Twas the weekend before Christmas - lists checked, presents wrapped and settling down to time with family

The countdown is on.  It’s official.  There are now only six days until Christmas.  I had hoped to cross a lot off my list this past weekend but instead, I found myself doing something most unusual – actually enjoying the holiday season. 

It started on Thursday night, at our office Christmas party.   I’m very lucky in that I really like my job and I really like the people I work with -- which I suppose is why I stayed out far too late and opted for that extra glass of wine instead of scurrying home to wrap gifts. 

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On Friday night, my husband and I went on a date.  It had been planned for a while and, as you likely know, dates are mission-critical to a good marriage  -- which is mission-critical to raising five (hopefully good!) kids so, although that pile of gifts was still begging to be wrapped, out we went.  

On Saturday, we had not one but TWO local Christmas parties to attend. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but we were off the social circuit for a few years.  I think people just assumed that we wouldn’t be able to leave the house with three newborns and two toddlers in tow– or, worse yet, afraid that we would!  Either way, we spent several Christmas seasons searching the mailbox for invitations that never came.  Now that they have arrived, so too have we; after a brief hiatus, we are back on the social scene and very happy to be there!

The merriment continued on Sunday at our church’s annual pageant; our oldest, seven-year old Liam, was cast as one of the three kings.  Poor Liam had perhaps enjoyed too many Christmas cookies at the aforementioned parties and spent much of late Saturday night and early Sunday morning praying to the porcelain god; the poor fella was so sick that we considered rewriting history and suggesting the pageant go on with only two kings.  But alas, like a Christmas miracle, Liam perked up, popped on his costume and marched down the aisle, bearing those gifts as this weepy Mom was overcome, once again, with emotion.

What is it about children singing Silent Night or Oh Holy Night that starts the tear ducts flowing?  Is it their youthful innocence? Was it the fact that I was surrounded by our other four kids, my parents and grandparents and thinking of just how lucky I am – we are – to have each other this holiday season?  Or was it the knowledge that the clock was ticking and I was now in a race against time to finish wrapping those darn gifts, writing the cards, baking the cookies and planning our Christmas Eve dinner?!

I think the was the former, not the latter.  I think it was the realization that with less than a week before Christmas, I already have what matters most.  Family, friends, yes, even a small suburban social life!

Signs of the Christmas season for a busy young family

There were several moments this week when I knew the Christmas spirit had officially entered the Lyons Den.

Granted, if you were to go by the store windows, the Christmas season actually started the day after Halloween but, we like to take things a bit more slowly around here... or, perhaps better put, we have to take things a bit more slowly. Between birthdays and work days and play dates and sick days, it's hard to even find the time to trim the tree.

And, as I recently discovered, sometimes the spirit of Christmas sneaks into the most unsuspecting of places. Here are my Top 10 signs that it's officially Christmas in the Lyons Den.

The stockings are hung by the chimney with care. Well, perhaps not with all that much care but, they are definitely there! All seven of them plus one for the dog that still needs a hook. Hopefully that hook will arrive before Christmas.

- Our porch is glistening with twinkly Christmas lights. I'm a white light gal myself but, after spending the better part of an afternoon searching for the one in a million replacement bulb on our ten year old strand, my poor hubby tossed in the towel, hightailed it to Home Depot and purchased the brightest lights you've ever seen. The first night they welcomed me home from work, I thought there was a cop car or disco ball on our porch. So much for a "white" Christmas!

- The kids have all decided what they want from Santa... and the triplets have once again confirmed that "identical" only goes so far. One wants a teddy bear and Pokemon cards (I suspect his big brother planted that seed!), one wants puzzles and much to my husband's dismay, one wants a "baby and a stroller." Got it Santa?

- The aroma of Christmas is in the air. In addition to a fondness for white lights, I also have a keen appreciation for Christmas candles; I've always loved the welcoming smell of cinnamon and that seasonal sniff of evergreen. I appreciate it even more now that my house is a urinal. With three three-year old whizzers freeing willy whenever and wherever they can, our house typically stinks like a city subway in the summer heat. In a word: piss. Thankfully, eau de pee has been replaced by Mrs. Meyer's long-burning scents of the season and I for one am thrilled.

- The dog is wearing reindeer antlers. That poor pet whose stocking has yet to be hung has been temporarily transformed into a reindeer. What amazes me most is that he actually puts up with it. I swear he knows we're laughing at him yet he just hangs his head and tolerates it. If that stocking ever gets hung, it really should be filled with a whole lot of dog treats!

- The kids are wearing Santa hats. Well, two of them are anyway. The other three are miserable because they don't have Santa hats but, well, Christmas is coming!

- We had -- and survived -- the annual Christmas tree debate. The whole "it's too fat/thin/tall/short/crooked" altercation never gets old for us. We just can't agree on a tree. So this year, we decided to let the kids pick it; this way, if it's not absolutely perfect, we can blame them. And we did. Our goofy tree is as crooked as can be and looks like someone took a hacksaw to one side. Next year, we pick the tree!

- We had -- and survived -- the annual family Secret Santa ritual. Needless to say, there are very few secrets but the names have been chosen and the shopping is underway. Credit to my sister for finding this great site if you're in need of some Secret Santa logistical assistance: www.drawnames.com

- I cried. I don't what it is about Christmas-time but it makes me super-sentimental. The songs, watching my kids watch the classics of my childhood (Rudolph, Frosty, etc.), it all gets the tears flowing. Fortunately, laughter often follows -- especially when my tots ask things like "what we watching for?" in response to the opening line of "Santa Clause is coming to town." My feisty fella had a point, what are we watching out for anyway?!

