PLEASE report me…NOW!

This weekend, while feeling terrible (the entire tribe was sick with high fevers and sore throats… a mystery illness… including this old goat) …my doorbell rang. As is customary in this place when someone is at the door literally a crowd of children run to the door and I am lucky if I even make it to the door (stepping on bodies everywhere) far less if I am able to even determine why the interruption (as the kids always get there first) occurred.  This is largely due to the fact that the majority of people coming to the door are friends of the inmates that live here. When you have the brood I do…very few people come to actually visit me.

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

More Money in Your Pocket

Every single reader out there I know has pondered how this goat of many is able to finance everyday life. (Hey…don’t worry this is something often pondered by this goat.) The crew I preside over is based on average as eleven in numbers (inmates) and the associated costs of such a gargantuan tribe present for all meals, toiletries and sundries (give or take an occasionally few more here and there). I can wake up in the morning and be dealing out the rations only to discover some kid has brought another friend or two (sleepovers …after I went to bed…the teenagers…of course) and they are in the lineup right alongside the usual natives.

“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!)

Is Labeling ever okay?

My six-year-old recently came home sporting a nicely designed label on his shirt. At first glance I thought that my kid had achieved some type of next level recognition in his class at the institute of higher learning…Grade One (to be exact).  With some squinting on my part (40-year-old something eyes) I was expecting to see the usual primary school accolades that regularly show up on these youngster’s homework. You know the ones:

“…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”

Table for twelve please! More answers for those who need to know “lots” about large families!

Going anywhere with the bunch I look after is often not only an experience but can be quite entertaining. Going out for dinner is no exception. The plan of attack is that I go into the restaurant ALONE (while the natives sit in the 12 passenger battle wagon in the parking lot as to avoid the looks of a “swarming” in the entrance of the eatery) to ascertain if in fact there might be room to accommodate the troops for dinner.

“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.

Heads Up!

So I entered the New Year 2013 just like everyone else on the planet (pretty much) vowing to make significant changes to my everyday life that would turn my life around in “good” ways. One of those vows was to get a little more consistent in writing this blog and be sure to deliver a new post once a week. Seemed reasonable and achievable as it was not as though I was promising to go on an extreme diet and eat my way through mountains of carrots while neglecting my true love in life.. Chocolate. No, writing for me comes naturally and this would just mean being a little more organized and focused.

“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)

New Year 2013 …

…the Best Year Ever!

Everyone around the world seems to be making a New Year’s resolution list.

I would love to. Then I realized that what I wanted to have as resolutions involved resolutions I wanted to see the natives I preside over adopt. That list might look like this (not necessarily in this order):

• Read more
• Eat less junk (and NOT in the living room)
• Listen to parents the FIRST time
• Locate and USE a laundry basket for dirty laundry (especially socks)
• Use respectful language (at least when in the earshot of the rest of us)
• Watch TV only as a last resort (NO it is NOT as essential as breathing)
• Make a mess of something….clean it up.
• Spend more time in physical pursuits (even if only housework)
• And for some that are of age…get a job!

Then after indulging myself in the notion that any of the inmates here might adopt any of these suggestions I come back to reality with a thud. Nah…it likely won’t happen. A few of the kids may make a few resolutions with the result that a few things may temporarily change for the better the week after New Years (or not)…and then forget it for the rest of the year.

Living with the gang I do here are some resolutions I SHOULD make:

• Drink alcohol more often
• Get sound proof headphones or turn the music up louder when the natives are squabbling
• Better understanding that prescription medication is underrated and copious amounts should be further investigated (immediately)
• Get better at appearing to be napping when my name is being hollered
• Don’t be too quick to get out of bed…some days would be better if they just did not happen
• When overwhelmed declare “Bedtime” even if the afternoon school bus has yet to arrive home
• Work on perfecting “distracted” to better facilitate desired state of “denial”
• Find and  then use a magic wand (or find a way to  let the kids think I have one that works)

This would be a great list if only I could remember what I was to be doing moment to moment. The only thing I really remember is the washing machine and when it is time to change over the load. I totally forget the rest as life races past in a blur. I kid you not…so far this week I have boiled 3 pots completely dry attempting to boil water for tea. I got distracted…somehow. I think the solution may be to switch to coffee and add Baileys!

In all seriousness I guess the only thing I can do is to change me.

