Recently in Mommy philosophy 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.

We stood in line for more than an hour, with Noah alternately hollering in my arms and running away as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Sam wandered, playing with the belt from my jean jacket and trying to make friends with the unsociable kids in front of and behind us.

It was hot, it was cramped and it was hugely unfair that other people came and went within 10 minutes because their last names didn't start with any letter between F and L.

But in the end, Sam was vaccinated against swine flu.

Well, halfway vaccinated. She has to get a second shot in a month. At the same place. Probably with the same divisions of last names, meaning I'll be in line for a long time again because I chose to marry a Gulli.

I've gotta say, though, once we were inside, it all went smoothly. And all the folks who were involved were wonderfully patient and calm -- an amazing feat considering they were all volunteers.

Anyway, we're part of the way to safety. I'm celebrating it as a small victory.

Because I'm a member of the media, I'm required to type or speak the words "SWINE FLU" at least twice an hour to ensure the public is sufficiently terrified.

I think they even added that requirement to the Journalists Handbook of Topics You're Required To Overreact About and Overreport On.

But here's what I really want to know: Are you going to get your kids regular flu vaccines and H1N1 vaccines this fall? Have you previously gotten them flu vaccines?

I'm on the fence about this -- which, as you all can guess, is pretty unusual for me.

If there's a shot or nasal mist that will be uncomfortable for Sam and Noah for just a minute but will prevent their being sick for 7 to 10 days, then it seems like common sense to get it.

But I've got this nagging concern about the H1N1 vaccine. It was created awfully quickly, wasn't it? I'm not worried about the actual H1N1 part to it, but I am worried that we'll be running stories in a year that say the vaccine "accidentally" contained some sort of hazardous substance and that all the people who got it are at a higher risk for some worse kind of disease.

I'm not saying I think the H1N1 vaccine will give my kids cancer. I'm just saying I'd rather be overly cautious with this one, especially since swine flu isn't as deadly as experts predicted in the beginning.

And hey, since my last poll turned out so well, I thought we'd try it again!

I recently had a disagreement with a psychologist about whether Sam, at age 6, should still be crawling into my bed every night.

I tried using the biggest, most-professional-sounding words I could:

I'm a proponent of co-sleeping, I said. I find the belief that children need to learn to sleep alone in a bed in a room separate from their parents to be an unrealistic American idea that is not practiced elsewhere in the world. As my child grows, she will naturally require more independence, and she will make the decision when the time is right about sleeping solo.

He replied, in a nutshell, that I'm full of crap.

I'm pretty certain Noah's a friggin' genius.

Why do I think this? Other than the fact that he's already saying really hard words like "washcloth" and "Spongebob"?

Because he likes to line up similar things in exact rows.

His favorite is plastic bottles of soap and shampoo in the bathroom. He gets them, one at a time, out of the basket we keep them in, and he carries them to the edge of the tub or the sink. Then, he turns them sideways, slides them gently until they're just touching each other, then taps and bumps them until they're in a straight line.

He's so focused when he does this. So intent. So serious. So exacting. So adorable.

See what I mean? Pure genius.

I was certain Sam was a genius about this age, too, because she could tell you what sounds 10 animals made (cow, horse, sheep, pig, cat, dog, mouse, monkey, snake and elephant).

I think we all get caught up at some point in how fast our kids learn new things that we just can't believe they're already doing whatever thing it is that's amazing us.

Why is your kid a genius?

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.

The other day, one of my friends put up a status update on Facebook asking us what crazy things we've said since we became parents -- things you totally would have no reason to say unless you had a kid.

I contributed the following:

"DON'T PUT YOGURT ON THE DOG!"
"Samantha, you do not have a penis."
and
"You can't lay on the cat's head because he can't breathe when you do that."

I've got a new one to add.

Sam had a kajillion and four questions yesterday during Great-Grammy's viewing, funeral and burial service. (In case you missed it, my grandmother -- my mom's mom -- died last week. Here's the post about that.)

Here's a sampling of what she asked:

I found out Wednesday morning that my Grammy died. She was my mom's mom, and she was 96.

Sam and Noah and I went to visit her during the winter, but she didn't recognize any of us. She enjoyed watching Noah toddle around, but later she asked my mom, "That was a cute baby. Is he some relation to you?"

Sam asked a lot of questions during and after that visit. How old is Great-Grammy? How did she get that old? What did she look like before she looked like this? Will she die soon? When will she die? What will happen to her when she dies?