- I had a moment when I felt truly blessed and grateful for all I have and, in particular, for my family. And, in particular, for my sister. This is the one that happened in the most unsuspecting of places -- a dressing room in the lingerie department of Lord & Taylor while she breastfed her three week old daughter. There we were. Three girls surrounded by bras, just having girl talk. It was that simple. And that awesome.

- I was suddenly filled with the spirit of Christmas which, for me, is more than those garish lights that grace our porch or the stockings that grace our mantle or the hats or antlers that grace the heads around me. It's what's in those heads that counts. And what's in mine, for the moment at least, is a sense of wonder for our incredible family. I'm going to enjoy while it lasts because I'm pretty sure this wonder will fade once the house smells like a urinal again!

Christmas magic - turning Santa Clause skeptics into believers

As a mom of many, keeping the mystique of Santa alive and well is a priority for me this Christmas season.

My oldest just turned seven last week, the next in line is five and the triplets are now three-years-old. They all have a healthy curiosity about pretty much everything and, while the bigger two can be skeptical at times, more often than not, they believe what I tell them - especially as it relates to things they want to believe in, like the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy and, of course Santa Claus.

Keeping the magic alive gets harder when the grammar school years arrive. If your child is still a sweet, innocent believer, there is an excellent chance he will meet a kid on the bus or playground or classroom who will tell him that "Santa isn't real" or "only babies believe in Santa." When your wee one comes home with this news, it will break your heart; the notion of losing that innocence is just too much to bear. So, here are a few tips to get (or keep) things back on track -- to keep the faith in Santa Claus this Christmas season and hopefully, for many more to come!
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1. Santa has a LOT of helpers.

Once they hit a certain age (somewhere between three and six for my little clan of elves), kids will start to question how Santa can be at the mall AND the Christmas tree lot AND on every street corner ringing a bell AND on TV. This tricky line of toddler interrogation can be easily navigated by introducing the notion of Santa's Helpers.

I mean really, how is ONE guy supposed to make and deliver all those toys? Read all those letters? Pose for all those pictures? It's just not possible.

Santa has been in business for ages and, like any good businessman, has learned the fine art of delegation. All those pseudo-Santas roaming the streets are his A-team, the front line, the assistants to the real Santa as he makes his list and checks it twice. Given how literal kids can be, they seem to accept that Santa needs helpers. And, may even understand that not all helpers can grow a good beard or belly, which is why some of them are saggy and soft!

2. If disbelief continues after the conversation about Santa's Helpers, it's time to talk about truly believing... as in, "if you believe in Santa, he will bring you gifts and if you don't, he won't."

It sounds harsh but it's simple and straight-forward; it's also remarkably effective because the fear of waking up on Christmas with no gifts under the tree is enough to spur most skeptical tykes into at least a modicum of belief... and that's all it takes for the magic of Santa to seep back into a doubting heart.

3. Show that you believe in Santa too. Write him a letter. Talk about what kind of cookies you liked to leave him when you were a kid. Share the story about the time you tried so hard to stay up all night to see him, only to nod off just as you were sure you heard reindeer on the roof. Kids thrive on these tales... and, they are fun to share. In fact, sharing them could just be a new family tradition that could be as magical as Santa himself.

Truth be told, there's a small part of me that still believes... not necessarily in a guy with a white beard and a red suit but, in the magic of Christmas, the joy of the season, and the gift of sharing old traditions while creating new ones... like leaving half-eaten carrots on the front porch to convince any would-be naysayers that not only did Santa come and nibble on a few cookies on Christmas Eve but, his reindeer enjoyed a snack as well!
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Teaching tots to be thankful this Thanksgiving

Homemade turkey 'gobble gobble'

 It’s hard to believe it’s that time of year again.  The “holiday season” has arrived. It snuck in under the cover of darkness, taking over radio stations with “holiday classics” and replacing pumpkin-strewn windows with twinkly lights and mistletoe.  It seems to me that we have a retail-driven tendency to fast forward through the month of November in favor of the merriment and frenzied consumption of December. 

The problem (in my humble opinion) is that we gloss over one of the days that matters most.  A day that isn’t mired in trick or treating or gift-giving or even religious obligation but rather, a day that is all about gratitude.  About giving thanks. About taking a moment to pause with family and friends and reflect upon all we have to be grateful for.  As a parent, it’s tough to hit the pause button between Halloween and Christmas and teach our kids to truly give thanks on Thanksgiving.  It’s far too easy to get caught up in the Black Friday mania, in making a list and checking it twice, in the cookie-baking, Christmas-card making and general shopping-centric hysteria of the season. 

My hope is that I -- that we -- don’t get too caught up in it all.  That I find a way to impress upon our five kids just how lucky we are.  A recent poll of the Lyons Den would suggest I still have work to do.  Upon asking one of our three-year old triplets what we celebrated on Thursday and why it’s important, he replied enthusiastically “Chicken!”  Yep, it would appear I have a LOT of work to do with that one!

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Liam and Ciara, now in kindergarten and second grade had better answers.  One said “On Thanksgiving it’s important to be thankful for our family,” and the other noted “Thanksgiving is a day to be grateful for the roof over our head and food on our plate.”  As lovely as these answers are, they sounded fairly well rehearsed; while I am grateful our local grammar school is doing such a good job instilling these lessons, I think we can do even better as a family.

