One’s Example is the Message

Monday we voted in a federal election in Canada.

The ads for the various parties reminded me of the playground antics at school. Most of the parties were busy extolling their opponents’ deficiencies at the expense of standing strong outlining their party strengths, vision, and values. When it happens at school, we call it bullying. When it happens in Canada during elections, we call it campaigning. We teach our children to lead with belief in themselves, and that a child’s super strength is their commitment to self-confidence and integrity. We also teach by standing strong in defense of themselves, and not descending to the same tactics as the aggressor, they will overcome the bully and in the end win the battle. Sadly, that is not how it often plays out in the school yard.

Canada-flag
The one thing that has happened in this election campaign period is that the small-fry started to notice some of the political parties were attacking other parties and then started quoting some of the attack slogans. If there was any benefit to such antics, it was that it, in general, it did raise awareness of the elections race, among a much younger audience than has ever been aware of elections in the past. As evidenced by my daily scramble to answer election-based questions from my children, including the kindergarten duo. Now when I ask why one child did not help another child clean his room or complete a chore, thanks to the Progressive Conservatives campaigning, I am told that the child in question is “just not ready!” (The reality is I may not be ready to deal with the kid!)

While I may not necessarily support the party that won in this election, one thing is clear, the winning party did not partake in the attack advertising that other parties used. I believe this had a profound effect on the voting here as Canadians are tired of the bullying tactics so commonly tolerated in political campaigning.

A message I tell my children Just not ready text framealmost every day is to look past what others are doing and resist the urge to respond in like kind, step up and be more. Do not respond to attacks with counter-attacks. I am often told by my children (the older ones), that no, being the “nice guy” is a weak position and does nothing to stop bullying and bad behavior.

Well, today I have news for them. Not responding in like kind to attack campaigning did net a landslide win across this nation for the one party who refrained from those tactics. This same party, in the previous election, was unable to hold enough seats to form the official opposition, making this win all the more incredible. Clearly the “how” of what you do is as important, if not more important, than the “what” you do.

My two youngest boys play hockey (after all we are Canadian) on a house league team. I am still relatively new to hockey (in the last couple of years) as three older boys (all 18 years or older) have never once played ice hockey. While attending a meeting for the hockey team to discuss administration and fundraising, a tried, and true method was highly recommended, the hallowed bottle-drive. The fundraising game where you use your vehicle to follow a team of little hockey players (suited up in their team’s official garb), through one neighborhood after the next. All in hot pursuit of collecting the “empties” (empty beer, wine, and other alcoholic drink bottles) to take back to the store and cash in the bottle deposit amount to the credit of their team. This traditional form of hockey fundraising is almost as old (and as treasured) as the sport itself.

That was until one mom in the group stated that she did not approve of a bottle drive, given the ages of the team members (11-13 years). This lady stated that if we wanted to set a good example for our children about responsibility with regards to alcohol, the team should not be in receipt of funds resulting from alcohol indulgence. Even more importantly, we should not expose our pre-teen kids to how much alcohol people (often folks the kids know) do drink behind closed doors.

beer bottles Jca1 plus

As the kids are the ones hauling the evidence to the vehicle and processing these numbers as “normal.”  This angle I had never given ANY thought to before now. At first I thought, yep, always one freak in the crowd and then I started to think about it. This lady is right. Children learn from example and actions more than any words. If my kid is picking up an average of 20 -50 beer bottles from most of their neighbors, how does a soon to be teenager understand the limits or respect one should have for alcohol consumption? Thankfully, our team chose another fundraiser this year.

But it made me think. Is what I am teaching my children coming from what I am saying or is more being taught to them by how I am living me life day-to-day? I know the answer lies in not only what I do, but how I do it.

The people of Canada have said it is time for a change that is for sure. Perhaps it is also time, to teach our kids that the attack slogans in this campaign backfired, and a party rose to the top of the polls by not stooping to bully tactics and by “being more.” I guess they were more “ready” to “be more” than anyone imagined.

In the meantime, if I am missing, I will be deep in my walk-in closet, under all the piles of laundry, slowly sipping my Bailey-infused coffee. Savouring each swallow with the full acknowledgment that I will be walking, under cover of night, while my charges are asleep, to return my empty bottle to the store.

The Garden Goat

baileys bottle Jca2

 

How the Smallest Things Can Change Your Soul

Turkey Happy Thnks FB timeline 2015

Thanksgiving we are reminded to count and cherish our blessings. Years ago, many people were starting to post about “Gratitude” and how the smallest things could completely change one’s inner soul and almost “attract” more blessings. I,for one felt that I was quite grateful and all this noise over being thankful for the smallest things, was way over done.

