) as refunds in my pocket (YES, hard cold cash)!

A very dear friend once was staying for supper and thought she would help by peeling potatoes. After the first dozen or so peeled she asks “How many more do you need me to peel? I am not sure when I should STOP!” I looked at her and said “Only when the bag (10 lb.) is empty!” The look was priceless.

The children have been known to ask will they ever receive for dessert a bakery item that is “not from that 50% off rack!”~ Short answer… “NO!” The reduced rack is about as sacred to our family as the Holy Grail was to Indiana Jones! Before there are hoards out in cyberspace thinking that the children are munching down aging and moulding food …I assure you…this is NOT the case. Often items in excess are reduced (store baked too many apple pies, muffins or whatever) or there is a truckload sale. Many years I would buy birthday cakes reduced on the half-price rack and then freeze them (lots of birthdays in this joint) until one year some kid complained that they were less valued because they got a fresh cake instead of the frozen 50% off edition. Sometimes there is no pleasing the faithful. (!!)

I have thrilled in the delight the participants must feel as they check their goodies through the cash

The few times I have watched TV (not really a whole lot of time or much interest at my end) and viewed snippets of the show “Extreme Couponing” (TCL?) I have thrilled in the delight the participants must feel as they check their goodies through the cash and a $1,000 plus of merchandise is reduced to some ridiculous amount like $12.50 (albeit US dollars) and this represents three carts full!   Granted buying 32 bottles of French’s mustard for less than a dime each is appealing however not really going to go too far to nourish the army at this end other than to perhaps provide ammunition! After being all excited to test my skills in this game I then realize I live in Canada and some of this is not even available (double couponing etc.) far less encouraged.

Until I discovered something else…

A few years back I learned that there was something here (in Canada) called the Scanner Price Accuracy Voluntary Code (or “Scanning Code of Practice”). This is the link to further info (Canadian Government) at the Federal Government Competition Bureau http://www.competitionbureau.gc.ca/eic/site/cb-bc.nsf/vwapj/ct02380e.pdf/$file/ct02380e.pdf.

Needless to say once I became aware of this program I use it literally every day. I currently average about an extra $300 per month (minimum) as refunds in my pocket (YES, hard cold cash). Errors of discrepancy between signage and the computer database running the cash register calculations in a given store can result in a product being labeled as one price but being scanned at the cash at a higher amount. Many people don’t notice. In Canada if the item is under $10 you receive the item for free. If the value of the item is more than $10 you receive $10 (in cash) PLUS the item’s price will be corrected to the price as advertised. If you are buying more than one of the same item, then “FREE” item is only on the first one …if BOTH are identical (same SKU numbers). However, if you have purchased similar items (as in Tide is on sale and you purchase varying kinds and with different SKU numbers) then if these items also scan incorrectly (different SKUs) you can receive these items also for free. I have been known to walk away with four different bottles of Tide for free all because the computer was not updated to reflect the price as it was displayed in the store. (It does help if you have a photographic memory!)

“Scanning Code of Practice” guidelines (Canada)

Sadly I am thrilled knowing that because of human error I will score a certain percentage of this family’s purchases every week for “FREE.” You will either recognize me at the store as the one stumbling into people as I leave the store reading the receipt, (line by line ensuring that everything did ring in at the right price) or by the group of children nearby hanging their heads while pretending they are not related to me (mostly those teenagers).

Then again with the tribe I feed, I pretty much know the price of any grocery item and any frills purchased would only happen if they were in fact “on sale.”  Another way is to watch for mistakes is while the item is being scanned. Sometimes the difference in price is only one penny but when you can receive the item free it certainly adds up.

Since the kids seem to think stuff might taste “better” if it was not on the “50% off” rack good job most of them have no idea it was in all likelihood completely FREE!  I will say that many of my teenage offspring, (already some of them mortified to be seen with me in public just because their chronological age has reached double digits) are not too thrilled to be in earshot as I challenge the errors made when the wrong price comes up.

In the end it adds up to a significant amount each month that helps this goat keep the little goats in oats and something everyone should check out at the check out!