I don’t actually have a set of prescriptive tips for teaching gratitude at home; if I did, I’m pretty sure that one little fella wouldn’t have mentioned chicken.  Although, who knows, the kid is a huge fan of chicken nuggets so perhaps he has coined his own unique way of giving thanks.  As for the rest of them, I think the best we can do is lead by example. To show gratitude each and every day. To express how we are feeling in clear, simple terms the kids can understand.  To let them know how eternally grateful we are for healthy happy children, a supportive family, amazing friends, rewarding jobs and yes, of course, the roof over our head and the food on our plates. 

In addition to talking about gratitude throughout the year (not just on the third Thursday of November), there are a few other things I think go a long way toward helping our children realize just how fortunate we are.  We can donate toys and clothes to the needy; bake brownies for a local shelter; make cards for nursing home residents.  These are all things we can do now and I hope to do before Santa comes down our chimney.

When our kids are older, I hope to volunteer in a soup kitchen as a family; to deliver food to the sick and elderly as a family.  If we start now, while they’re young, they just might think it’s cool to spend a day with Mom and Dad helping those who really need it.  As for me, I will always be grateful for the days we spend together as a family -- for those are truly the best days of my life.

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A (working) mom's solution for sleep deprivation

Catching up and well-deserved sleep

Last week I spent two nights away from home for business. I travel infrequently for work so, on the rare occasions I do, it's a bit of a respite. The preparation is brutal - leaving five kids, a dog and a sweet, tired husband behind for 48 hours is no easy task. There are meals to be planned, playdates to be confirmed, backpack notes to be written and lists to be made. But, when all is done and I find myself at 30,000 feet, I have to admit, it's kind of nice to get away. And the number one reason why is SLEEP. Hours and hours of uninterrupted sleep.

The way I see it, I've been sleep deprived since I first found out I was pregnant in March 2004. Back then I couldn't sleep because my (extremely small, in fact, completely flat-chested!) boobs hurt. A habitual stomach-sleeper, I was in total agony and truly stunned that at just a few weeks preggo, I was being robbed of one of my favorite pastimes. Sleep. As weeks turned to months, my formerly peaceful slumber was routinely interrupted by trips to the bathroom and extreme discomfort -- between my sore boobs, full bladder and swollen belly, there was no rest for the weary. And that, of course, was just the beginning.

Having our firstborn, Liam, really threw me for a loop. I'm not a night owl; I'm a morning person. Liam was the opposite. Like many newborns, he had his days and nights mixed up... and before I knew it, I did too. I was a basket case, a walking zombie. And it only got worse when his sister Ciara was born. I remember one morning, I went to pick up the dry cleaning and they asked for my phone number. I stood there, racking my brain, searching in the deepest corners of my mind and could not for the life of me remember my phone number. When I finally blurted something out, I had to rescind it as I proclaimed with embarrassment, "Oh wait, that's my friend Steph's number!"

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Then came the triplets. Believe me when I tell you, sleep is elusive when you have three babies growing in your belly and a one and three year old still routinely howling in the middle of the night. As my belly grew bigger, the nights grew longer. I would wait for sunrise, only to nod off as Liam and Ciara, active toddlers at the time, started clamoring for breakfast. Perhaps not surprisingly, when the triplets were born, it only got worse. We were feeding three babies every three hours around the clock while doing our best to provide Liam and Ciara with three square meals a day. I don't think I'd be exaggerating to say that I didn't get more than two or three hours of sleep at a pop for at least six months.

That was three years ago. Now the triplets are three, Ciara just turned five and Liam is on the verge of turning seven. They are great kids. They are great sleepers. But they are still kids. And there are five of them. The odds of at least two waking up in the night because "I have to pee," "I lost my WaWa," "My tummy hurts," "I'm thirsty," or "I had a bad dream." is about 100%. This is why my husband and I now play a little game in the middle of the night. A little game called "Playing Dead." We are both wide awake, listening to the cries, the sniffles, the coughing, the whining, whatever it may be. And we lie very very still. Pretending to sleep. Keeping our breath shallow and low. Hoping, praying, yearning for the other one to get up and tend to the tots. Is this wrong? This game of Playing Dead? I don't know. I suspect there are other overtired parents out there who play dead too. Because they are tired. Really tired. And that is why, every once in a while, it is really nice to travel for work. Because I don't need to play dead in the middle of the night. I am dead. Dead asleep!
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Travel tips from a Mom of five - survival advice for a family vacation

Make that checklist - prepare and enjoy time with your little ones

I recently had lunch with a friend who I last saw before our trip to Ireland. She wanted to know how it was. She really wanted to know how it was… not just the glorious green scenery and fabulous family time but the nitty gritty of how we managed to fly overseas and spend ten days in a hotel with five children, all aged six and under. And so I told her. It was HARD!

It was much harder and much more expensive than we anticipated. The logistics of navigating a city – not just Dublin, but any city – with two strollers and five jet-legged kids (not to mention two exhausted parents with short tempers!) was hard.

She asked me how Liam, our six-year old, held up while the other four were pushed in strollers. She assumed we had brought two double strollers with us which, if I had to do it all over again, I would. But, we didn’t. We had a double and a single stroller, which enabled our trio of two-year olds to ride like kings and left our four and six year old whining, moaning and groaning in our wake.

In sharing our adventures with my friend, I suddenly recalled a dark moment my mind must have blocked out: the image of our four year old melting into the worst sort of “MY LEGS WON’T GO, I’M TOO TIRED” tantrum as the doors of Dublin looked down on us and the rains of Ireland fell upon us.