Many moments etched their memories on my soul over the years. As with any beautiful carving, it is usually through pain, sweat and perseverance that base materials become works of art. People have disappointed me, and I have experienced loss in many ways, most recently with my mom leaving this world. Someone told me once that if I wanted a better outlook (and not to let the darker, creepier moments fill my reality); I should make a list of all the things I am grateful for in my life. I thought this was nuts! I write down a few dumb words on paper and presto I am cured! (Really?)

Grattitude Changes Attitude2

I continually pushed the thought of a list of things as a fix for my saddened inner being, right out of my mind. Until one day, when I was particularly down, I thought I would give it a try. It seemed way too easy. The first words on the list were things like grateful for peace in my country and that I had I a job, and that my children had groceries. Then I thought maybe I was to look a little deeper. Nah, a quick list was supposed to fix everything, I tucked my notepad back into my night table and turned out my light.

Next morning, everything seemed the same. Except instead of trying to forget that list I kept thinking about what it really meant. Having a million things in my head (and being a little ADHD) the depth of the promised cure somehow eluded me. I was now fixated on “the list” and very discouraged that my dark, inner self, was still in full blossom.

Then I came across a quote on Facebook that read:

What if you woke up tomorrow with only what you had thanked God for today….?
(Author Unknown)

 

That hit me like a ton of bricks. Now I understood. I was taken everything I had for granted and whining and complaining about my life whenever I encountered some hurdles.

So I began another list that night, and it was at least a page long. I drifted off to sleep and then woke up again and added more. Before daylight, I had three whole pages as I pretended that if I had not noted a thanks for something, it would surely be missing from my life by sunrise. When I reread the pages, I kept remembering other things that should be grateful for as I did not want to lose any of those either.

The following night, I began my newly formed gratitude ritual with reading the pages that I was collecting in my night table drawer and then adding what I did not want to leave my life at sunrise the next morning. I was amazed how extremely blessed I am and continue to be.

So yes, that crazy list started something. It made me aware of what I take for granted all the time. The items I am grateful for is (beyond the huge blessing of nine, beautiful and healthy kids, family and friends) everyday type stuff are like being happy there is still enough hot water left for my bath, or a little bird sitting on my fence.

If one can focus on all that is good and is a blessing, regardless of how small or how previously it was taken for granted, then all the bumps in life are much easier. Thanksgiving is a day to reflect with deep gratitude for all the blessings I have in my life. Ones that I would dearly miss should I wake up tomorrow without them.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my Canadian followers!

GGG (Grateful Garden Goat)cdn happy thanksgiving NEW CORRECT1 FB

Santa is real to those who believe

“For those who believe (in God), no explanation is necessary. For those who do not believe, no explanation is possible” – – Author Unknown

Christmas-TimeWith the first snowfall comes the eager anticipation of Christmas…at least here in Canada. Those of us with a wide range of ages in our children are familiar with the question that seems to pop up as early grade school “Is Santa real?”

When all my little ones were under the age of 6 years old, I never worried about such a thought. The questions back then we “Can Santa Claus bring me… (such and such)?” or “Please don’t tell Santa I did that bad thing…promise?” I think the best one was “Don’t worry mommy and daddy about getting a new car, I asked Santa and I just know he will bring one for you on Christmas!” (!! Love it!)

Then came grade school and with it a multitude of layers of belief and questioning attitudes.

Some 7-year-old at school is all the talk this year because she managed to pull the beard off the Santa at the local shopping mall. Therefore, exposing all of her grade two classmates to her discovery, there is no Santa. This is until the mom over here points out the facts…that all the 7-year-old knows for sure is that Santa’s beard, on that day, was detachable. Bad hair day…so what! Cartoon-Santa

A very nice child in grade six took it upon himself to let my 6-year-old know that Santa was “fake.” All this because he sat up all Christmas eve at his window, did not see a sleigh, or reindeer and the next morning did not get what he had wanted for Christmas. Mom over here was able to mention that any child who stays up ALL CHRISTMAS EVE will not see Santa and possibly will not get anything from him…or so the rules go. Nothing new discovered here either.

Candycane-North-Pole

Then I got teenagers. They think they have EVERYTHING figured out. Occasionally, to change the balance in a family dispute, the 13-year-old, in a moment of defiance might offer to tell his siblings that he KNOWS there is no Santa. Again, I am able to let the small fry realize that the older sibling is only trying to make himself feel better. As due to his poor  behaviour…he won’t be getting what he is hoping for and that does not in itself mean there is no Santa.

I still have very little ones here at home. Thanks to society (and occasionally their disgruntled older siblings), I often find myself being grilled by the toddlers and little kids (cross-examination-style questions) on the reality of Santa Claus. For me, this discussion is easy. Santa Claus is actually St. Nicholas, a Catholic saint with access to heavenly powers and lots of magic. (Any further questions?)

Magic-for-GGThe distribution question on how does one man, eight reindeer visit an entire world’s worth of children in less than 24 with gifts for everyone…is also easily answered. Many saints have been known to bi-locate and employ the help of angels and have access to supernatural powers.

