Posted on May 10, 2023

I grew up the oldest of six rambunctious children. Five girls and one boy. You would think with such a large family our house would be a disaster, perhaps condemned or, at the very least, cordoned off with bright yellow police caution tape. But no, my mother was Super Mom. Late into the midnight hour you could find her doing laundry, washing dishes, cleaning the well-used oven or scrubbing the floors. Everything was tidy and in its proper, organized place. Spic and span. Dust certainly had no place in our home.

Mixed feelings set in when my parents decided to sell my childhood home and moved to Cleburne. My Dad's dream had come to fruition. He had the expansive acreage he needed. He busily cleared tons of brush and debris, cut down trees and built grand shelters for horses and goats. Goats? For the life of me I just could not see my neat-freak Mom helping my Dad with goats or any other critters for that matter. (She had grown up as a "city gal" but something worked out for the couple somehow. They have been married over 57 years.)

Imagine my surprise when, on a visit back home, I found my perfectionist mother sitting on her pristine living room rug cuddling a teeny tiny baby goat. A GOAT inside my Mom's house? No way! All the children had grown up and moved away but now, fortunately for her, there was a new kid in town. 

Written by: Melissa Anders


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