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We were at least a mile away from our hotel with no cab in sight and darkness moving in – in every sense of the word.

The solution required our typical all hands on deck approach - I pushed the double stroller, we put our overtired six year old in charge of the single stroller and my husband put our tired and tormented daughter on his shoulders as the rain poured down and the triplets cried “Rain on me! Wanna go home NOW!”

It was ugly. It was about as far from a Kodak moment as you could possibly get. That said, we did have plenty of true Kodak moments that I will forever cherish and I learned a few things for the next time... if there is a next time!

1. Rent an apartment:

Don’t stay in a hotel. Aside from the cramped quarters, the downside of the hotel was, well, breakfast, lunch and dinner – all of which had to be consumed in a restaurant or the hotel lobby. Neither is a great option with a jet-lagged clan of tots and, it gets very pricey very quickly.

While the upside of a hotel is someone who makes your bed in the morning, there’s another significant downside: no washer and no dryer. Let’s just say that with a trio of potty-training tots, one really needs to be able to do laundry! So, the next time, the Lyons Den will be staying in a short –term rental with kitchen and laundry included.

2. Kids under five needs strollers

Heck, kids over five might even need strollers if your sight-seeing plans are as aggressive as ours.

We literally covered miles each day. My legs were tired. In retrospect, it’s really no surprise that our four and six-year-old were exhausted and miserable… and really, when one thinks of a vacation, “exhausted and miserable” shouldn’t be the descriptors. Poor kids. Next time, strollers all around!


3. Don’t bite off more than you can chew

We tend to cram a lot in a day. Sometimes it’s a fact of life with five kids. Sometimes it’s just plain foolish.

We were looking at pictures from our trip the other night and as we reminisced about the National History Museum, double decker bus tour and Guinness factory, we realized we had done it ALL in ONE day!

Now that is just plain crazy with five small tots in tow! No wonder they were exhausted and miserable… not mention, wet – from both the rain and the potty-training setbacks! I think “less is more” will be my approach for our next family adventure, wherever that may be.

In the meantime, I'm working on an album with hundreds of smiling Kodak moments that will forever be a reminder of our trip... it may not have been a typical vacation but it was still a pretty stellar trip!

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Handling the kids when Halloween is over: it's more trick than treat!

Gross pumpkin

I don’t know about you, but last week was a rough one in the Lyons Den and I attribute a lot of it to what I’m coining the “Halloween Hangover.”  It’s not pretty.  It can be scary.  It is the aftermath of the sugar-induced carnage we call Halloween… ironically enough, the Catholic Church recognizes November 1^st as All Saints Day but inside our humble abode, our offspring have turned to demons.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the biggest fan of Halloween.  I definitely liked it as a kid… except for the year that my Mom decided I should be a “Jar of Jellybeans.”  How?  By putting one of those plastic dry-cleaning bags over my head and filling it up with balloons.  Today, she’d probably end up in jail for such a thing; back then, the greatest offense was that I literally popped on the way to school, had to walk home full of deflated balloons and then was sent back as Miss New Jersey – a title that was never exactly aspirational and was next to impossible to pull off as a fifth grader with glasses and a retainer.  But I digress…

Halloween is a big deal in our town.  A very big deal.  There are jack-o-lanterns aplenty and a big parade; it almost feels like Christmas except that the lights are orange and Santa has been replaced with the fire department handing out treats.  There’s a lot of pressure – pressure to create your own personal haunted house, to turn out tasty Halloween treats and to come up with crafty, creative costume ideas.  None of these are my strong points.  In fact, given that our family has four birthdays (five if you count the dog!) and our wedding anniversary between October 5^th and 12^th, I really don’t have the mental energy to consider Halloween until the week before.

That’s why this year, the kids wore musty old costumes from the basement and once again, our amazing neighbors came to the rescue and affixed an eight foot spider to our roof.  This is true; we came home from grocery shopping last Saturday and there it was.  And there is still is.  And there it forever may be.  Because much like the weeks before Halloween, the weeks after don’t provide much of a respite from the treadmill we call life and I have to prioritize…. Plan Liam’s 7^th birthday party or remove that spider? Do another load of laundry or remove that spider?  You see where I’m going right?  That spider just might be wearing a wreath, some holly and twinkly white lights before long.

As for the kids, Halloween reckoned them unrecognizable.  And not just because it was hard to tell the triplets apart when they abandoned our color-coding scheme and went all Spiderman, Blues Clues, and Fuzzy Lion on us but, because they literally went so coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs -- or, more accurately stated, for Reese’s, Hershey’s, M&Ms and Starburst -- there wasn’t a trace of the sweet children I know and love.  The sweets they consumed turned them sour and their sugar-fueled antics turned me into the Wicked Witch of the West.  No costume required. 

In the past few days, it’s been impossible to drag them out of bed; they have one track, candy-focused minds; they have opted out of all our family rules and let’s just say that I’m the one left cleaning up the mess that all that sugar has wreaked on their delicate little digestive systems.

I really think they have Halloween Hangovers and sadly, they still haven’t had the time to sleep it off. I was hoping that the weekend would provide the ample rest and sugar detox they all need but even with the extra hour of sleep, well, the demons still seem to reign supreme.   Until this passes, I will do my best to channel my inner Glenda the Good Witch… and I know that the kids will be as happy to sing “ding dong the witch is dead” as I am! 