When asked “is Santa Claus for real” …my favourite answer is “Santa is real to those who believe…and not real to those who do not!” Followed up by “Who here BELIEVES in Santa?”… (a big show of little hands) I thought so…

Believe-Christmas-Do-dec-2012-EDIT-JCA-GG-2014

Looking forward to another magical December 25th for kids big and small at my house!

The Garden Goat

One who believes in Santa Claus

Raid my kids loot?

Survived another Halloween…the day after should never have been a Saturday. The Halloween pumpkin JCA _GGcreatures that live here got into the loot and then hid it all over the house. While the kids thought, they were cool and great spies…only to have their hiding spot discovered by the trail of wrappers and half-eaten candy bars. If that was not enough, the toddler crew got a hold of bubble gum and spat out what they did not like…(without the benefit of a nearby garbage). Part of this bedlam has lots to do with just being too tired this year to police the spoils.

I too… must confess. I am one of those parents who look forward to raiding the children’s Halloween loot for a few extra goodies to nibble on at work. This year that plan did not work so well. Just as starters, this year, I had only minimum child labour working the streets. I officially only had five kids out actively collecting goodies in costumes and two of these kids were four years old and under (sadly…they tire easily and the yield is minimal). At my revered age, this goat was too exhausted to sort all the candy except for the mandatory weed out of ALL peanut products to protect the severely allergic family members (myself included).

Years, gone by when there were 7 or more little goats working the streets (and I was younger and on my game), the loot would last for literally weeks. I had it locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Often, I was still enjoying Halloween spoils long after celebrating New Years, the following January.

Sugar-HeartIMG_1783_SMALLER

Unfortunately, this year, I underestimated the spell sugar still casts among the older crowd. Those who tell me daily they are adults (namely ages 22, 20, 17.5 and 15 years old), also lack any vestige of a social conscience. Those older teenagers surreptitiously raided the little kid’s loot as the children slept. Less than 48 hours past Halloween and not a chocolate bar could be found.  (!!) Okay…there must still be all that other junk like jaw-breakers, gum, licorice, exploding pop candy (I kid you not…actually one of my favourites). Nope, nothing…except the wrappers leading a trail to the older culprits.

Chocolate and prayer GG

In the old days, I used to go to work with enough goodies to share with co-workers right up to the Christmas Holidays. This year, on Monday, there was not even one tiny chocolate bar left to be had.

Halloween is a karma-type ritual where the universe gives parents all over the world…some payback. The sleepless nights with sick and crying kids, diapers, last-minute-homework (and a whole pile of other crisis and chaos) as each of us earns our stripes as parents.

Raid my kids loot?…Absolutely!…Halloween candy clearly is a perk of parenthood.

Candy-Halloween-GG

Whether I believe in all the reasons for or against Halloween, I am heavily invested. From early summer, when the little ones start planning costumes for Halloween to the ensuring all participants have costumes and on through to securing enough candy for an entire village to hand out on the day. Months of planning, scheming and saving up funds is dashed when as an adult I am forced to go to work without so much as a hint of sugar.

Last Monday, I sat in my office, no longer any evidence at work (post-Halloween) that I have a super-sized family (actually any kids for that matter). My childless co-workers have more chocolate than I do for the first time in forever. Memo to self for next year…raid the loot late on Halloween night stashing the goods at my office(across town) and bring select treats home every day, after work, but only for the under 12-years-old crowd.

In the meantime, I can be found scouring the Halloween sales until it is time to raid their Christmas Stockings, looking for chocolate!

The Garden Goat

Summer 2014…a rest for a goat…maybe not!

As many of you may have noticed…this goat took some time off this summer and while in retreat did not write as often on this blog. No excuses…however, this goat was not SUNlanguishing around soaking up sun rays (seriously…this is Canada) as one would normally expect one who had taken a rest over the summer. No, sadly it was more about working and managing a tribe as the husband had to have more surgery.

Other things happened…one of the older offspring left home for college in another city. I am sure some of you out there are saying…great or finally!…(Don’t get too excited… I still have eight other kids at home.) I was never one to want the kids to go too far as I always loved summers when the kids were out of school and around where I was. I wish college-kid well…but I do miss him…even more than I thought I would.

Then my youngest started junior kindergarten and now it seems odd not to have a baby in the house anymore. I went to the school with “Miss Kindergarten” met some of her classmates and their parents. They are all so young!  After consorting with the mirror on the wall, I now know why these parents are so youthful…I am running with the kindergarten crowd as I am very close to the 50-year race line. No wonder it seems like such an achievement every day to just get out of bed, get dressed and head to work.Trying to raise my weary skeleton for work in the morning after carrying around fussing babies all night (not to mention more laundry, feedings, diapers). In my head. I am youthful with energy to burn (obviously in complete denial of my body’s physical limits). Good job I have an honest mirror-on-the wall.