The Garden Goat

In Canada if the item is under $10 you receive the item for free. If the value of the item is more than $10 you receive $10 (in cash) plus the item’s price will be corrected to the price as advertised.

(P.S. Alas…as of late I have had to start taking my reading glasses to the store to ensure the item is in fact listed for less!)

“…see the usual primary school accolades … You know the ones…”

“Great Job!”

“Well Done!”

“Awesome!”

“Fantastic!”

“You ROCK!”

Instead …the label read “Please watch me…I bumped my head today!”…WHAT????

WOW!

Instead …the label read “Please watch me…I bumped my head today!”…WHAT????

I guess calls home from the school can be really reduced with the new label system. I might have been able to accept:

“Need special care have a small boo-boo”

“Be nice to me…I had a bad day”

“I fell and scraped my knee…I might need some TLC”

“The school nurse checked me and I am fine but could use extra TLC”

But “watch me closely…I bumped my head”? Seriously….what are these people (the folks at the school) thinking??? The only saving grace about this label was that it was adhered on the child’s shirt as opposed to his forehead.(!!) I am wondering if the rest of the first aid container at school might include “Was unconscious earlier please watch me overnight” or “Unresponsive at school please return to sender” only to be out done with “Intellectually unresponsive please investigate!”

Then again that opens up an entire list of labels a parent might like to have for the teacher.

“Watch me my head is very sore…too much homework”

“If I can’t understand what you teach in school hours don’t think my parents can teach me in non-school hours.”

“Was dropped on my head…well…the rest is history!”

“My family calls me …ANIMAL!”

“Today is a bad day… someone kidnapped my imaginary friend”

“Be careful…I am ALMOST toilet-trained!”

Better yet might be the labels one could (perhaps should?) arm a high school teacher with:

“This kid need not come to school…ever again.”

“Return to sender…only resend once mouth is sealed with duct tape”

“If this is what your family has to offer the world for the future…hope you have a backup plan!”

This label thing could likely save all of us time and therefore money…oh the possibilities!

I as a parent might choose to wear (sometimes more than occasionally)

“I am currently having an out-of-body experience…stay tuned …take a number…it could take a while!”

“I did hear you…but no…I still DON’T care.”

“Possessed…again…by Aliens”

“Whatever!! Duh!…(unless you are asking for the car)…then NO!”

“FYI…take cover I am in a VERY BAD MOOD!”

I guess when all is said and done, the label “Please watch me…I bumped my head today!” is definitely not anywhere near as scary as “Toe-tag required…please call the coroner.” Though it still leaves me wondering …are all students given the “bumped my head” label or are these labels only reserved for the children whose scholastic performance leaves something to be desired while the children perceived as having superior brilliance get a REAL call home (oh and then perhaps a label)??

A quick call to my local school regaling the receptionist with my take on the whole thing and she is horrified… “Oh I guess we FORGOT to call you and JUST gave him the label INSTEAD of calling. He is fine but really wanted a label. He did bump his head though earlier in the day but seemed okay.”  (???)

I think I will be in my corner designing labels we can all wear (and hand out) for everyday use. Can you imagine what one could “get away with” saying at work with just wearing a label??? Just saying….

Labeled “The Garden Goat”

Labeled
“The Garden Goat”

“… the smaller children (you know the ones garden decoration size)”

The saddest words ever if I listen to the 6-year-old in my life. “I was finally getting to like not going to school and now I have to go again!” Well, I was going to let the child know that this feeling will continue and amplify through his life. Sunday evenings are the same always getting ready for the work week to start-up … again. Then I thought, nah, maybe I should not let this child know how most of the adult world is living just for the weekends and holidays.

Considering my crowd really did not do anything very spectacular this break I was sure that going to school this morning would have been a highlight to the boring week. Apparently hanging around one’s house (for the most part.. with the exception of a troop tour of the science museum, the doctor and a movie….although not all in that order) being hassled to do chores and spring cleaning was more exciting. Who knew? I despair of ever getting these kids out and on their own before they are fifty (I have no idea how the husband thinks they will all be independent by age 21!). With the exception of the 13-year-old (NO… she already WANTS to go back to school and how)!