Sight-seeing in Ireland with five tiny tots

Atop Blarney Castle, about to kiss the Blarney Stone

As you may know, we recently spent ten glorious days in Ireland with our five relatively tiny tots... our oldest is six, our only little lady turned five while we were in Dublin and our triplets turned three the day after we got home... needless to say, the month of October has been a bit of a whirlwind and our adventures in Ireland were no exception.  

While Dublin was our home-base, we did rent a car and hit the road so we could take in some sights a bit further afield.  And boy, am I ever glad we did. 

Our trip to Blarney Castle was like a walk through a fairy tale forest, complete with a Witches Stone and Wishing Steps that our little clan found far preferable to the treacherous hike up to kiss the  Blarney Stone itself... especially since they were all born with a natural gift of gab!

Another highlight was the Rock of Cashel, high atop a windswept mountain in Tipperary.  While it felt admittedly sacrilegious, the kids had a blast running among the Celtic crosses -- especially Cormac, who seemed pleased as punch to learn that the chapel was named after him...

One our most memorable days took us through the mountains of Wicklow, where after taking in the manicured gardens of Powerscourt, we were treated to the rugged wonder of Glendalough, a spectacular monastic sight and true natural wonder. As I reflect on our trip, I realize that we covered a lot of ground -- especially with five tots in tow!  It wasn't always easy but when I look back at the pictures, I can't help but notice something special, something markedly different from the many posed family photos I try to take at home... everyone is smiling.  Do you know how hard it is to take of picture of five kids?  To get them to all look at the camera at the same time, let alone with a smile on their faces?!  This is no easy task.  Yet when we were in Ireland, it was simple as can be. 

Thank you Ireland, for sharing your smiling faces with us and providing us with a lifetime of memories that will always bring a smile to our face.

Smiling in Kinsale

On vacation with five children - sight-seeing in Dublin

We've been back from Ireland for two weeks.  I'm still tired.  I don't know if jet lag gets harder to kick with age or if the whirlwind of returning to my demanding job and hectic routine have just worn me out.  I do know that when I look back at the pictures, all of the effort (and resulting exhaustion!) was totally worth it.  

As you may know, there was a lot of emotion tied up in our decision to take five relatively tiny tots to Ireland.  A big part of why we went was to honor the memory of my brother-in-law, Conor -- a fine fella who died far too soon and we miss more than words can say.  I'm not quite ready to articulate and share the emotional aftermath of our experiences but I can't resist sharing some of the highlights of our trip -- the great times we had and sights we saw that absolutely should not be missed.  The details for many of these family-friendly outings can be found right here on Irish Central but here are a few of our personal favorites:

Playground at St. Stephen's Green

In case you can't tell by the five smiling faces (which is a rarity to catch on film!), the amazing playground at St. Stephen's Green was a hit.  We visited on numerous occasions en route to or from our daily adventures.  I think this is a great tip for traveling with tots; if you can work a playground into your daily routine, you'll be guaranteed some smiles -- and, the added benefit of tuckering the little ones out!  Speaking of added benefits, another perk of this fantastic park in the center of Dublin is the opportunity to feed the ducks... and swans!  It's just beautiful and a crowd pleaser for all ages.


The National Museum of Ireland, also known as the "Dead Zoo" was another top destination.  The first floor is full of Ireland's four-footed and winged creatures of days past; they are beautifully stuffed and displayed with a few "hands on" opportunities for those who just can't resist.  The second floor has a whole host of animals arranged in evolutionary sequence for those who are bright enough to notice; I admit, I was not! It  includes life-size rhinos and giraffes which our kids observed with that wide-eyed wonder I absolutely adore and would bottle if I could.


While the "Dead Zoo" had our kids enthralled and is a great way to spend an hour or two on an overcast day, it naturally pales in comparison to the real deal.  The Dublin Zoo is one of the best zoos I've ever been to... and I've been to a LOT of zoos!  We spent Ciara's 5th birthday here, taking in the sights, sounds and yes, even the smells of Mother Nature's most amazing creatures.  We laughed at the monkeys, pretended to be penguins, roared at the lions and got much closer to the elephants than we did on our honeymoon adventure to   Kruger National Park -- we even got to see an elephant take a bath, which was a highlight not only of our trip to the zoo, but our entire ten days in Ireland.  If you've never seen an elephant submerge itself in a watering hole, kick up a leg and then shower himself with his mighty trunk, I'd highly recommend it.  I'd also recommend you do it with a trio of two year olds, who can't help but make comments like "where his towel, mama?" and "I think his mom's gonna get him some lotion and pajamas now."  


In the weeks to come, I'll share more of our adventures. For now, I'm just so glad for the time we had, the warm welcome we received and for the memories, which I know will last a lifetime.  

Taking a vacation in Ireland with five tots in tow

Mama Lyons & "Cubs" at entrance to Dublin Zoo

Some of you may have noticed that a few weeks have passed since my last post.  Some of you may be wondering why.  We recently took our Irish lads and lassie to visit friends and family in Ireland.  Some of you may be wondering why.  The answers are here, in a post that I originally shared on the New York Times Motherlode blog:

While most folks are back to school, back to work and generally back in the swing of things, I’m gearing up for a vacation this fall, when we will embark on a ten day trip to Ireland.  When I say “we” I don’t mean my husband Des and I on a romantic trip to the Emerald Isle.  To the contrary, “we” includes me, Des, our six year old Liam, four year old Ciara and two year old triplets, Kevin, Declan and Cormac who, by the way, are identical and may or may not be accurately represented in their passport photos!

