Mission Impossible?

I have been trying to vitaminize (pardon me, folks, but I just can't help using my own words. Please bear with me until this phase passes) my kidlets ever since Seth has been over-antibiotic'd. One of the things I've been giving them is a probiotic that helps restore their good bacteria. I've even been giving Hannah some, too, because I think she needs it and it's healthy.

Since it comes in a powder form, it must be stirred into their juice or yogurt. Hannah had some orange juice with this powder stirred in for the first time a couple of days ago and, with her nose up quite high in the air, informed me that "she would not appreciate having this stuff again!"

Really?

Her dad and I both tasted her juice, and honestly, you cannot taste any difference with the powder in it. This matters not one whit to her because the problem is that she can see it in her juice.

So, I undertook a mission today to sneak it into that girl, a necessary thing to do at times as parents. I picked up their favourite juice - Fruitopia - at the store. I do not buy this for our house. Ever. This is considered a treat for them. However, since they love strawberry Fruitopia and the powder is strawberry, well - sometimes compromise is necessary.

Just before lunch and while they were otherwise occupied today, I took out the Fruitopia. Carefully glancing over both shoulders, I snuck out the evil powder. I then gave them different cups - ones with lids and straws - and made the concoction. This is not as simple as it sounds because the evil powder takes quite a while to dissolve, requiring constant stirring. So I stirred and glanced over my shoulder, repeating the process for about ten minutes. I put on their magical lids, tasted it and was in awe at my genius. I then called them for lunch.

I really thought that having a different glass would raise Hannah's suspicions. I was pleasantly surprised when she took her cup and drank her favourite-juice-in-the-whole-world down, pronto! It was so tempting to tell her what she really drank, but I overcame that temptation. Obviously now I have a way to sneak it down her and I'm not about to give it up.

Mission accomplished.

Hannah's Thing-osis

I've been involved in a lot of debates the last few days about socialism, abortion, the election (there, I snuck that word in again, hah, hah!). I'm all issued out and will leave those posts to others (for a while anyway - at least until my juices start flowing again) and just write about my kids - my most favoritist (a Darlaism) subject of all.

Yesterday Hannah took it upon herself to clean out her top desk drawer. I had seen how much junk was crammed in there the day before and commented that "it looked like I would have to get in there and clean it out". This is a serious threat to her, so she took it to heart and decided to do the job herself.

I don't understand why God can't give our children the best parts of both of us. Really. I mean, would it really hurt for a least two children to be perfect in this world? It would free up some of God's time while he was perfecting other people's kids, as well.

Instead, she inherited all of my neur-osis and all of her dad's thing-osis. Thing-osis translated means: Unable to throw things away. Packrat. Considered a much worse condition than neur-osis.

If you have ever been around my house for very long, you would understand why thing-osis is really a much more severe condition than neur-osis. Four washing machines and three dryers, three fridges and stoves (although he recently did get rid of one washer/dryer set - bless his heart!), a basement crammed with...things....so that one can just barely sneak into the laundry room, a garage full of things, a dining room full of tools (still from our renovations), the sewing machine set up so that my dear husband can sew all of his socks (because he can't throw the blasted THINGS out!)......these are just a few examples. Seriously.

And my dear Hannah has been blessed with this genetic condition.

Now, as she was cleaning out her drawer, she somberly informed me that she would "throw some things out". I told her that was very good (knowing how very difficult this was for her). I told her to put all the stuff for the garbage in a separate pile, and she agreed. After about fifteen minutes of working, she called me into her room and said,

"Mom, I'm pretty sure that if I'm careful, I can fit all of this stuff back into my drawer. It just has to be arranged differently to fit."

And so the separation anxiety begins.

"Hannah, have you even started any piles that you are going to throw out?" I asked her.

"Yes," she replies.

"Where?" I ask.

"Behind the door," she answers.

I look behind the door and see a tiny little pile and, quite frankly, find it very difficult not to burst out laughing. She was having trouble throwing THAT out?

I look at her seriously and say, "Hannah, I'm quite sure that you are going to find it much easier to throw out your LITTLE pile than to have ME go through your stuff and throw out a much BIGGER pile!"

Heartless mom that I am, I close the door just as she bursts into tears.

Her daddy (who is at that very moment on the sewing machine sewing up his STINKIN' HOLEY SOCKS), in a rare move of compassion, informs me that "he'll handle it".

He spends about fifteen minutes in her room. He comes out and I ask what is going on. He tells me not to worry about it. She will be getting rid of THAT pile. He then get's sarcastic.

"How would you like it if I got rid of your cards?" he asks.

The ONLY thing I save is birthday cards and such and letters from friends. THAT'S IT. I have one box full of stuff I've saved compared to a house, garage, basement full of STUFF from him, and he's complaining about my stuff?

"You're comparing my cards with pieces of paper with little squiggly lines on them?" I ask, because that comprised most of what was in the junk pile.