I have heard all week about the kids’ friends and their trips on the March break to all over the globe. I did consider leaving home and taking a trip…then I remembered the fire regulations…so in a nutshell…NO…decided to remain home!

Families this size cannot just “pickup and go” on a trip. Yep, I hear some of you thinking well if I had fewer children this would be possible…well actually not necessarily so. About 16 years ago my brother-in-law passed away in another town about 4 hours from here. In order to attend the wake and the morning funeral, I took all the children (plus “the Husband”) to this town. At the time I only had four children the youngest of which was a newborn and the eldest was just 5 years old.

I called the main hotel (small town) and asked for a room with 2 double beds and a cot (baby would be in a carriage) thinking that this was a reasonable request. Well I got quickly acquainted with “fire regulations” that apparently dictated that no more than 4 to a room regardless of the fact that all three children were hardly bigger than Garden Gnomes. After many rounds of rationale I was able to strike a bargain, I would get the one  (and only) “suite” they had that also came with a sitting room therefore I would be allowed the 3 gnome children and the tiny baby. I was charged $350 for the suite. I chalked this up to a small town and a super vigilant representative of the hospitality industry. By comparison a double occupancy for the fire regulation friendly family (only 2 kids) across the hall only cost $87 per night.

“…regardless of the fact that all three children were hardly bigger than Garden Gnomes”

A few years ago I tried again, this time to take a tribe that had grown to the size of seven children (youngest just weeks old and the eldest only twelve) although still sporting several kids the size of lawn ornaments. Well the hotel told me that to accommodate my family I would require three rooms at the approximate combined cost of about $500 per night (!!!). (This was eight years ago.) The money issue set aside, I could not get the inn keeper to understand that traveling with only two parents meant one of those three rooms would be “unsupervised” definitely more dangerous than by the book fire regulations.

The hotel manager told me he understood and would be sure that all three rooms would be linked together. I was worried some of the smaller children (you know the ones garden decoration size) would escape and be wandering all over town (not to mention at large on the hotel premises). No matter what concern I had the hotel was focused on the fire regulations. I cannot imagine how having unsupervised school-aged children in a room could be so fire-safety friendly (at least on the paperwork) as opposed to less fire-safety compliant but fully supervised by parents.

In the end we were able to find a motel (in the same town) where the owner had a corner banquet room he let us stay in and moved in queen bed (and pullout couches/cots) to support the entourage. This was quite a bargain as nightly it only cost $125 and included a kitchenette.

So unless something wild happens March Break around my house continues to be a time to have some free time, see friends, go to a few local places and spring clean like mad.

Memo to myself: I must work harder next year to make sure school is seen as more attractive than hanging out here (perhaps add home repairs to the ongoing list of chores)…Although I must admit my greatest moments are when the kids are home….(no comment on them being here and fifty!) and happy to be here.

The Garden Goat

“Next I head back to the vehicle and begin to have all twelve members disembark in various states of excitement.”

The hostess approaches me with a sweet smile saying “seating for one?” to which I respond “no, actually seating for 12.” The look is always the same. The hostess performs a quick total glance of my persona head to toe just to verify that perhaps I am not delusional as I am clearly standing all by myself requesting the bus-sized table.

The answer back from the restaurant is usually a calculated one trying to delicately balance the need to accommodate my request against a ghost attendance. Once I add the information concerning the participants such as high chairs and booster seats (not to mention children’s menus) the look on the hostess becomes one of “Big Birthday Party Mess” (lots of noisy kids and maybe lower gratuity) and the table at the furthest end of the establishment is then readied for our family’s entrance.

Next I head back to the vehicle and begin to have all twelve members disembark in various states of excitement. Families our size rarely eat out (cost is close to almost a mortgage payment). As we process into the establishment and to the newly prepared table setting… pretty much anyone with a pulse has their eyes on our entourage as we pass by. Older couples are busy holding up their fingers as they count out how many kids they think they see…others are pointing and several are craning their necks to get a better view.