This goat has waited for years to have a kid-free moment, spent at home. This is something that has not ever happened in the last 21 years. (!!) I keep myself motivated by thinking one day I will have time for all I want to do (and sadly need to do) once the kids are gone. Well, that day came today. All the children that live here were in school including the littlest (who is now in daycare as “the husband” is still recovering from surgery and I work full-time). I had taken the day off from work to use up some of my vacation time. Yippee!! The day to myself…first thing …a NAP…yup, it was not even 10:30 am and I went for a snooze! That was fun. Then it was onward to tackle the laundry, floors, clean out the cupboards…the list was endless!

The husband was home recovering from surgery over the summer. That complicated things no end. My superhuman list of housework (amplified and fueled by the guilt of taking a mid-morning nap) was totally sidetracked by “the husband.” He thought we could go do something together (??). It is very different for us to have time together with no kids.

Sunglasses

We ended up going for a walk on a nature trail and discovered many things (including just how out of shape this goat is) and that even adults with GPS phones can get lost. We (and by that I mean “the husband”) found folks, we recognized (they had parked where we had) that seemed to know their way and  followed them for a bit…only to learn they were just visiting the city from Nova Scotia. These people had no clue where on the trail they were and actually were more lost than we were. The long and the short of it, after wading through waist-high weeds, we finally arrived at civilization (several km down the road from where we parked the car).

There is a silver lining in this story as when we trekked back down the main thoroughfare (after wading through the waist-high foliage) to where the car was parked, I got to observe a most beautiful butterfly that let me get some spectacular pics.

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Once I was back home, it was time to meet the bus and run the usual gauntlet of kids running everywhere, homework, crayons, and scuffles about what belongs to whom…(oh let’s not forget the scramble to get supper over with before hockey)…baths, bedtime…you name it…the chaos was endless.  The house was back to being noisy and busy once again.

Sadly, my superhuman list of crazy housecleaning went by the wayside…the surface barely scratched. I tried to soothe my ambitious soul by recounting the many loads of laundry I did do as proof something from that original list, did, in fact, get done.

I realized that while time with “the husband” was wonderful (and I will be sure to plan more of it), I am not ready to have the sustained rest that one day I will get, when all the children have moved out. I sincerely hope, when the house is that quiet again, I will be at so venerable an age that napping could would be my all-day venture.

In the meantime, all laundry set aside, I will attempt to more regularly write about life in the fast lane over here!

 The Garden GOAT

Goat sunning

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

 

How to get a kid to WANT to wear his bike helmet!

When it comes to wearing helmets, tried as I have to instill a sense of safety in my kids, many of them are just not compliant, especially when out of my sight (they all know better). Even though most of their childhood memories involved resounding “NOs” for any head-challenging activity, unless they wore helmets. Little children are not my issue as usually they listen. The mere thought of breaking the rules (or disappointing me…often one and the same) is enough to keep helmets on, even long after disembarking from their bikes. Regularly, the 2 and 4-year-olds, after biking, can be seen at the park playing on the structures, slides and swings still sporting the required protective head-wear.

". Some will wear helmets and some will not...others not ever. "

“. Some will wear helmets and some will not…others not ever. “

Then there are the teenagers…basically a law unto themselves. Some will wear helmets and some will not…others not ever. The dumb reasons why the teenagers will not conform, vary from not wanting to look like a geek (since when do geeks own the helmet look), afraid of owning “a sweaty head” (would imply something in that vicinity was actually engaged) or “ruining” their hair (a wash and brush away from anything a bike helmet could wreak on one’s hair follicles).

Sadly, the middle children (ages 7-11), after observing the cavalier attitudes of their older siblings, feel that bike helmets are truly something to wear when you leave home (so Mom and Dad will let you go) and then remove… once out of sight.

Recently, I happened to be speaking with a neighbor down the street, when my 8-year-old came racing by, on roller blades, without the benefit of a helmet, moments from where I was standing. This neighbor has been most patient over the years, observing my children tearing around and their apparent disregard for “the rules” when out of parental sight. (This kid in particular likely owes his life to this lady, as if it were not for her looking out for him, I am sure this kid would have been hit by a car long before now.)

"...when my 8-year-old came racing by, on roller blades, without the benefit of a helmet"

“…when my 8-year-old came racing by, on roller blades, without the benefit of a helmet”

I reminded the speeder that the helmet was immediately to be reinstated, or the skates would be confiscated. I had my car with me and would drive him home…roller blades and all. I had to hear how this poor boy’s head was too hot in a helmet (I offered to shave his head).  I went about my usual speech about how one’s head is most important and that one fall could change all that. The 8-year-old appeared to be listening. That is if standing in once place (not skating), not rolling his eyes and watching me is any indication of concentration. Lots of shoulder shrugging when I reminded the child that this is not the first time he has heard this admonition, or the fact that since birth he has had to wear helmets for any bike, skates or sport activity.