To make a long story short, she did manage to get rid of a little bit of her stuff. And became comrades with her dad for the afternoon while I was the big, bad, booger.

But I'm okay with that. As long as progress has been made. And it has.

School Bus Mission Field

Driving a schoolbus has not been like I imagined it to be. That doesn't mean that I don't like it, it just means my expectations were vastly different than the realities.

I guess I thought that the tales I would blog about would be lighthearted and funny. By in large, they're not. In fact, as the kids grow on me more and more, I'm finding less to laugh about all the time.

The majority of these kids come from extremely difficult home situations. Quite a few of them are vocal about it. Little Shayna tells me that she "saw her daddy hit her mommy, and now her daddy's in jail. I don't have a daddy anymore." For some reason Austin lives with his grandma and isn't quite ready to tell me why. In fact, quite a few of the kids live with aunts or grandmas, at least part time. I pick up six kids from two different foster homes. And of the ones at least living with their mom, I find that most of them are single moms.

Last week, Shayna's brother got on the bus crying. I asked him what was wrong. He told me his "mom pushed him". What in the world do I say to that? I know the home they live in. I know their dad is in jail. I know this boy is full of anger. I also know what it's like to be a mother and that children sometimes "embellish the story".

Today I picked up four of the foster kids. As I pull up, I saw one of the boys, age 12, hit another boy, age 11 and give him a nosebleed. When they got on the bus, the 12-year-old told me that, "River took my backpack". I told him that that was no reason to hit someone, sat him up front with the little kids, and got River a kleenex for his bleeding nose. I then chatted with the principal when I got to school.

After school, River gets on the bus with his hood pulled over his head so that I could barely tell who it was. It takes me a moment to see that the kid is crying his eyes out. This is the 11-year-old boy who wasn't even crying this morning after being socked in the nose, so I'm thinking this is pretty serious. As he sits down, I try to discreetly make my way to his seat (I say discreetly because I usually go up and down the aisle at least once, checking to make sure the kids are following all the rules of safety), lean over and ask him what is wrong. He doesn't answer, so I ask him if he's okay. He shakes his head yes. I leave it alone.

These are the type of situations I have to deal with. What makes it really difficult is the fact that we're taught that we have to maintain professionalism with these kids and not to get too close to them. I'm not quite sure how I can do that. It's already hard enough not to be able to hug them when they're hurt and crying, but to remain aloof and unmoved is another thing altogether. The day I'm not allowed to ask if they're okay or why they're crying is the day I quit driving bus altogether.

When I started this job I never thought of it as a mission. It was a way to make a little extra money and take my kids with me. That's it. I'm now realizing the need these kids have for attention, for love, and especially for Jesus. That perhaps I may be the only person that they come in contact with who can give them that hope. And I find it daunting, simply because I feel at least one of my hands is tied behind my back, so to speak.

I know that nobody can stop me from praying. I know that Jesus can open doors in ways I could never imagine.

And I know that I'm starting to really love these kids.

This Fat Lady Ain't Singing

I was thinking of posting on Monday, trying to be optimistic, that It Ain't Over 'Til The Fat Lady Sings. I was hoping that last night you would hear my anthem clear across the border.

But this fat lady ain't singing.

I spent last night reading opinions and must admit to being convicted because so many Christians were trying to be positive, saying that they would "pray for their president".

After you-tubing both John McCain's concession speech and Barack Obama's acceptance speech, I was moved to tears. John McCain was one classy guy in defeat, calling Mr. Obama "his president". Wow. It was hard to see this man, trying not to let emotion overtake him, knowing that he will never again get this chance to run for president. He had the unfortunate task of running at a time when the Republican party had a very low approval rating, and was unable to shake the chains of George Bush's unpopularity off of him. Personally, I don't think Sarah Palin's VP nomination hurt or helped him because the love and the hate for her balanced out. I think everyone can agree that very few have served their country like John McCain.

The one positive about Barack Obama's presidency is the fact that he is bi-racial. I truly am very, very happy about that. Hopefully this will heal old scars within America and strengthen relationships with other non-terrorist countries.

I realize ultimately God is in control,. However, I believe that hard times are ahead for the country of America, possibly the hardest since WWII, and that its effects will flow over the border to the country of Canada. America is just too big and powerful, and whether we like it or not, we have hidden under her protection for a long time. It will effect us.

We can now expect to be neighbours with a country whose president will appoint new liberal judges during his term, ultimately leaning to the left like we have never seen before. Kiss goodbye any chance of saving the unborn; kiss goodbye any chance of keeping the sanctity of marriage between one man and one woman; kiss goodbye freedoms of parents to be the ultimate authority of our children (look at Massachussetts if you don't believe me); expect a new look at legalizing euthanasia. We now have the most liberal senator of 2007 (over Hillary Clinton and Ted Kennedy) in charge of the most powerful country in the world.