The rest is pretty straight forward if you can get past the frequent comings and goings of the waitress as she administers to the 12 passenger table.

Then the questions start as other patrons feel the need to have their curiosity satisfied. As the food orders are placed (and while we are trying to keep the kids busy with the crayons that are customarily provided) …the “curious” folks, one by one “drop by our table. Let the games begin:

” Big Birthday Party Mess”

Is this a daycare? (Part of me wishes it was…then the bill could be evenly distributed among a larger group of working parents.) “NO these are mine … no one pays me (as yet) to look after them…. So..NO… not a daycare!”

Which children are yours and which are his?  “Madam…NOW we are worried …up until now we thought all the children were ours. Which ones do you think look different?” (Kids are killing themselves laughing and are all making silly faces). Meanwhile I struggle to keep my face reasonably serene throughout the interrogation. (Really just want to laugh!) .

Are these REALLY all from the same marriage? “I think so (husband and I exchange looks… older kids seem bewildered) well…we never thought to have that checked (!!)”

You mean to tell me you have been married to the same man all this time? Course the husband now dons an angelic look as the children (some of the older ones) are wondering if we should have traded “Daddy” in for a new model. “Well, it is true he is getting older (Dad looks totally guilty) but we haven’t found a model we like better or who wants to be around so many kids.”

I certainly hope you (my husband) help this poor dear (as they point to me) with all the housework after giving her all these children? I can hardly keep a straight face I am wondering if this older soul might like to come back to my house and run housework boot camp for the natives. I think she has the right attitude to get the male of the species (I have 3 teenage specimens at my house) all fired up! Then some child says “Oh don’t worry about that MOM MAKES him help ALL the time!” (!!)

How can you afford to feed all of them? “Not sure lady… I came in here prepared to have some stay after dinner no doubt and do dishes…any leftovers from your table you want to share?” (The look resulting from this is usually priceless…jaw dropped WIDE open)

You must make a lot of money to be able to eat out? “Ever since I started printing up $20 bills the basement it is no longer an issue…besides this way I don’t have to waste my time doing the dishes at home.”

After the newness of our tribe among the other restaurant faithful has subsided (usually the food has arrived) and we are left in complete anonymity while some kids eat and others play at eating (hopefully no food fights!).  Usually before dessert can be served there are more people dropping by our table…similar questions along with some compliments.

I will never forget the woman who told me how well-behaved everyone was and inquired if I was “a group home mom?” No doubt observing the mashed up fries and gravy down the side of my coat, the salad dressing in my hair or the other equally as galling indiscretions on the table that would warrant deliverance of a rather substantial gratuity in appreciation of our server. When I answered “No…why did you think I was?” …the response “You just seem so calm in all of this I thought you might be a professional.” (Died laughing! )

…inquired if I was “a group home mom?”

As I am leaving a lady pulls at my sleeve as I pass by her table…“Tell me dear…What made you decide to have so many?”

(Love that the kids all get to hear this one)…“Well…I wanted to be sure that there were enough taxpayers that when it is time for me to retire I at least know that there are 9 kids paying into the system to help make the seniors years of the average person (and me in particular) more enriched with better government services.”

Back to the battle wagon…until next time!

The Garden Goat

P.S. Reminds me of a story where two sisters each with five children went shopping. At one point one of the husbands was left for a few moments presiding over the combined tribe. Many people stopped to talk to the kids and felt sorry for the husband. Then the sisters  watched the kids while the husbands ran an errand. When the husband came back an older was woman passing by and only seeing one “mom” and all these kids with the dad …walked a few paces away and muttered “Pervert” under her breath.

You can’t hope that everyone will understand.

If the definition of taking a vacation starts with packing one’s baggage then I have enough of that on board to take a vacation anywhere anytime!

Well… nearly everyone I know is either just returning from or planning for a holiday. You know one of those times you get to spend (with or without loved ones) on yourself. Hopefully away from where you live and definitely away from work. My whole life I have wondered what that might be like.