I then reminded my boy, that without a helmet, should he encounter a severe blow to the head, he could end up in the hospital, completely “out of it” (and likely in diapers). Again, the forced up and down motion of his noggin, confirmed to all, his agreement (and boredom) in hearing the same spiel, a million times before… another speech from Mom

Until the neighbor asked me if she could speak to him. My reaction…”Be my guest!”

The neighbor went on to explain that she was a nurse and knew a friend of hers, who years ago sustained a serious car accident injury and was left for life in a wheelchair. This got a sort of “sorry for your friend” look from my kid. The neighbor continued to say that anyone with a serious head injury could end up not able to ever walk, talk, get out of bed, eat or go to the bathroom on their own. That such a head injury would also mean that one’s natural emotions would be mixed up. They would be angry and sad for no reason. It could also mean that they would still look fine on the outside but might not recognize their friends and family. In some cases, they would not even be able to move at all. At this point, my little guy has a pensive, but somewhat distant look, one I know well. This injured person would NEVER be him.

The neighbor pressed on with how important a helmet can be as my child nodded in premature gratitude, for the seeming nearing end of the conversation. I must say the kid listened. However, other than the odd, wide-eyed look, a chasm existed between the graphic details the nurse was warning of and any thought, by this boy, of committing to a future of consistent use of a helmet (his face said it all).

"...anyone with a serious head injury could end up not able to ever walk, talk, get out of bed, eat or go to the bathroom on their own. "

“…anyone with a serious head injury could end up not able to ever walk, talk, get out of bed, eat or go to the bathroom on their own. “

As my kid started to walk backward towards my car, the nurse apologized for being so graphic. I thanked her for her “help” in trying to give a real reason for my little guy to wear his helmet, especially when out of my sight. I knew my son was thrilled because the serious talk was now over. Both he and I started to head for my car.

The nurse then turned around and told the still-disinterested-child that if he did not wear his helmet and happened to sustain a head injury, wearing diapers was just the beginning of his potential troubles. If diapers were required, it would mean someone else would have to attend to them. He could end up having his “bum wiped by a stranger (nurse)” each time the diapers had to be changed. This story then went on to confirm that once in diapers, always in diapers. This diaper gig would last his whole lifetime…until he died as an old man. The look on this kid was incredible. He looked as though he had seen a ghost.

Again, I thanked my neighbor and told her I hoped her stories would keep my kid wearing his helmet, got into my car with my “spooked” child and drove down the street to my house. The kid sat in complete silence.

When we reached my driveway, this kid looks at me and says “Was all that diaper stuff true?”

I responded with… “Yes! … If you do not wear a helmet, all of those things could happen to you.”

My kid then says “I mean the part about a stranger wiping your bum all the rest of your life?” (I thought I would die laughing…is this all he got out of this conversation?)

My answer “Well, yes… but that was because you would be in diapers…that must gross you out…no?” Kid says “I am not scared of diapers, but I am scared of a stranger wiping my bum…Quick let’s get in the house and warn my brother…I bet he doesn’t know that if he rides his bike without a helmet …a stranger will be wiping his bum even when he is an old man!”

What could I say? Whatever works!

“Yes…quickly run in and let your brother know how important bike helmets really are and to ALWAYS wear one!”  All these years, so many children later…who knew the lady from down the street knew just what my boy needed to hear. Since that day, I must say I have not had to remind as often about the helmets. Although, on occasion, I can be caught whispering the word “diapers” to my 8-year old as he runs outside to put his roller blades on!

"Since that day, I must say I have not had to remind as often about the helmets. "

“Since that day, I must say I have not had to remind as often about the helmets. “

How I do it…Minute to Minute

People always ask me how I manage…Something about having 9 kids, working fulltime …the expectation is that I should be crazy by now…the truth is I am. So after having asked me a bazilion questions concerning why (and often how…sadly) and if the tribe all have the same father (or how I can afford this or how I, personally, am contributing to the overpopulation of the planet), there is the odd, honest, interested folk that just want to know “how” I manage. The real answer is that I truly don’t. My idea of managing is a lot different from what people assume I might be doing.

Denial-bottle

“The older I get, the more I live like a recovering alcoholic…instead of “one day at a time” it is more like one moment at a time. “

The older I get, the more I live like a recovering alcoholic…instead of “one day at a time” it is more like one moment at a time. I lowered my expectations to below reality and that way I am almost always happy (this confuses the heck out of the husband)! It is a “good” day when I sit down and discover I sat in maple syrup and it is not still sticky. (!!) I often reflect on the wise words of Abraham Lincoln … “The best thing about the future is that it comes only one day at a time.”

