Recently in Just life Category

A few weeks ago, my husband started working 12-hour overnight shifts -- 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. -- seven days a week at TMI. The job lasts only until Dec. 26, thank goodness, but we pretty much aren't going to see him until then.

This means I've had to drastically rearrange my work schedule, which is usually 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. Monday-Thursday and 3 p.m. to 1 a.m. Sundays.

First, ain't nobody gonna babysit my kids until 2 a.m. Monday morning.

Second, ain't no way I'm gonna try to leave my kids with the sitter -- even if I could -- until 7:45 or 8 p.m. during the week.

So this means our lives and routines have been drastically altered.

And this, my friends, is something Samantha does not like.

*Warning: This post is not exactly about being a parent. I mean, the kids' comfort factors in here, but it's not the main purpose of the post.*

Thanks to my incredibly bad math skills, I found out that I had a bunch of vacation days left over that I have to use by Nov. 5.

Whoopie! I thought. Let's get cracking on painting over that heinous blue-and-pink-diamond-esque-patterned wallpaper on my bedroom wall and ripping up that other-shades-of-blue-and-pink-randomly-patterned rug off my bedroom floor.

Except it's never that easy, is it?

Five days and five trips to Home Depot and Lowe's later, we've got an exposed 114-year-old wood floor that might not be able to be refurbished; painted plaster walls that look like we used a faux finish when, in fact, it's just barely hiding all the crazy crap the previous people in our house did to them; and further proof that the entire electrical system in our house needs to be rerun before the place burns down.

Yippee. Five days off.

I was almost ready to come back to work today.

The other three people in my house have the flu. And I think the cat has a urinary-tract infection.

So much for my mental anguish over whether to get the seasonal flu and H1N1 vaccines, huh?

No school for Sam today. She told me seven kids were absent (or, as she spells it, "absit") from her class one day last week.

This morning, she wanted to know why I kept her home. I said, "Because your fever is almost 102 degrees when you don't take medicine."

She said, "So I don't have to go back until FRIday??"

Not sure how she got that out of what I said, but heck, at this point it could be true.

Anybody else dealing with flu already in your house? Any tips for keeping the kids -- and, let's face the truth here, husbands -- comfortable?

Sunday night shift
+
bedtime at 1:45 a.m.
+
Noah awake at 3:30 a.m. coughing and covered in pee
+
Sam awake at 5:30 a.m. with 101.8 fever for third night in a row
+
cat who must meow repeatedly at 6:45 a.m. before jumping onto the bed
=
A tired mommy realizing at the office she's wearing blue socks with black dress shoes

I was a little out of it when I packed Sam's lunch this morning.

I work Sunday nights until about midnight, then I drive 45 minutes home, try to get to sleep within about an hour, and then get back up again about 7 a.m. So I'm naturally a little sleepier on Monday mornings.

But I forced myself to get up today, get Sam's breakfast, get Noah out of bed, get him breakfast, pack Sam's lunch, double-check her folder to make sure we didn't miss any homework, write out a note to the school nurse so Sam could take some Triaminic for her cold if she needs it (that's another post coming shortly), make sure Sam got dressed in something that matched and didn't have feathers or other princess-esque accessories, and get her out the door to the bus.

Only now did I consider the fact that I packed her three peanut butter cracker sandwiches (she won't eat bread right now), applesauce and -- uh, well, apples.

I remember I had an apple and a bag of pretzels on the counter side-by-side, and I remember thinking, "Why would I give her pretzels if I can give her a fresh apple slices?"

Duh.

$10 says she doesn't notice. Or at least that's what I'm telling myself.

Today, the stench in my car more resembles old gym socks than curdling milk.

Still no luck finding the cause.

*sigh* -- but not a *deep sigh* cuz I might pass out if I inhale too deeply ...

There's something festering in my car.

Man, does it stink. My car sits in the sun all day with the windows closed, so whatever it is certainly has the right environment to grow its stench exponentially.

I think it's a rank sippy cup that held what once was milk. But I'll be doggoned if I can find it.

I've searched through the piles of toys on the floor of the back seat. I've pulled aside the car seats. I've bravely stuffed my hand under the seats and felt around.

Nada.

At some point, the smell has to dissipate, right? Like, once all the bacteria eats itself or whatever?

Of course, maybe the smell's just in my nose, as Sam once said.

Here's a photo I just came across on my colleague Mike Argento's blog. It's a shot from Shelbyville, Ky., in a Walmart there.

Now, you know when you had your first baby, you were totally tempted to do something like this because you freaked out every time someone touched her ("Oh my God! They've put germs on her! Now she's gonna get sick! I have to wash her! Sanitize her! Get those dirty other-people germs off my precious angel!").

But did any of us actually put up such a sign? Uh, no.

This picture is from a site called People of Walmart. I'm not saying it's a good or bad site, so just be prepared if you check it out.

If you haven't already, read this wonderful story and watch the video about Mason Thibault, an 11-month-old who needs a small-bowel transplant.

It's one of those stories that makes you stop and realize how lucky you are. Mason's story makes what we went through with Noah seem easy to handle by comparison.

Hope you and your children are well.

I've had four people in the last three weeks ask me if I'm pregnant.

For the record, I am not.

I'll readily admit that I've gained a good chunk of weight in the past six months, thanks to some personal issues and medication changes (and brownies and pieces of cake and bowls of ice cream and ... ).

But the comments have come from a gamut of people: A woman at the Chinese restaurant, my old boss, a former colleague and Sam, who was arguably the most relieved.