Catering to the tribe that I am responsible for has not afforded me to date any time to myself in which to have to weigh the intricacies of planning one’s life away from home. Though it does sound delightful to have to ponder where on the planet to go, what to see, how long to be there. Ruminating about how others are caught up with these specifics are about as close as I will likely get to such an escape until at least the smallest members are toilet-trained.

Many folks tell me that life is about choices. On the one hand, very true and yet in another way although we may choose (or think we chose) wisely, fate will sometimes twist the entire situation regardless of the stellar choice selected at the beginning. In some ways choices is a bit like a game show with doors one, two and three…all being of equal value but different. A five-thousand dollar ring money-wise is dollar for dollar comparable to your entire street being paved in waffles (10 feet high) but I for one would prefer the ring (unless it is dinnertime around here…of course).

Life is not made to order regardless of all the appropriate check boxes being selected. Some of the greatest plans get sidetracked and some of the most random, spur of the moment stuff actually pans out. I think vacations are like that. The weather might not cooperate, the attractions were not quite like the brochure, the perfect day for the beach is the day you are sick.  Not to mention other things like losing your luggage (not baggage that would be too easy) or finding out the hotel was slightly better than a group home.

“I know several moms of little ones that would think they had died and gone to heaven to be able to spend 40 minutes ALONE in the bathroom..”

Relative to what you are used to (and what you need to) recharge your batteries… a vacation could be anything. I know several moms of little ones that would think they had died and gone to HEAVEN to be able to spend 40 minutes ALONE in the bathroom and emerge with hair, nails and relaxing bath all completed. I personally would settle for just ten minutes without the customary pounding on the door, crayon scribbled ransom notes slipped underneath, screwdrivers shoved in the door handle or shouts of “fire” as I try to forget (for as long as it takes to brush one’s teeth) that I am needed NOW….(again) by the natives.

Not really complaining…just noticing that I am content with less…and that is good thing.

A trip out to have my haircut without my loyal following is amazing. The thing that speaks the most to me is the space in my head (no… not because I was having my hair cut) but the ability to complete whole thoughts without hearing “mom….” I can only imagine that a true vacation would be hours, days and weeks without hearing “mom…” Sounds out of this world…perhaps I should plan one soon. I cannot imagine all the ideas I will have when I can be alone in my thoughts.

Then I come home from having my hair cut and the three-year old races to the front door throwing her little arms tightly around my neck “Oh mommy where have you been? I missed you!” Hugs and kisses from the littlest…I am done! I totally forget my resolve.On Second thought… while I like little snippets of time to myself…I think I will gladly postpone a longer vacation until this little one is older. (Although I think I would like to increase the time in the loo by a few more moments).

Part of making good choices is to recognize one’s limitations and plan for success accordingly. Next move will be to plan a vacation in my own bathroom. I will leave the ransom note ahead of time mentioning that I have been abducted and that I gave all my magical powers to Dad, (whom they never bother in the bathroom…go figure) oh and maybe leave some delectable snack (not chocolate or anything too messy) on the counter (in arm’s reach) in the kitchen while I pursue my mini vacation.

“Next move will be to plan a vacation in my own bathroom.”

It will be revitalizing to say the least. Clean body, hair, face and clothes all on the same day! If the definition of taking a vacation starts with packing one’s baggage then I have enough of that on board to take a vacation anywhere anytime! (At the rate someone here tries to scream “fire” when the bathroom is occupied by mom, perhaps a better plan would be for me to yell “fire” call emergency services and while my progeny run all over the neighborhood in disbelief head into the shower for five minutes to myself.)

I now think I will plan such a vacation…wonder if I will have a chance to run the bath long enough to make some bubbles before the local authorities catch up to my moment of indulgence. If I get busted, I guess I will have to resort back to daily showering in the dark (before anyone wakes in the morning) for a whole three minutes and then slither out in the cold darkness, hair now frozen and damp (no need for hairspray) to my car and go to work. Where as I drive in to my place of employment I remember who is not at work but “on vacation.”

A Garden Goat with a plan.

“Next move will be to plan a vacation in my own bathroom.”