I used to get my knickers in a knot if the whole house was not clean. Now I realize that would be a completely unrealistic expectation. I focus on a bubble area of about five feet all around me, if it is already clean I am delighted. If not, a few minutes of hurried activity and my bubble-space is tolerable again. Since I have welcomed denial as a permanent state I no longer struggle with having to accept the reality that a clean house, in good repair will likely elude me until the youngest I care for is at least in Grade 10 (or about another 14 years from right now).

"all looking as though they had stepped out of a bandbox..."

“all looking as though they had stepped out of a bandbox…”

When I only had five small goats (kids), on Sunday mornings, I would show up at church with the kiddos all looking as though they had stepped out of a bandbox. Suits and ties for the guys and pretty dresses for the gals. Then the teenage years showed up. The nature of a teen is to not want to be caught dead with their parents …(ever) and certainly not in public. This common attitude meant that I again lowered my standards. My cup was overflowing in gratitude that any of the resident juveniles were willing to be present on a Sunday morning, in our vehicle …much less wearing pants that were reasonable (not pajamas) that did not show their underwear/behind or advertise their nudist creed.

Denial offers me the advantage of being in the grocery store buying yet more sustenance for the hordes and not remember or fully appreciate this trip is not the first one of the day. The more I manage my crew minute-to-minute, I find the rest of the world quite tolerable. Due to dealing with the natives at my house I have unlimited patience elsewhere. This totally pays off as I have zero road-rage, always allowing other cars in ahead of me (husband hates this) and in general completely oblivious to the errors and issues other people have waiting in line or being frustrated by customer service representatives. I have seen and heard more than I would ever want to at my house. Again, denial is my friend.

Therefore, in living moment to moment (albeit somewhat in denial), I can enjoy many idyllic “now” moments, focusing on what went right and gratefully remember those forever. As for the other moments, since I have few expectations and revel in my denial, I hardly notice.

Some things escape my state of denial and one of those is bathing. No negotiating. Head to toe washing is mandatory every 24 hours regardless. I could easily manage without a stove sooner than I could without a washing machine or bathtub. Cleanup around here usually involves a blow torch and a belt sander and that is just for bath time.

I no longer freak if supper is not made (or eaten), if dessert is consumed before dinner, and the bathroom is disgusting. I obsess enough to be sure that I might pass the minimum health regulations for where I live.

I just think someday everything will stay just the way I left it …C-L-E-A-N…and then I will know the youngest of the children is now all grown up. Though to most of you reading this, it means F-R-E-E-D-O-M! I think the shock of something remaining CLEAN will be enough to shake me from my complacent denial into the reality; the messy days are now over. Sadly, so would be the days of the children living here.

I will take every chaotic, messy, crazy moment life gives me (including LAUNDRY) and enjoy my blessings as when life goes back to what is considered “normal” by most, it will spell S-A-D-N-E-S-S (in the extreme) for me as this chapter of my lifetime has come to a close.

"I will take every chaotic, messy, crazy moment life gives me..."

“I will take every chaotic, messy, crazy moment life gives me…”

A very Blessed Garden Goat

Irish … today!

Goat wearing -St-Pats-Hat captioned "This goat is of Irish descent… "

This goat is of Irish descent…

Today is supposed to be lucky.

This goat is of Irish descent… (I guess anything is possible)!  Ever since I was little, St. Patrick’s Day was always a fun day. It always falls in the Lenten period. Because it was such a feast day, it was the only day my parents let me break from lent and have whatever I had given up (by force or otherwise). Great celebration for me as that usually meant I was reunited with my true love… chocolate.

When I was single, it meant going to lots of parties, and yes, some imbibing (… although mostly by my friends), laughter and of course wearing green for the entire day.

Then I got married.

Not as many parties, occasional imbibing (my limit is a half glass of wine and then fast asleep… maybe I am not all that Irish after all).

Then along came the baby.

That was fun… really cute green outfits… in size “tiny”. Once a few more kids had joined the crew (all dressed in green), it was a party going out anywhere on the 17th of March. It always looked as though I had kid-napped a half-a-dozen of the little people. (It helps that 7 out of the 9 kids have red hair.)

Next a few more children were added to the tribe.

Suddenly getting everyone dressed in green for St. Paddy’s was not only not as important but next to impossible. I was just glad that each child was clothed in reasonably clean laundry. As for any liquid celebrations…I was usually asleep on the couch once I had the last one in bed without the benefit of anything stronger than Diet Coke.

Then came imbibing… although sadly…not by the parents.

Irish scale


The teenager wannabe-adults who still live here seem to consider St. Patrick’s Day as some holy day on which mainstream religion condones intoxication. That is fun… (NOT). The only remotely “fun” part would be to get to the older children’s stash of liquid merriment before they do. Unfortunately, pillaging by the parents in other years has meant either the liquid refreshments for this year are well-hidden or not yet purchased.

Shamrock

Oh there is another option… the “friends.”