The very notion of lugging five relatively tiny tots across the big pond to our ancestral home raises several questions.  A few I’ve heard repeatedly include, “Why now? Why not wait until they will really appreciate it?”  “How will you survive that overnight flight?”  And my personal favorite, “are you crazy?!”  The short answers are “Why not?”  “Will they ever really appreciate it?” “By sleeping!” and “I don’t think so but I’m not totally sure.”

To provide some context, let me share our family history and how this trip came to fruition.  As you probably guessed from our impressive selection of “Top 100 Irish Baby Names”, we’ve got a lot of green in our blood and a fair amount of Irish pride that flows along with it.  My maiden name is O’Connor; my mother’s maiden name was O’Brien.  Frankly, when I married a guy with the last name Lyons, I thought we should compromise and become the “O’Lyons” – needless to say, that didn’t work!

My great-grandparents hailed from County Clare and County Mayo.  Des’ Irish roots are more recent; his Dad was a “Corkman” – born, raised and educated in County Cork.  Des’ Mom was Scottish.  As a kid, Des spent many summers visiting aunts, uncles and cousins overseas.  He claims that kids flew free back then – a perk that I’d like the airlines to reconsider although, it’s too late for this adventure.  Our tickets are booked, our seats are confirmed and that brings me to the rest of my story.

Des’ brother Conor was a great jazz guitarist, a proud Irishman and a gentle soul with a giant heart.  His gifted musical hands never held a child of his own but often held ours, especially when the triplets came along and we were so dramatically outnumbered.  For those first few months, we had five kids under four.  During the long days and longer nights, Conor was a constant presence.  He could burp a baby with the best of them and though he drew the line at changing diapers, he was truly a Godsend. 

As we fed, rocked, burped and soothed three tiny tots late into the night, we’d talk about Ireland.  We discussed all going together one day -- sooner rather than later so that the triplets could fly free (the airlines still don’t charge for kids under two) and the aging aunts and uncles would have the opportunity to meet our kids and hear Conor play.  We decided that we would buy Conor’s ticket and in return, he’d have the pleasure of cuddling Kevin, Declan or Cormac on his lap for that overnight flight.

Our plans were grand and our dreams were big but then everything changed. Conor was diagnosed with lung cancer in February 2010 and lost his valiant battle just five months later.  On July 13th, the choirs in heaven received a great jazz guitarist and all around good guy; we know the music up there is sweeter since he arrived.

As for us, we’re still here.  With holes in hearts.  Until recently, the sound of the music Conor loved so much and gave us all such joy quite literally made me sick.  We never know how children digest the death of a loved one but we know that Liam in particular feels a keen loss; just a few months ago he started sobbing and when asked why responded, “Conor was going to teach me guitar and now he can’t.”

So why are we going to Ireland?  Why now?  I suppose because we have seen firsthand that life is just too short.  We could wait until the kids really “appreciate” it but what if that day never arrives? 

As for you Ireland, consider yourself warned.  The Lyons Den is coming to town and we’re going to make the most of it with five tots, four suitcases, three backpacks and two strollers in tow!  When we hear our first true Irish reel, we will know Conor is with us in spirit.  When we see the sights, we know he will be looking down upon us.  And, as we dwell on our heritage, we will be eternally grateful for the time that he dwelled here among us. 

As for me, I hope to come home with a sense of peace and renewal, not to mention a suitcase full of Irish knit sweaters and a lifetime full of fond memories… except perhaps for that overnight flight which I remain optimistic we will all sleep through!  

Lessons learned from back to school night(s)

Last week was a doozy. Monday was the 2nd grade back to school night. Tuesday was the kindergarten back to school night. Wednesday night was the parent orientation for CCD and for me, a wake-up call for just how much of my Catholic education I’ve forgotten.

I’m told that as a kid, I used to sing church hymns in the tub but, it seems with the passing of the years, I’ve forgotten not only many of those hymns but some of the Catholic basics as well – like the fact that the Sacrament of Reconciliation and First Communion both apparently take place in the second grade. This was just one eye-opening takeaway from our back to back evenings back at school; here are a few more.

1. Second grade is tough. Especially the spelling homework -- not the words themselves but the routine of how they must be written, then alphabetized, then used in a sentence. There is also some very specific page folding and numbering involved; it seems a lot more complicated than the good old spelling bees I recall from my youth. What I learned from one night in second grade is that following directions is key to success... with spelling and the rest of the curriculum!

2. Kindergarten is lovely. There are songs, coloring, snacks, blocks and nap time. All of this appeals to me, especially the nap time. I learned here that I would like to go back to kindergarten and I still like to color.

3. Our second grader is a conniver. Of course we knew he could be mischievous at home but we thought he was an angel-child when we let him spread his wings. Not so. His teacher very kindly told us that he likes to push the boundaries, see what he can get away with – like trading baseball cards between reading and arithmetic for example. That is not allowed. And so I was reminded once again that it's important to follow the rules and breaking them has consequences... in this case, there will be no more baseball cards for our budding little trader!

4. Our kindergartner has a great voice. And she’s not afraid to use it. This I knew. At home she's been known to shriek and scream like she's possessed. However, in school, she uses the power of her apparently well-tuned pitch quite differently. She confidently stands in front of her classmates and sings her name in the attendance song, softly crooning like a pro. Who knew?! I learned I should listen more closely and that there is a positive way to channel that voice!

