The deal is this:  my life has been in a complete upheaval because through the loving advice of friends and church, I have come to realize my husband and I need to do what’s best for the children. In this case, that means not worrying that we’ve bought a house or that I have a job I absolutely love or that this town provides an environment that is great for raising kids. My kids need their dad.

Dad is in the military and our five-year plan was for me to settle here while he finishes out his career. The problems started when one tour of Iraq turned into two and he’s not been a part of their lives — up close and personal — for more than three years now. Boys need their dad.

So, we’re stepping out on faith and adhering to what we believe is God’s plan. The children and I are moving to be with dad at his next duty station. He’ll provide a renter for the house, if that is His plan. He’ll provide me a new job, if that is His plan. He’ll surround us with neighbors and church friends to love our children like they’ve been loved here. And we can always come back to this town.. but in God’s time, not ours.

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I still think it is a little early, but is it, really? Especially if I want my boys to get the right information from me first?

I have always answered any questions boys ask honestly, and go out of my way to leave the door open for more questions. For instance, while sitting in the doctor’s exam room, one boy asked about a poster on the wall that showed the male urinary tract system. We talked about the bladder, urethra, penis, testes and prostate, and I mention that boys have a penis, testes and prostate, but girls don’t. (“Okay, honey, now ask why…” I think, but they don’t.)

I’ve told them what girls have from the beginning. This bit me in the rear once. I was in my pajamas, sitting on the floor with my son David, then 2. He informed me, “Mama, you need to put on vagina pants.” I did, and made sure I wore ‘vagina pants’ with my pajamas from then on.

We were watching the hunting channel the other day. (It is a predominantly male household. I don’t get to watch much girl TV.) Anyway, an ad for doe urine came on. The product talked about a doe being ready to mate when she doesn’t run, thus the product was “Standing Doe Urine.” The visual was, well, of a standing doe and a “gentleman suitor.” Who would have thought they’d show THAT on TV? I guess when it’s animals, it is okay.

So my boys start saying, “Uhhh, gross.” And I ask, “Do you know what they are doing?” They told me, but I can tell they don’t know what is REALLY going on. Was that my opportunity? Should I have taken it? Or will they ask specific questions when they need to know?

Any advice, MomBloggers?

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I’m talking about missing all the signs that my oldest son has Attention Deficit-Hyperactivity Disorder, also called ADHD.

You’d think I’d know something wasn’t right when he talked all the way from California to Florida, during our move here. I’m serious. Non-stop, all 2,000-odd miles.  I just thought he was smart and curious and had a lot to talk about. So what if his brothers, father and I could hardly get a word in edge-wise. I said things like, “Stop that,” and “Don’t do that,” a lot.

We didn’t figure out there was a problem until the end of first grade. It was a bad year, and it’s a long story, but I ended up tallying how many positive and how many negative things his teacher had written about him in his planner. The score? Nothing, zero, nada positive comments and 87 negative ones.

Everyday it was something, and my requests for her to provide something positive for me to say to him about school were ignored.

“Today, Joseph stuck a straw up his nose,” was my last straw. He was six and is a boy and gee whiz, woman, what am I supposed to do about that!?!

As I prepared to confront her (my anal-retentive tally of her planner notes was just the beginning…) I discovered a pattern. “Out of his seat.” “Talking.” “Didn’t finish his work.” “Can’t keep his hands to himself.” Over and over and over again.

I took the tally to our family doctor, and he recognized the behavior for what it was. ADHD.  As much as I hated to put my child on medication to change who he is, we decided to give it a try. We started the summer with minimal small dose and increased it slightly just before the school year.

Joseph began the second grade reading at the 50th percentile. Within two months, he scored at the 95th percentile. And I came to realize that the medicine did not change who he is; rather, the medicine allows him to be who he is. Smart, helpful, courteous, polite, loving. And capable of letting someone else talk sometimes.

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So I contracted to get a new kitchen floor and two guys come the first day, but only one guy comes back the next.

“He’s going to get started on our next job and I’m wrapping this one up,” he said. Sounded good to me. Later in the day, he shared with me his partner has clinically-diagnosed obsessive-compulsive disorder. “He’s always cleaning everything. He’ll go into people’s houses and ask me, ‘How can they live like this?’”

I mulled this over and suddenly became very paranoid the man could not work in my house because it was too cluttered and disorderly. It is. I do the best I can, but I am single-parenting while my husband is deployed, I have three young boys who mess up faster than I can clean and, frankly, I’d rather spend time with my children then with a dust broom and mop.

