A humourous look at family life in a group of nine.

Growing up amid a household of nine personalities, I consider myself somewhat of an expert in areas of camoflauge and warfare, among other things. It is easy to be disappear in the speedy pace of an environment that seems to be grooming its troops for battle. Each day you arm yourself with the necessary tools for defense: flattery, favors, fivers, bribes, blackmail, and sometimes -- a brush. (Brushes propel almost as well as shoes, but shoes should only be used in the most extreme circumstances: in a large family, matching shoes are hard to come by). It's a hectic world that keeps ones senses alert but amid the sea of confusion, valuable lessons are learned.

One learns the true value of new clothing after years of hand-me-downs. Hanging out near the bottom rungs of the family ladder, I can tell you, one doesn't get new blue jeans. One gets jeans that have been shaped and re-shaped to two or three bodies before. They are frayed, faded, patched and passe. And few things can make one feel as small as walking down that long school corridor sporting wide-legged wranglers when straight-legged Levis are in style. How I wanted my sisters new, bright red sweater to carelessly spread its dye all over those handy-me-downs while tumbling together in the washing machine!~I wanted the tormenting, tattered bottom to catch on a nail and rip the leg all the way up to my backside. I wanted new jeans!

"Safety in numbers" takes on a unique perspective in a large family. When trouble abounds, as it surely will, one can slip anonymously into the fold. It was not I who forgot to replace the empty milk bag, or left every light in the house on. It wasn't I who hid the bag of chocolate chip cookies in the upstairs hamper to hoard all to myself late at night. Nor did I stash my mushed up peas and carrots in my brother's pocket at suppertime. And there is no way of telling which child straddled the hall walls leaving dirty hand and foot prints all the way up to the ceiling. (Well, okay, that one could be figured out, but this is before the day we all watched CSI and became fabulous detectives). And those CARS! Apparently, after many years of mishaps, it was just not worth the hassle for parents to figure out which offspring dented which car. In the case of cars, being near the bottom of the family ladder has its benefits, for dents hardly merit a sigh. (Everyone still alive and well? Good. Next car, please.)

Breakfast is a sensational time for seven, sleepy souls. It's like a jungle -- only nastier. But with the King of the jungle at the helm? Toast a loaf of bread, scramble a dozen eggs, pour a quart of orange juice. Voila! A new day begins.

But even the mass motion and many moans of morning can in no way compare to the rip-roaring riot of the rush hour at noon. In one room, discordant notes are painfully plucked from a proud piano and sent ricocheting from eardrum to eardrum, while in another, the stereo bellows as a shrill voice tries in vain to duplicate its raunchy rock 'n roll. A poke is dodged, a tongue is poked, but no one is pokey. A race for the phone begins. A team of voices rises higher and higher in hopeless attempts at supremacy amid the cacophony. One voice is heard above all others:"Where's the baby?". Someone scrambles for lost mittens. Someone scurries for nourishment from the large and steaming pot of Campbell's fare. Everyone scatters before clean-up...and somewhere, sometime, somehow, amongst all the chaos, we head back to school with bellies full.

I feel so fortunate to have had so many teachers in my bootcamp of life! The home is one of the best institutes of higher learning in which we are given daily opportunities to hone our skills of camoflage, survival, diplomacy and tolerance. And love --- there is always lots of love to make up for the hand-me-downs.