Many years ago I was at a friend’s wedding seated with other friends. A rather traditional bunch in which I was clearly the most forward thinking at the table. As a variety of speeches were made and toasts offered to the new couple, many innuendos alluding to old school expectations regarding housework were evident. The majority of these couples were young and many of them were one-income families with young kids. I was one of the few at the table from a two-income family. Everyone at the table decided to watch my reaction, which was observant silence, until the friend to the right of me talked about how to get her husband to help with the laundry… All eyes were on me.

how to get her husband to help with the laundry… All eyes were on me.

Then it started. I asked what laundry was this husband not doing…his own or the family’s (i.e. the kids). It turns out that “Romeo”, being the chief breadwinner, felt he was exempt from any laundry duties including his own dirty clothes. Betty Crocker was busy taking care of four children and trying to keep up to Romeo’s extensive laundry. After a few moments of conducting further fact-finding, the dirty details were divulged. This boy was wearing many different outfits during the day, going daily to the gym, the office and then dressing down for casual outings with “his friends” and so on.

You know you are doing well when you hear that he has cancelled his workout at the gym and he wants to know if you have found ANY of his laundry

Answer from my end …really simple. Just don’t do his laundry he will get the picture. Well apparently this would not work for Romeo because he will just go out and by “more” clothes. This friend reminded me that I had been known (in the circle I moved in) as the one who motivated her newlywed husband to amazing ownership of his personal laundry in spite of being raised by a mom who did all the laundry in the house.

I had to start somewhere, “Where does your husband leave his laundry?” The answer was so typical “In piles on the floor.” Oh good this will be much easier than I thought.

Start collecting all the laundry the dear boy leaves around the house and place in a green garbage bag and then hide the bag. DO NOT REVEAL the location. Check for clothes in gym bag and do likewise. The most important item to collect is underwear. All of a sudden you will notice Romeo taking an interest in the dryer and where the laundry is stored. Do not get prematurely excited that he is now interested in the laundry. Under NO circumstance reveal the location of the intimates. You will have to get creative where you can store the evidence. Be smart and do not choose such places as his golf bag or behind the lazy boy in the TV room. Pick hiding places like where you keep the mop and bucket to wash floors (or where the vacuum and/or other cleaning supplies) reside.

Then proceed to the local department store and buy a package of the exact opposite colour and style of the undies he usually wears

As the circle of clean undies dwindles the gym guy will become more frustrated and head out to buy new underwear (preferably white). Either way just continue capturing the dirty linen and hiding it. Romeo will suddenly start paying attention to where he is leaving his laundry. He will suddenly become very considerate and mindful of where he drops his drawers. Do not give in and think this the training is complete. This is just the beginning.(!!)

Hiding the dirty clothes will get harder and harder as the dear husband begins to retrace his steps and takes better notice of where he is leaving his clothes. One day he will snap and announce that he has no more undergarments and demand to know what is going on. Smile sweetly and tell him you will make it a priority to locate his finer things and see they get washed. Then proceed to the local department store and buy a package of the exact opposite colour and style of the undies he usually wears (if he wears white buy dark coloured and vice versa hopefully in a size smaller and 100% cotton). Call up the husband at work and offer to do something like make a special dinner or watch a movie. Sweetly hand him the new (incorrect) underwear you just bought. This will hopefully be met with some appreciation for effort (although not always).

Next day husband likely to roar again when he realizes the only clean stuff he owns is the dreadful stuff you bought. You know you are doing well when you hear that he has cancelled his workout at the gym and he wants to know if you have found ANY of his laundry.  Wait until the husband has vacated the premises for more than a few just a few moments. Now locate all the dirty gym clothes /underwear lot and put everything in together (the more colours in with the whites the better). Throw some random favourite clothes (ones you never liked anyway) and then pour about a ½ bottle of Javex bleach in and set the wash to very hot and the most aggressive cycle possible.

Remove from washer and dry on hottest setting possible. Do NOT worry that certain prime locations in the underwear are threadbare (or less) nor that the once white underwear is varying shades of pastel tie-dye or that the dark underwear has large spots of what looks like a highlighter marker was used. JUST DRY and do not add fabric softener. Lovingly fold the fresh, moth-eaten, shrunken undies and stack in a laundry bin. If he is not home… phone him and tell him you have great news… you found the laundry and got it all done for him… it is waiting in such and such a place.