I tell you, Hillary Clinton never looked so good.

I'm done with posting on this subject. Done. Done. (Unless Mr. Obama proves me wrong). Maybe then this fat lady will still sing.

I won't be holding my breath.

Yep, Another Political Post

Please, please, please folks. If you have any interest at all in the American election (and even more so if you can actually VOTE) read the powerful words of Huntley Brown, a black gospel pianist. He so eloquently sums up the reasons why he cannot vote for Barack Obama in the hopes of compelling Christians who are being swayed by this man in any way.

http://writenow.wordpress.com/2008/11/03/huntley-brown-states-powerful-reasons-to-vote-against-obama/

I borrowed the link from Sister Buxton's blog because I was not a recipient of this email.

I said I would keep posting until after the election, and I intend to.

My Evening of Chuckles

Don't fall over. This post isn't political.

I think my son is feeling better today. He's on his third different antibiotic for strep throat in two months because his infection has been resisting the antibiotics to date. I think (and pray) this one might actually be working. And yes, I absolutely detest giving antibiotics to my children (for all of the anti-antibiotic activists), but I also understand what strep throat left untreated can do (like nephritis and rheumatic fever - however slim that may be). I don't relish the thought of general anesthetic AND surgery to get his tonsils removed, which, unfortunately, is still a possibility if this doesn't clear up. So, because I am not a total conventional medicine advocate either, I made a stop at the health food store and am filling his little body with probiotics to replenish his good bacteria, as well an immune booster. We've got to get this little guy up and running.

He's been smiling all day. In the last few months (because I suspect he's had untreated strep before it was caught two months ago and really hasn't been feeling good for quite a while) he's gone between goofing around and irritability several times a day. Today he was all smiles with no irritability.

Tonight after church, we took the kidlets to McDonalds for ice cream because we had free ice cream cone coupons for the kids. They were extra generous with their ice cream portion, actually giving us at least TWICE the usual amount. Seth, my slow-about-everything boy, downed his ice cream so fast I was shocked he didn't have constant brain freeze. He left his sister in the dust. Then he came over and ate half of his dad's muffin. Consequently, when we got home, he was HYPER. His dad had to chase him to try to get him ready for bed, and of course this was the best game in the world to Seth. Stripped down to his undershirt and underwear on our bed, the full extent of his energy hit him (do you think maybe the sugar intake didn't help - ???). He jumped and jumped and jumped and jumped...........and jumped. And he giggled and giggled and giggled. His dad finally caught him on the bed and, as only dads seem to be prone to, kept tickling him - working him up even more.

After dad brushed his teeth, I read them a story. I had my boy-with-a-glint-in-his-eye on my right side and my girl-who-was-in-a-very-snuggly-mood on my left. And I was in heaven. We read and cuddled. As we were snuggling, Seth-with-a-glint-in-his-eye looked me and said,

"Don't harsh the fizz, man!"

"What?!" I said.

"Don't harsh the fizz, man!" he repeated.

I looked to Hannah-the-interpreter for help. I know I can always count on her. And as usual, she told me this was part of one of his Pajama Sam computer games.

Which brought back to remembrance last Sunday. Apparently during Sunday School, Seth broke out in song in the middle of class.

"Nobody knows the trouble I've seen......."

Again, another computer adventure, although this time Freddi Fish. Anyway, this brought a chuckle to Rebecca and Jenna (Sunday School teacher and helper) and it was relayed back to me. Yeah, like a four-year-old knows anything about trouble......

Back to tonight. Finally the little man is tucked in bed. Prayers are said. We are doing our Strange Ritual and finishing it to perfect completion. As I'm snuggling him, he reaches out his hand, puts it on top of my head, and prays,

"Jesus, help this food in Jesus' name. Amen." (His usual meal time grace. I guess he's worried about his mother's cooking or something - ???)

I tell ya. He's so stinkin' cute and lovable and funny and, and.......so amazingly MY LITTLE GUY.

And I've been smiling all evening.

A Previous Nazi Youth's Perspective

I'm not sure how many more times I will post on this subject, and I'm sorry to anyone who is sick of reading about politics. However, there are still some things I need to say.

Now, as I've stated in a recent post, there are many, many things that scare me about Barack Obama. One of the points I made was a comparison between Barack Obama and Adolf Hitler.

I came across this article, written by a previous Nazi Youth. If you don't feel you can take my word for it, perhaps you can take it from someone who has been there. Not only does he address the downslide of America, comparing it to Hitler's Germany, he addresses the abortion issue itself in a way I couldn't. And it touched me to the core. http://www.wnd.com/index.php?fa=PAGE.view&pageId=79227

Maybe skeptics will understand more why I have become relentless on this topic. Our future - even Canadians - could very well be at stake if this man is in power.

And yes, I do believe a McCain/Palin administration, more than any previous administration, have the greatest chance of changing the abortion laws. They know and understand the sanctity of human life as God sees it.