So I BELIEVE that 2013 is going to be my best year ever.

Everything will work out. I will work on me to live my best life ever. With that I hope to again see special friends I care about, get into better shape …oh and hopefully make a million dollars (for real). I need to try to drink less diet coke (did I write that? I think I meant put MORE rum in it) probably eat more chocolate (yes…go BACK to the gym and face the TREADMILL [link takes you to previous post on that]) drink more (yes I know what you are thinking but NO) water.  I will find the time to pray and read more. Another year yawns ahead of this goat and her journey over life’s mountains and molehills in 2013.

I hope all of you have a wonderful New Years and that 2013 is a memorable year for you and your family packed with an abundance of blessings.

The Garden Goat looking forward to the Best Year ever 2013!

Christmas List

At this time of year all of us are searching for the perfect gift and usually working from lists from family relatives and friends (okay not lists per say from friends…but you know “hints”).

After reading the 8-year-old’s list I am not even sure I should share it. (!!) It was entitled “crismis list” and read:

“I want a Nerf shotgun, I want a Nerf Sniper, and a Nerf tome gun and a BB gun with lots of ammo and I want a Nerf hand gun and a Nerf bulletproof vest and a Nerf Bazooka and a Nerf grappling hook and a Nerf gun that has 199 bullets and a Nerf towing package.” (Anyone who has a family this size totally understands the bullet-proof vest.)  A little worried about the towing package as this kid has wanted to be in the police force forever. He used to stuff his little brother into a pillow case and haul him around the house saying “I caught the bad guy!” Before any of you out there think a call to child protection is in order, the two little boys spend hours together (have for years) one as the bad guy and one as the policemen.

After reading the 8-year-old’s list I am not even sure I should share it. (!!) It was entitled “crismis list” and read:

Then there is another list that asks for “a guitar, a new karaoke machine, “the Step Master” and a small pink fridge”-Fun! (This child is only ten…what does you suppose she needs the fridge for? (Hoping it is for snacks the other kids can’t access… and that it is NOT for other family member’s body parts!)

Another kids list reads “a cage” …hmm given the two dogs are never locked up makes me wonder who he is wanting to house or worse yet what he is hoping to catch!

One’s Christmas list reveals a lot about the writer.

The baby’s list was funny. Literally everything in the Toys R US flyer was circled…including the nerf guns.

One’s Christmas list reveals a lot about the writer. First of all do you make a Christmas list? If you do, are you honest about what you put on it or do you gear your requests to your audience? Like when your ten-year old wants to know what you want for Christmas. You say Breakfast in bed knowing that it is something he can do, won’t cost him money and he will feel special. You can forgive the crumbs in the sheets and spilt coffee up the stairs for another day per year beyond Mother’s Day!)

When my children were little, it was all about what the children had on their lists (even if the list was in their head or only whispered in the ear of the local mall’s Santa Claus). As the children grew older it became more about them wanting to do something for mom and dad. A great, cheap option would have been to just nicely, (for the rest of the year) agree to whatever we asked them to do…but no, THAT would have been TOO easy.

I have never made a Christmas list in my life. I have had plenty of friends that swore by them stating that they were spared hundreds of terrible gifts over the course of their marriages. I always thought if my husband really knows me I will end up with such and such. Nah…years later I understand the wisdom of the Christmas list as it matters not how cool it looks, how many other people you know want the item…what matters most is that the one receiving the gift is thrilled. This is something that often blows the mind of average North American husband. A paperclip can be the perfect gift (if that’s what I truly wanted or delighted in) as opposed to receiving the latest trend (always more expensive and usually not ever what I want).

I have never made a Christmas list in my life.

On that note should my kids read this. All I want for Christmas is:

• Good kids

When I ask for something to be done I do not have to suit up into armour and conduct battle to elicit a favourable response. My wish is that my request is simply met with the beautiful words…”yes …Mom”

Oh and maybe some chocolate. (You know for the kids that have part-time jobs.) Much prefer the chocolate to the socks and assortment of stuff the clerk “thought” their mom might “like”! (Trust me you can have TOO many socks with cows on them that go with nothing you own!)

My list for the Almighty:

• Help my husband to get healed and back to work!
• Help my kids to be good always (even when they are all grown up)!
• To reconnect with a special friend that currently is missing from my life!