I know I am not alone in this dilemma. Modern moms have to make a lot of choices, especially moms who work outside the home. Which comes first, sorting through the boxes of serviceable hand-me-downs a fellow mother-of-boys has given us, or playing Candyland with my six-year-old? Especially when there are toilets to be cleaned and dust to be removed?

My house looks like I choose kids over cleanliness, and despite my paranoia over what an obsessive-compulsive floor installer thinks of my home, I can live with that.

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That’s the year Halloween’s appeal dwindled to next to nothing. It’s also when tamper-resistant product packaging made its debut.

Perhaps it was then that school rules for administering medicines got out of hand.

To have the school nurse give my son medicine, I can’t just take the medicine to school. It has to be prescribed by the doctor, with the dosing information printed on the pharmacy label.  That goes for over-the-counter medicines, too. That means I have to get the doctor to prescribe the over-the-counter medicine, and I have to get the pharmacist to print a label for it.

Then there’s the paperwork. The doctor has to fill out a form for the school nurse to be able to give the medicine. Doctors don’t hand you this form when they prescribe the medicine, so you have to go to the school nurse to get the form and then go back to the doctor to get him to sign it. Of course, some parents may be ahead of the game and go to the nurse for the form before they take the child to the doctor, just in case the doctor prescribes medicine that needs to be given during the school day.

That’s a lot of running around. I’ve decided it’s easier just to take a few minutes off work and go to school to ensure my son gets his asthma medicine during this flare-up. I’ll be better prepared next time. Or not.

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How about we morph the meaning of Labor Day from its 19th century “All Hail the American Worker” roots to a 21st century recognition of women who actually delivered their babies the old fashioned way?

Statistics say about one in three women now have their babies surgically removed from their wombs rather than giving them the old heave-ho after hours and hours of grueling labor. Anesthetized or not, labor is grueling.

I’d say it’s only fitting Labor Day be retrofitted in homage of the apparently dying art of natural birth. Perhaps the shift will spur women to rise up in protest of scheduled C-sections to guarantee the relatives won’t miss the birth because the due date came and went, just like their scheduled vacation days, or worse, so the doctor won’t miss his vacation to oversee a woman delivering a baby.

I have to admit to having not one, not two, but three, yes, three C-sections. The first one was because my body was not ready to go into labor, as it proved by refusing to be induced into labor for three long days, and because the baby was subsequently traumatized. The second C-section I chose to have, because I was still traumatized by my body refusing to be induced into labor for three long days. The third C-section was forced on me by medical protocol regarding having had two previous C-sections.

So, I actually have no clue what labor feels like. I don’t feel I missed out on something I should have experienced, nor do I worry that my children and I haven’t bonded properly. I just have a good old-fashioned respect for women who had their babies the way God intended.

I think I’m on to something with the Labor Day thing. I’ll talk first to the greeting card companies. What do you think?

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I’m not going to apologize to Johnson and Johnson for borrowing their ad slogan to introduce this web log (blog from here on out, okay?!?) They are just stating the obvious. Any woman, and her man for that matter, will attest that having a baby does more than produce a family heir and irresistible cuddle buddy.

Nurses put that baby in my arms and in an instant, I changed from fun-loving ‘Mary Mary’ into a mother. No one can warn you about the metamorphosis. You wouldn’t believe anyone anyway.

For instance, the obligatory “So You’re Having a Baby” books tell you to catch up on your sleep before the baby is born because the baby may wake up frequently during the night. That’s true. But would you have believed the author had she (or better yet, he) written this: Catch up on your sleep, mom, before the baby is born because, after birth, covert genetic programming kicks in that alerts your sleeping brain to every burp, sigh and whimper your newborn (and 27-year-old) makes?

This writing space, the MomBlog, is devoted to moms (dads are welcome, too!) living the small town life and all that means. Every week, I’ll throw out a few thoughts and I hope you’ll throw back a few of your own. I envision a writing space where previously cool people who are now parents can debate things we’d have laughed at B.C. (before children), such as “Are you required to write thank you notes for children’s birthday party gifts?” “Can I skip the PTA meetings and booster club and still be a good mom?” or, perhaps, “Is it true cradle cap can be fixed with some olive oil and a fine-tooth comb?”

And we don’t have to keep it light. There are moms right here in north Florida struggling to keep their marriages together “for the kids”.  Is that always best? I bet there are a few moms out there who can provide guidance on that one. We have moms whose children are grown now mothering their own parents. I bet MomBlog readers can offer her a few survival tips. What about dads who are mothering children whose mom has checked out on drugs? They could use some support and advice.

Agree with what you read. Disagree with what you read. Just don’t ignore what you read because the MomBlog needs you to share your thoughts, gripes, ideas and emotions to be a success.

Now tell us what you think about that.

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