The “friends” are a nebulous bunch of youth, ranging from acquaintances to perfect strangers (and some oddballs they picked up along the way), all bound together with the common goal of being “Irish” on St. Patrick’s day. Lots of “Irish” could be stashed all over the city.

Now instead of ensuring that the wearing of the green happens at my house…I purposely “hide” ANYTHING that looks remotely green for the older crowd thereby rendering this bunch “passport-less” at most of the waterholes in town. No green means less free booze.

Staying tuned this year…anything is possible!

My green will likely be limited to serving green eggs and ham to the toddler squad and praying that the older ones remember what street address they live at.

This goat is still happy to be of Irish decent and looks forward to future years when the young adults are older (not living here) and have leprechauns of their own.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

The Garden Goat

Happy St Patrick's day

March Break …

...according to the kids it is their “holiday.”

…according to the kids it is their “holiday.”

Well, where my kids go to school it is March break… according to the kids it is their “holiday.” If five days of no running to catch the school bus, not doing homework and being able to get dressed without a single thought about being noticed by the “popular” kids is a holiday… by all means …dear children… please enjoy.

Depending on one’s level of awareness this “holiday” could be bigger than Christmas. Sleep in, snack, hang out and chill for 5 days without any restrictions sounds amazing. Enter the bad mom.

At a minimum, I insist that dishes are done, baths are taken and clothes are washed (including having the dog walked) … apparently I am the “fun” killer. This March break I will only be on hand for 2 of the 5 days in question as this year I do not have enough vacation days to fund the entire week.

My poor darlings are left to the evil intentions of their Dad who is home for the entire break. (!!) Before everyone thinks that the guy I am married to is loafing around “sleeping in” every morning, our 18-year-old offspring (who resides still here), apparently requires a drive to work every morning, before the crack of dawn. (I could give the child a lift…sparing the slumbering spouse except I am already at work at before this ungodly hour).

... back into bed for a much deserved “sleep-in”

… back into bed for a much deserved “sleep-in”

Day one of March break… husband thought he could sneak out, take the young adult to his place of employment while all those “March Break kids” were happily “sleeping in” planning to tip toe back into bed for a much deserved “sleep-in” (well say at least until 8:30 am).

Dad arrives home, strategically he tip toes silently up the stairs, all the while imagining what glorious a moment it will be when his head is reunited with his pillow. He made it to the bed… completely undetected by the natives. As he slips into the sack, he realizes the 4-year-old (who was sleeping in our bed when he left)…is now missing. (!!)  Once you have kids, everyone knows that silence is never a good thing.Things are TOO quiet.

Then the husband hears the 2-year-old talking in her crib and some type of muffled whispering. Thinking that he might still be able to steal a few winks (while the toddlers are playing) he draws the covers up around his ears and nestles in for what he hopes is perhaps an extra 40 minutes of beauty sleep (this guy can use all the help he can get).

Then he hears the chomping sound.

It appears that there is also sounds of licking and smacking of lips and little voices exclaiming “yummy.” Okay… husband is out of bed and into the babies’ room. There, awaiting the sleep-deprived “man-of-my dreams”, were the two children in question. The 2-year-old in her crib and the 4-year old by her side.

At first glance, the sight was overwhelming.

At first glance, the sight was overwhelming.

At first glance, the sight was overwhelming. There was brown, creamy spots everywhere. Both children were covered in the substance. (I am sure the husband contemplated calling emergency services praying that some agency would take the children through a car wash and the other responding agency might be plumbing specialists). It was not until the 4-year-old said “Do you want to try some Daddy?” did “Mr. Mom” realize that the brown creamy spots were, in fact, CHOCOLATE CHIPS!

After interrogating the 4-year old as to how this candy arrived in the baby’s crib and who opened it, a quick shrug of her shoulders allayed all fears… “Daddy, the bags opened all by themselves and the chips jumped into the crib.” That kid is no longer allowed to watch Disney…EVER!

“Daddy, the bags opened all by themselves and the chips jumped into the crib.”

“Daddy, the bags opened all by themselves and the chips jumped into the crib.”

“Daddy” was busy. Far from sleeping in, the other half in my marriage spent the entire morning bathing cherubs, scrubbing chocolate slime out of toddler hair, and removing the confection from everything imaginable. After the spent hours washing sheets, blankets, and toys while laundering a sundry of other items (including a rather large assortment of half-dressed baby dolls), it is doubtful that I will ever be allowed to purchase chocolate chips again.

Just for the record, there WERE TWO FULL bags of chocolate chips.

I like to keep two bags of Chocolate chips on hand for making fudge. Good thing this sanction is occurring in Lent!

The Garden Goat (Chocolate Obsessed)

P.S. For those who love fudge check out below for my recipe.