My list for the husband

• One item (not expensive in the least) that I deep down would love to have….but I will not tell him as it has become a game with me to see how well he knows me and if he is watching all year-long.

Not interested in gift via the 24 hours before Dec 25^th aided by the sales associate who specializes in helping lost husbands find their way through Christmas shopping ….last minute. Nope. I want something that I know reflects he has paid attention all year-long. Course in order to not totally unnerve him I must continue to give the standard fare one expects when one reached forty something on this planet and has kids. You know slippers, pajamas and weird ties. If I was to pay “attention” (to at least what he says), what he really wants is a motorcycle (!!) Nope that will not be under this year’s tree (something to do with nine dependents). I will stick with the new deodorant and socks…maybe some chocolate.

One husband I know wants added credit for the time and effort he has supposedly put in researching and locating the perfect gift. This guy has been up to this for years. He takes a whole day off work the week before Christmas, spending the entire day by himself going out for lunch basically having a  wonderful time and then arrives home to regale his wife with how tired he is from searching high and low for the perfect gift. His legs hurt from all the walking and battling the Christmas shopping crowds. The wife buys this story every year (hence the happy 30 year marriage)! Often when this day of shopping is planned the gift has already been purchased months before. This husband says the value of his gift is raised to celestial levels as he makes a big deal of spending a whole day shopping just for his wife. Reality is this guy is known to not like shopping and uses the time to further research his wish list in such male orientated places as home depot, Canadian Tire not to mention having lunch with some of his male buddies and test driving sports cars and motorcycles. Not so bad I guess. The guy gets a glorious day to himself and brownie points from his wife because she thinks that the “shopping” day was spent all on her! (Regardless of the outcome!)

It is always about the packaging the story that goes with the gift!

Garden Goat Gone Christmas Shopping

(Here is hoping not to be incarcerated for inquiring at Toys R US –“Where do you keep the AMMO?”)

Garden Goat Gone Christmas Shopping

 

Just CHILL

Okay…not sure about you but as a teenager I longed for a job. You know one of those things that get you legitimately out of your house (and away from some of the hourly expectations your parents had for you) with real, hard, cold cash in your pocket. Finally, I was old enough to have one. My boss was almost on the same level as God. What the manager lady said was law. I did not argue… I complied. Either I was raised to be more respectful than the current teenage crowd or perhaps it was that I was so anxious to be able to have money of my own to spend…I hassled no one. Either way, what the boss says goes.

After I moved out of home I was very determined to be on my own and totally independent. To this end I worked three jobs. One fulltime job and two-part time jobs simultaneously. Life was great. I was my own boss living on my own. Happy to be gainfully employed paying my own way in life. Thrilled to afford some of the finer things life had to offer like …new underwear, my own phone (this was before cell phones) and the odd cup of coffee. Truly by these standards one might wonder what my life was before now. I lived as one of four girls being raised by a single mom and yes, new underwear (especially if yours was still deemed wearable…only a little threadbare) was the ultimate. Since then my idea of the finer things has since been revised significantly.

“I am doing everything I can to get the “layabout” out of the house.”

Fast forward my life to today (an average goat with 9 kids and a “Nanny-Goat” to a grand-kid). I am now inundated with teenagers everywhere. Albeit some of them are my own, others are the friends of this age demographic. With many of these kids the notion of a “job” is akin to being told that incarceration or incineration (same difference) awaits them. Sort of a struggle cause they all “want” and “like” money. Just “work” seems to be a dirty word.

The excuses for those teenagers who do not want to find gainful employment include:

• They won’t hire me… no one will. (No…really? Not if you do not apply they won’t!)
• I know people that work there so I can’t. (Why? You will know everyone once you are hired.)
• That job looks boring. (How would you know… really?)
• Can’t work “there” no one has heard of that place. (I thought you wanted anonymity!)
• I need a job that lets me text all day. (Is there such an environment out there?)
• They only hire beautiful people. (Does that mean by definition…you are “not”?)

Finally in spite of it all…some company out there actually decides to hire the teenager in question. YIPPEE! Before everyone gets excited…it is only now the fun starts.

Because although someone separate to your personal being is the one employed it may as well be you. The worry that the teenager still buried in bed will and be late for their work shift within the hour somehow becomes your concern. (Note it is your forehead getting wrinkled not theirs.) The kid in question is literally oblivious as they languish around the house even though their appearance at this “job” is required within the next 30 minutes. You (not them) start freaking out (no amount of age defying night cream is gonna help you now).