Believe me, when he catches up with his stuff you will NEVER again be ALLOWED to touch his laundry, (far less wash or fold it) and he will never again take off clothes and leave them lying around anywhere…even twenty years later.

Believe me, when he catches up with his stuff you will NEVER again be ALLOWED to touch his laundry, (far less wash or fold it)

After regaling the table with my domestic version of “home economics 101″ I do not think anyone believed me. Dark looks around the table as this crew of ladies all thought I was nuts.

Many years later, after forgetting about all of this a friend called me because the gal I had spoken with at the table (so long ago) had made the mistake of innocently shrinking her husband’s sweater and instead of passing it off as a random accident apparently some saucy girlfriend (myself) from years ago was blamed. (No wonder that couple never invited me over.) Too funny!

I hear all those guys from that table have been doing their own laundry for years…(!!)

I hear all those guys from that table have been doing their own laundry for years…(!!)

The Garden Goat

1 Corinthians 13:4-7 

In honour of Valentine’s Day every single parent I know is living through a very busy the-night-before getting heart-shaped things ready for the school-aged crowd. Evidence of this celebration is everywhere. The 14^th of February is the second largest card-sending holiday of the year (according to the Greeting Card Association) with an estimated 1 billion Valentine’s Day cards sent each year. Even one of the gals I work with spent time on the 13th getting Valentines for her children… 25 and 28-year-old sons and their wives/fiancés.

I got home from work and felt like someone a hundred years older than I am. Hundreds (nah just a half dozen or so) of children (granted …my own) met me at the door asking if I had their valentine cards and stuff for their classmates. Yep…I bought those months ago…except, sadly, I cannot remember the safe location I stored them in. Try and explain to a Grade One student how you cannot remember where you put an item when you have placed it “somewhere safe.” Thank goodness for the local dollar store. Dozens of red, heart shaped lollipops … (albeit a few bucks later) and my raging mid-forties Alzheimer symptoms can (hopefully) remain a secret for another year.

For many years I never celebrated Valentine’s Day as that was the day many moons ago a stranger asked me out for dinner and I turned him down. That particular day I had returned home from working all day, and getting ready to go out with a male friend for dinner and then on to a choir practice. The stranger (who had bumped into me a few times in the lobby of my apartment building) had knocked on my door that evening with card and chocolates in hand. Not being someone easily deterred the stranger persisted asking if I might be interested in “going for coffee” after the choir practice. Here comes the embarrassing part…I had to decline again because I had already accepted another invitation for just that (actually more “coffee & dessert”) with another boy I knew. Thinking that declining this guy’s advances not just once but twice would completely negate another request from this guy…but no, the stranger persisted. Was I doing anything at supper time the next night (Feb 15^th)?  The stranger caught me off guard and I answered that I had nothing planned.

So I had dinner with the valentine-chocolate-bearing-stranger on February 15^th and pretty much the rest is history. This summer we will be married 22 years! It is only in the last 3 years that we have celebrated Valentine’s Day on the 14^th…most of my married life my husband has told everyone he refuses to celebrate Valentine’s Day as that was the day I spurned him!!

You worked to restore the relationship and did not give up on people

Among the crowd I run with, this question was posed on Facebook recently ..  “why can love be like it was 50 years ago?”  I will leave it up to you to imagine the type of responses that question drew. Many answers were centered on a male-dominated world of yesteryear where women could not easily stand up to abusive men. Another answer was to say that overall empowerment women have today (as a whole) compared with the societal restrictions place on women (in general) half a century ago- have created a more balanced arena in which to play the dating game. I watched to see how the teenage /young adult crowd would answer.

One answer that stood out was “Because 50 years ago when things broke we fixed them!” So true…our relationships were mostly maintained by face-to-face time, phone calls and the occasional letter. If something “went down” (or was misinterpreted) it impacted your life immediately and had to be handled in person. You worked to restore the relationship and did not give up on people. Nowadays you can break up by text, email and Facebook and then block the person you want removed from your life. Next step is to find brand new people to fill the void left by the friend you have thrown out. Same thing with marriages, breakup, move on, shop for new relationship (wash, rinse and repeat).