5. We have to purchase a navy suit and white tie. Seriously. This is a requirement for those aforementioned Sacraments. On the upside, when you consider the hand-me-down possibilities with our up and coming Catholic triplets, it will surely be worn more than once. But really? A suit? A white tie?! I suppose I learned that sometimes you just have to smile and play the part. In this case, my sweet (can you be both sweet and conniving? I think so.) second grader will be assuming the role of a more fully-fledged member of our church community and I will be the proud mama.

That, perhaps, is my biggest takeaway from three nights in the classroom; I am indeed a proud mama. And, I still have a lot to learn!

The great debate - Can working Moms ever really win?

Last week, I shared some thoughts on my life as a working mom on the New York Times parenting blog, Motherlode.  Under the headline of How She Does It, I sought to answer the question that I -- and many other Moms -- are constantly asked: how do you do it? 

I answered from my perspective which apparently (and unfortunately!) led some readers to believe that I am either A. a single Mom or B. a self-centered wife who gives my amazing husband Des no credit.  Neither is true.  And the mixed commentary caused me to wonder once again if working moms can ever really win. 

Like most moms, I struggle with the juggle and admit to occasionally dropping the ball, as Lisa Belkin noted in her lead-in to my piece.  There are days -- in fact, even weeks and months -- when I feel like I'm stretched too thin and not doing any of "it" well.  If I'm thriving at work, I'm not spending enough time at home and if my home-life is thriving, then something at work may be sacrificed. While I strive for perfection at home and at work, I've learned let go a little bit, to let things slide, to overlook the Legos in the living room or occasionally show up for a meeting in a snot-stained sweater.  Most simply put, I do the best I can, at work and at home, each and every day. 

It's not easy.  Like most folks,we worry about money.  We worry about raising happy, healthy, well-adjusted kids.  We worry about our marriage, about finding time for each other in the whirlwind of our lives. We know that as tough as it is now, our role as parents will get tougher as the kids get older.  We hope when that day comes, I'll have more flexible hours so I can help with homework, shuttle to sports, and truly tune-in to the teenage angst that surely awaits.

But that is then.  This is now.  I work because I have to and feel fortunate that I actually like to.  I can't spend too much time worrying about tomorrow because frankly, it takes all the energy I have just to get through today.  For the record, I don't get through the days on my own.  Des and I are a team.  And a good one at that. Much to our own dismay, we sometimes find ourselves humming that annoying Wonder Pets jingle..."How's it gonna work?  TEAMWORK!" He vacuums, I do the laundry.  I do the grocery shopping, he cooks.  We share childcare duties and are both experts at changing diapers, giving baths, packing snacks, making lunches… the list goes on and on.

Our kids know that they're part of a team too -- and that being on a team requires teamwork.  They may be young but we want to instill in them a sense of responsibility and a strong work ethic.  That's why at four and six years old respectively, Ciara and Liam make their beds. And although they are not yet three, Kevin, Declan and Cormac know to clear their plates and put books back on the shelves.  It's all about teamwork.  As a husband and wife, Des and I make a great team.  As parents, we have great pride in the little team of Lyons Cubs that we get the pleasure of raising.

It helps that we don't take ourselves too seriously.  We laugh.  A lot.  I often say that life in the Lyons Den is like that famed fable... when it's good, it's really really good and when it's bad, it's horrid.  We have really bad, wicked, screaming, crying, temper tantrum, totally losing it, horrid moments.  Doesn't everyone have them?  Given the number of kids we have, we probably have more meltdowns more often than most.  But they pass.  And then we laugh.  And we remind ourselves that no matter how bad it gets, no matter how tired we are, we are lucky to have each other and our five kids are a blessing.

They remind us daily of what's most important -- the time we spend together.  I cherish that time.  And I cherish a break from it as well.  I suppose that's why, for now, I'm A-OK with being a working mom.  And I can't help but hope that by the time my daughter is faced with choosing a career or motherhood, that she can choose both -- ideally without engaging in a debate. I hope that by then, the working moms and stay at home moms will have drawn a truce and recognized that there are "different strokes for different folks" and really, isn't it about time we all got along?

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Read more:


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Blog: Lyons Den Mom by Kerry Lyons
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Ten years on - remembering 9/11 World Trade attacks

9/11 - Attacks on the World Trade Center

Where was I ten years ago?

I had just gotten engaged.  Just turned 30.  I had a man I loved, a job I loved and all was well with the world.

I was probably kind of smug that September morning as I sauntered out the door thinking about how lucky I was.  What a beautiful day it was.  Then, what a shame it was that a small Cessna hit one of the Towers.  That's what the doorman told me.  A small Cessna.  Terrible, I thought.  Surely someone must have died. No way you could survive a crash into the World Trade Center.  

I got on the subway.  People were talking. Sad. Tragic.  Little plane.  Big tower.  Awful.

I got off the subway.  Smoke. Screaming.  Running.  Big planes.  Two towers.  Run!

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READ MORE:
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And so I did.  I ran with my faithful, fluffy golden retriever Murphy, who I routinely "snuck" onto the subway and into my office at 19th and Broadway.   It wasn't "downtown" per se.  I wasn't that close.  I watched the tragedy unfold on TV, relatively safe and completely spellbound in a conference room, about a mile north of the horror.

Surrounded by co-workers who were truly friends, I watched the towers fall, the Pentagon get hit.   The reporters stunned.  The world shocked.  The city suddenly silent.  Eerie.  Smoky.  Sad.  So sad.