Now there is a race to look for their uniform. “Mom did you wash my work stuff?” I yell back “what does that look like?” the answer from the basement is deafening “black pants, top and apron!” Well… let me stop and think…in the 60 loads I already wash every week…would I notice another item of black clothing? (Short answer NO) Ah… yes better watch the clean laundry for the defining “apron”…NOT. Even though you do not work at their job you are somehow responsible for locating the uniform and getting them to their place of employment ON TIME. That would almost be okay if they complied but instead you are literally doing all you can short of strangling the kid and taking the now-quieted comatose teenager to their place of employment. This scenario is exhausting (not to mention further wrinkle inducing).

When the delight of vicariously enjoying the responsibility of your teenager’s jobs involves more than one teenager…it will literally kill you. Why should I care that this kid shows up in the right dress code, at the right time with the right attitude? Too late for therapy… this responsibility is one of those things that got tucked into the blanket at the hospital when I was handed the child at birth! I am doing everything I can to get the “layabout” out of the house on time his  work… so, yah I am freaking out …mid-yell I get told to “JUST CHILL”-(??)

I am doing everything I can to get the “layabout” out of the house on time his work… so, yah I am freaking out …mid-yell I get told to “JUST CHILL”-(??)

Beyond the “getting-the-kid-to-work-dressed-and-on-time” (not to mention the “hag-like” look you have developed from all the stress)…then there is the “other problem.” Work is scheduled and this creature you gave birth to informs you that he is taking a “sick” day. First of all, the types of employment open to kids of these ages are usually fast food, specialty stores, or part time hours in retail. Traditionally NONE of these employers offer a “sick day”-the part that kills me is I know people who have worked a solid 20 years fulltime and have yet to take a sick day. Why are today’s kids SO different? (Have they all watched “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” as infants?)

(Have they all watched “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” as infants?)

In the interests of good parenting the conversation goes something like this. YOU are sick? What is wrong…the sick one answers “Oh nothing.” What do you mean “nothing” you said you are calling in “SICK”? Response from the highschooler… “Yeah…I just don’t wanna work today”…Why not? “Well my friends are all hanging out later so I do not have time for work.” ARGHHH here we go again (visions of this child in his forties still living in my basement)!

“Well my friends are all hanging out later so I do not have time for work.”

The solution…I need headphones with great music and hourly applications of beautifying night cream to combat the facial ravages of my “FREAK OUT” …oh…and perhaps something more than “just” coffee in my cup. Could the teenager be right? Perhaps I should just somehow learn to “CHILL”…

Garden Goat just chilling over here….

Garden Goat just chilling over here….

I am now “Busy” … legit …who knew?

I hate the word busy. It indicates a certain level of snobbery. People are always trying to communicate their value and superiority with the buzz word “busy.”  When someone tells you they are too busy to have been in touch or have called my feelings so often get hurt. Somehow this word denotes to me that in the important things in your life, my friend, I was not one of them. (!!) After I get over the initial slap to my ego the rational side of my mind reminds me that life does often go by in a blur. I guess “busy” could describe this. Sadly I must admit to doing this to several friends myself. I think the word I should be using is “unorganized” or a better descriptor might be (NO REALLY is) my “chaotic” lifestyle.  Memo to myself… change my priorities (a future post no doubt!).

Don’t get me wrong I think I know a thing or two about “busy.” As most of you know I have 9 kids, a fulltime job (beyond the one my offspring thinks is spelt M-A-I-D!) not to mention being the chief protector of my home against the in-house home wreckers (…a 24/7 service)!

These days I get up in the morning, stiff, every bone aching and think if this is what I feel like in my forties I can hardly wait until my sixties.(!!)  I attribute most of this to either being too busy or not busy enough.  My grandfather was known to tell his children that the human body rusts out well before it wears out (words of encouragement no doubt to lounge-lizard teenagers). I am determined to prove the opposite. I swear there are body parts on me that if I was a car I would have been deemed “scrap metal” a long time ago (and no not “those” parts just ‘cause I have a bunch of kids…don’t even think it)!

I guess “busy” could describe this!