…”remember everyone in life we love.”

Valentine’s Day should be a day to remember everyone in life we love. Regardless of water under the bridge. If you truly love someone you will never give up on them no matter what happens or even if they give up on you. Love bears all things.

The Garden Goat

“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends…”

1 Corinthians 13:7-8

Here’s an excerpt:

19,000 people fit into the new Barclays Center to see Jay-Z perform. This blog was viewed about 90,000 times in 2012. If it were a concert at the Barclays Center, it would take about 5 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

“He said NO ONE really ever keeps those New Year’s resolutions.”

Being someone who often thinks I truly have “superpowers” I also often bite of more than I can ever hope to chew. Understanding my irrational exuberance (as evidenced when planning the lives of those around me) is something my husband seems to understand quite well. He said NO ONE really ever keeps those New Year’s resolutions. According to him it is more about recognizing that you have to make some changes, feeling great there is an actual day out there when your fellow humans (in droves) are doing the same and “fitting in.” Reality is, in less than 60 days there will be no trace of the enormous changes I wanted to make … so accept the reality and don’t waste the effort on something that will only fall by the wayside in mere weeks. Yep…like the great wife I am my inner voice screamed “I’ll show him.”

Not being one to  want to arm the natives where I live with anything more they can use against me there was no way I was writing down any resolutions that I was making. I would just store them in my head and then I would not have more than just personal accountability to wrangle with day-to-day. There is just something terrible about announcing to your entire family you are on a diet and being discovered and called out by the 3-year-old. “I saw mommy eating chocolate…in the bathroom BEFORE breakfast”-uh-huh…much easier to just commit your good intentions to memory.

“One of my resolutions was to be more consistent in taking the small fry skating at the arena.”

One of my resolutions was to be more consistent in taking the small fry skating at the arena. I personally love skating and now that the littlest is a little older (more importantly I have the scoop on the teenagers in my life and can blackmail them into my service as babysitters.. THANK YOU Facebook!) and can be left home, my resolution was to take my 6, 8 and 11-year-old (and their cousins) public skating once a week.

Week 2.5 into the new year and things are going well…sort of…I still had not posted a new post but in my defence I was not only doing the weekly skating but also doing double duty at the outdoor rink at the end of the street (yes in my perverse mind extra skating made my tardy blog post schedule seem almost righteous!).

” I personally love skating!”

Well this all came to a crashing head…literally. With less than 10 minutes left of public skating time, two midget skaters (oh I would say Grade three level) not too much higher than my hips (I am almost 6 feet tall) crossed in front of me. The notion to fall on them and protect myself never occurred to me. Although my husband did point that “viable” (no really?) option after the fact. No, I instead whipped around to be sure I did not fall on them and instead lost my balance and smashed my head into the ice. All I saw was white light. Thinking I might be lucky enough to be having an out-of-body-experience I was caught up in what was happening (not too clear but bright light and pain) when I heard many people and kids (shucks NO out-of-body experience… I can still HEAR KIDS) all wondering if I was okay.

Being someone who often thinks I truly have “superpowers” I also often bite of more than I can ever hope to chew!

Ice packs, more ice packs, paperwork from the arena and a drive home from my husband, I figured I am fine. Did all the “Dr. mom” checks…no dilation of eyes, no pressing need to vomit, no real confusion (beyond the normal I usually have)…if I was one of the kids I would have deemed the child fit. Three days later and I still have a headache…I write that off as everyday life. Who does not get a headache? (Rephrase…who with children does not a reoccurring headache?) After my family doctor sent me for a CT SCAN…the verdict arrived…massive concussion…off work for a week to rest.(!!)

Thinking perhaps I had scrambled the priority of what my resolutions should have been, as I wait for my large cranial bump to heal I am thinking that weekly blog posts are underrated almost as much as helmets.

The Garden Goat (and Helmet)

The Garden Goat (and Helmet)