Garden Goat Favourite Fudge Recipe

2 pkgs milk chocolate chips

Garden Goat Favourite Fudge Recipe

Garden Goat Favourite Fudge Recipe

I can sweetened condensed milk
1.5 tablespoons vanilla extract
Line pan with waxed paper. Heat in saucepan over medium-high setting the condensed milk, gradually add all chocolate chips, stirring constantly to keep from burning. Once all the chips are melted and the mixture is very smooth, remove from heat and add vanilla, stirring until well blended. Pour out onto wax paper and refrigerate for 4 hours. Enjoy!

FLUFFY!

Fluffy is one of those words you want to hear when you are buying a pillow, squeezing a stuffed animal or perhaps describing your bedroom slippers. When you look up in the sky and observe “fluffy” clouds all seems right with the universe.

“Fluffy” as a body type is NOT good…period.

Fluffy Cartoon Sheep captioned " ..."fluffy” would be the sheep!"

…”fluffy” would be the sheep!

When you separate the goats from the sheep, “fluffy” would be the sheep.

This goat is now known as “Fluffy.” A term bandied around by my family, affectionately addressing my dissatisfaction with my middle-aged body shape as I struggle to remain fit and not succumb to my body’s urge to “fill out.” Those reading this who do not know me likely are not aware that weight was always a struggle for me. Although, in the last 25 years, no one could tell as my usual size was an 8 (in most things) regardless of having given birth nine times. (!!)

In my teenage years, I was always a little heavier than the average goat.

Fluffy…It started slowly. Suddenly what I was used to eating everyday was now causing me to gain weight. I was always blessed because normally my body reacts to stress by rapidly losing weight. Full time job, kids, pets …and, oh, yes… a husband…stress was my friend. Up until now this has been great…I never really had to think much about size beyond moderation of intake.

This new body of mine is clearly receiving its messages from the underworld. If I even look at something edible, the scale in my bathroom berates me the following morning where I learn I gained another half pound even though I skipped dinner. Even changed scales…sadly that did not help.

Fluffy-Scale captioned as "...the scale in my bathroom berates me!"

“…the scale in my bathroom berates me!”

Running with the crowd I do, I am not exactly languishing around in the prone position more than perhaps 4. 5 hours per day (and that would be in the name of a night’s rest). Sure my 9-5 job is somewhat sedentary, but I have always made up for that with the Olympian effort required in housework staying on top of the brood I am raising. (Never one or two trips upstairs in a day…more like 20 trips). Not to mention the bath and bedtime hours in which I haul, lift, drag and carry a medley of toddlers, young kids and preteens to the bathtub with herculean force in the interests of household hygiene.

A while back, when my body first started to give indications that a revolt was on the horizon (as evidenced by a seemingly substantial matter accumulating under my skin from my neck down), I decided to take immediate action. I quickly registered at the local gym in the hopes that using those implements of torture would stave off my body’s sinister motives. Alas, not so easy especially when I became the poster child for EPIC treadmill FAIL.

(see post from April 19, 2012 https://gardengoatquote.wordpress.com/2012/04/19/cool-not-mom-versus-the-treadmill/)

TREADMILL…NOT…next idea.

In testing out what works for me, I have come to the conclusion that there are some demon foods that I just cannot eat. I have also discovered that I cannot hope to live to see tomorrow on a planet where chocolate is deemed contraband.

In my youth, if I skipped the odd meal, my efforts were rewarded by drastic weight loss…a few pounds in a day or two. Now the demon scale reads either the same number or adds a half pound. Forget weighing my food by the ounce (an old Weight-Watchers’ trick) I need an instrument that weighs me by the ounce so that I can appreciate and arrest the transformation before another “Fluffy” molecule is added to my carcass.

Husband is very supportive as he tells me to give away the clothes that are too small, get in the game and get some outfits in the “right size.” I quickly tell him that I do not want to reach my seventies with a closet that is out of “Goldilocks and The Three Bears” … containing sizing in small, medium and large.

I am now out of denial (first stage of fluffy) and hoping that 2014 will be the year I take charge of the subversive creep and stem the tide of “Fluffy.”

NO FluffySheep-FLuffy-JCA

While others  bravely struggle to keep their New Years’ Resolutions of weight loss and healthy eating I  stubbornly  continue to deny being on a diet while I try to secretly defeat and deflate “Fluffy.” Perhaps I should chronicle these non-diet adventures and force my subconscious into reality. An appropriate title for such scribbles might be “Enough of Fluff” or maybe “Fluff vs Buff” or better yet “Get tough on Fluff”…no doubt best sellers all of them.

Enough of Fluff book captioned as "Perhaps an appropriate title might be “Enough of Fluff”..."

“Perhaps an appropriate title might be “Enough of Fluff”…”

My battle with “fluffy” still continues as I am sure it will until it is either augmented or replaced by the next chapter in my life …“Baggy” …oh.. I can hardly wait.

“Fluffy” (I hope NOT for too much longer!)

The Garden Goat

New-JCA-Goat