As a child I had to be kept busy even if it meant I had to ask to do chores. In order to alleviate the anxiety caused by having nothing to do I would invent all sorts of wild activities much to the chagrin and horror of the parental team (babysitters included) charged with my care. My goal in life has always been to pack in about as much as can be squeezed into a day (something my husband has grown to loathe and detest about me). That worked well when I was younger. I was always “busy.”

Lately there just seems so much left to do after the day is done and my forty-year-something-old eyelids are closing in disbelief it is already midnight and “the day” is truly over. The good news to this is that I have absolutely NOTHING in common with those who toss and turn restlessly hoping that sleep will come and take them to slumber in oblivion.  I can barely remember turning out the light, far less my head hitting the pillow. I used to tell everyone (those jealous insomniacs) that I was enjoying the sleep of “the just.” I have come to realize it is more likely to be just total exhaustion nothing to do with any righteousness on my part.(!!) As I lay flaked out on my bed the caption on such a sight should read “I am woman…hear me SNORE!” I seem to think some of my fatigue is due to being at least as busy as my fellow human.

In trying to raise (I use the term loosely) my kids the notion of organized sports has often come up. I have been most successful in keeping any of such commitments to a minimum. This has meant that I have managed to elude “hockey” up until the 7^th child was well past his 8^th birthday.  (Not too bad.. eh?  After all I do live in Canada).

We had a very dear friend whose son was in hockey (he actually ate, slept and breathed hockey) and this kid really influenced my son. Sadly the friends moved away I thought with them would go the desire my kid seemed to have to play hockey. Well not so much.  Three years later still a burning relentless desire for hockey is alive in this kid.

So in spite of driving “a van” for years (no sports mom here! ) don’t you know I now have kid #7 in hockey. (!!)

Not sure what it is but as soon as anyone has heard that this kid is in hockey suddenly now I am being referred to as “busy.” Really?  You mean 9 kids, laundry, groceries, (more laundry) chauffeuring, refereeing, supervising, diapers, more laundry, appointments (not to mention the school stuff times 7 kids), husband and a full-time job outside of home apparently does not count as ”busy.”

Put a kid out on the ice in a league and you are at once “presto” a “hockey mom” and recognized as legit “BUSY”!

Put a kid out on the ice in a league and you are at once “presto” a hockey mom and recognized as legit BUSY!

Now to be fair to the other hockey moms out there “busy” can apply. Emails show up with practice times for whenever the team could get the ice time and then you have to scramble and shuffle the rest of the family’s itinerary to comply. Compounding this is that your arrival at practice could be for 5:30 am (bring it on… a “sleep in” for me usually is not past 6:30 am). Don’t forget one has to arrive 30 minutes early (to suit up) and there may be extra travelling time if the practice or game is in the next town or two. Then there are the fundraisers, the meetings, the pictures and the special events. Uh-huh…yep “BUSY” is right.

Being “busy” is definitely the superior position as it somehow denotes an innate value far above your average fellow-man. People nod and discuss others as being “busy” and suddenly the listeners are held captivated by the worth and integrity of the person being described. Then some people will talk about in spite of so-and-so’s “busy” schedule they made time to do such and such. More value. More nodding of heads in awe as we imagine that this “busy” person is kind of like superhuman and already floats above the rest of us lay about slackers.

We are so caught up with the word “busy” no one has stopped to think what “busy” really means. “Busy” could be cleaning out one’s basement, playing cards, alphabetizing the cans in the pantry…I don’t know…taking a bubble bath…who knows? “Busy” always sounds so legitimate boasting both integrity and discipline not to mention the inherent superiority factor.

Perhaps it is not so much about the word “busy” that makes one valued as it is the rampant fear that until we attain recognition as “busy” by our peers any one of us might be is vulnerable of being identified as the opposite  …”LAZY!”

Definitely “busy” implies a distinct value of almost superhuman proportions…and now thanks to hockey I can now join this elitist club. I am now officially “BUSY”….only thing… I am left wondering what I was before. (??)

A verifiably “busy” Garden Goat

Hockey mom goat wearing helmet with hockey sticks caption reads I am now officially “BUSY”….only thing… I am left wondering what I was before. (??)

P.S. Don’t forget to like me on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/GardenGoatQuote

Laughter… truly is the best medicine!

I certainly know time flies. Why only a little while ago I had my first baby and suddenly it is now twenty years later. (??) They (those I live with) tell me that baby is now an adult (I better tell her that!). Twenty years make me sound ancient (hopefully I don’t look the part or I might end up as goat soap!). I just did what I thought I should be doing day after day with the baby …and voilà …here we are two decades (and 8 more kids) later (!!). So I guess the same thing happened with this blog. While I was writing here and there a whole year has gone by since The Garden Goat made her debut.

Happy First Birthday Garden Goat! Looking forward to many more of these birthdays!

People have told me for years that I should write a book. So haphazardly last September I thought I would start a blog and post the occasional rant and might eventually have enough “rantings” to possibly collect into a book (at the pace I started I imagined it would take another 20 years to complete). So I posted a few grunts here and there from this Canadian Goat. I never knew that while using the blog to discipline my inner thoughts (or demons…same difference) I would be having so much fun or that I would be meeting so many people interested in what a goat with a herd of kids has to say (and/or complain about)!

None of this fun (not to mention the escapism from my day-to-day life) would have been possible without loyal readers who tolerate my twisted sense of humour and thankfully take what I say with a LARGE grain of salt (hence I have not yet had to spend a moment in jail)! I am constantly amazed at the number of kind comments and emails that I receive. In reviewing my readership’s responses I think the ones I like the best are the ones tell me I made them laugh…”uncontrollably.” This goat is so happy to be guilty of causing laughter, smiles and fun. I have tackled a few more serious topics (again with my demented sense of humour) still my readership endures and tolerates me!

Besides as a Goat I get away with a lot. (!!!)

It felt a little odd in the beginning to just rant and then post it “out there” in cyberspace. I often wondered if it would only be the occasional alien life form stumbling around late at night on internet who might find this goat interesting. Au contraire, I have received many visits to my site by my fellow human beings! The Garden Goat continues to gain popularity…all thanks to you, my readers, (I would have said perhaps “followers” but that would just confirm my kids suspicion that The Garden Goat is some type of cult that I secretly belong to) for sharing with your friends!

One post in February was so popular it became “freshly pressed” on WordPress (chosen as one of the top ten posts for the week out of nearly a half million blogs!) and it was translated into several languages and is now available as an e-book online. (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Answers-those-questions-families-ebook/dp/B008Y90R2K)

How this Goat actually got online is all because of a very precious friend’s encouragement to write and her reassurance that I was entertaining to listen to. This gal moved away to another town and so we began emailing each other between visiting, sometimes writing to each other as often as almost daily. Many of her emails would start with how excited she was to see my name in her inbox and how hard she was laughing (out loud by herself…”uncontrollably”) at what I wrote (I did not think it was THAT funny). I loved hearing from her (always)  and to learn that the laughter I caused her was often referred to as the highlight in her day. “Promise me you are going to write a book” was something she kept telling me! (This is the same friend that decided when reviewing the birthday signs that, I, as a Capricorn was not the “Mountain Goat” but a “Garden Goat”). Without her ongoing encouragement and belief in me I doubt The Garden Goat would have ever ventured out to graze and rant on the internet.

Many of my day-to-day challenges are made easier when I see the funnier side (or I would have given up years ago). Although another friend did tell me it would take her more than just a few hours/days to be able to laugh at a few of the disasters I seem to attract! It would likely take her several years!(!!)

How this Goat actually got online is all because of a very precious friend’s encouragement to write and her reassurance that I was entertaining to listen to.

Not too sure what the next year will bring. (My children shudder at the thought.) Some readers have pondered why I am known still only as the Garden Goat (people have actually noticed this might NOT be my real name…No seriously?). The answer is that with the size and age of the tribe I preside over…I would be scared to lay my head down at night should one of my offspring (specifically the teenage crowd) be able to be identified in a story worse yet because of this be branded by his peers/brethren as “NOT COOL” – I might need to increase my life insurance (!!) Ergo my pseudonym is my identity.

Besides as a Goat I get away with a lot. (!!!)

So as I put a cloven hoof forward into new another year of Garden Goat adventures I hope to continue to be accused (and delightfully guilty) of causing you, my loyal following and new readers alike to laugh…uncontrollably.

Happy First Birthday Garden Goat! Looking forward to many more of these birthdays!

So as I put a cloven hoof forward into new another year of Garden Goat adventures …