Murphy: a comforting, fluffy furball

Like so many others, Murphy and I walked to Grand Central and took a MetroNorth train out of the city.  We were headed to Des' apartment in Westchester.  I ran to the man I now call my husband and the place I now call home.  I was on a packed train full of frightened masses.  Men were crying.  People were covered in dust, soot, and who knows what else.  Murphy seemed to give them comfort.  I know I was glad to have him with me, to have his soft fur to silence my sobs.

It was unthinkable.  We were under attack.  New York City.  The US of A.  It was unthinkable.  I had to go back.  No sooner did I get off the train then I wanted to go back.  To the city. To home.  To help.  

We went the next morning.  We brought old sweatshirts, socks, t-shirts with us.  That's what they said to do.  They said they needed volunteers at the triage center they set up at Chelsea Piers.  They said they needed clean, comfortable clothes.  We brought them.  We went to help. 

But there was no one there.  They were in the rubble.  The pile.  They called it "The Pile."  It used to be the World Trade Center.  They used to be people's parents, friends, children, loves.  They were gone.  It was incomprehensible.

I remember thinking "I hope the world never forgets.  I hope we don't forget the people who lost their lives, the people who saved lives and those who died trying." I also recall that in the weeks that followed, the world was a kinder, gentler place in many ways.  People bonded, especially in New York but far beyond as well.  Families got closer.  Relationships grew stronger.  People seemed to be nicer, to remember what matters most -- family, friendship, civility, respect.  

In the aftermath of 9/11, these values seemed to thrive.  As we mark  the ten-year anniversary of one of the most horrid days in our nation's history, I hope we will remember.  I hope we truly honor those we lost and those who are still among us.  

I haven't quite figured out how to explain all this to our kids but I know I'm going to hold them tighter, hug them closer and when the tears inevitably well up, I just may bury them in some fluffy fur, just as I did ten years ago.  

Granted, that fur now belongs to Finnegan since Murphy has departed to the great dog park in the sky but, I suppose in some ways, that's fitting.  Life goes on.  And it's up to us to ensure that as it does, we remember and we pay our respects.

Finn: Not as fluffy but just as sweet

Hurricane Irene spares us - sighs of relief as storm passes with little damage

The "little beach" we left behind before Irene hit

It's hard to believe that just yesterday, Hurricane Irene was bearing down upon us with driving wind and torrential rain.  It's also hard to believe that although there is devastation all around us, we have been spared.  The trees didn't fall, our basement didn't flood and we didn't lose power. 

While my husband and I breathed a huge sigh of relief as Irene blew out to take her fury further north, our little ones were a bit disappointed.


For starters, they couldn't understand why we had to bail out on our last summer weekend on the Cape.  I was a bit reluctant to head home myself.  Saturday was hazy, hot and humid and we spent the morning on the beach, soaking up the last of summer's rays before heading home ahead of the storm.  Explaining the perils of a pending hurricane is a fool's errand when you have a minivan full of tired tots who'd rather be building sand castles.  


As the sky darkened and the guy on the radio spoke of the storm's impact further south, our kids seemed to get the gist of it.  While our minivan barreled south on 95 toward New York, they seemed to slowly start to understand what was coming.  We spoke of the subway shutting down, of windows boarded up and of the potential loss of power.  It was the loss of power that really caught their interest.  They were intrigued by the notion of living by candlelight and we had a lively conversation about what we might eat if we had no power for a few days... peanut butter and jelly, cereal with milk (as long as the milk lasted), and raisins topped their list.


We also had a neat little chat about what it meant to "hunker down". According to dictionary.com, to "hunker down" is to squat on one's heels; to hide, hide out or take shelter.  This notion was especially intriguing to them as we discussed the possibility of all hunkering down and sleeping together in our living room... Mom and Dad would get the pull out couch, Liam and Ciara would snuggle in their sleeping bags and Kevin, Declan and Cormac could camp out in their pack & plays.  We would eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches by candlelight, perhaps while singing songs and telling stories.


Now, if that's not an idealized view of hurricane preparation, I don't know what is.  It's really a blessing to see the world (including natural disasters!) through the eyes of a child... or, in my case, five of them.  It's also a blessing that Hurricane Irene was kind to us.  And, for all those who are suffering the after-effects, I wish them the best and hope they might find some sort of a silver lining... something our kids are always prone to see.

A missing tooth, a missing Tooth Fairy and Tooth Fairy extortion

Liam in simpler times, after the loss of tooth #1

The tooth fairy has officially visited our home five times.  Our six-year-old has officially lost six teeth.  As you may have noticed, there is a discrepancy here.  As far as I can tell, the issue was the loss of tooth #5.

I can’t recall where or when it fell out and neither can Liam, the aforementioned gap-toothed six year old.  The fact he can’t even remember the details of this little tooth makes me feel a bit better about my own vague recollection. I do recall that when it came out, it eventually ended up in a little “treasure chest” – one of those little hand-painted projects which, for some reason, ended up on top of our entertainment center (yep, we still have one of those!) several weeks back.  That’s when my mind goes blank.

Fast forward to this morning, when I got home from walking our dog to find a pouty gap-toothed Liam sulking on the front porch.  “What’s wrong?” I asked.  “Daddy moved my pillow last night and the tooth fairy never came!”  Hmmm.  I had to think quickly on this one.  Had tooth #7 fallen out last night?  Did I have amnesia?  What exactly happened and how could I respond glibly while keeping his faith in that apparently dim-witted fairy? 

A career in advertising has left me relatively quick on my feet, good with a retort and polished in the arts of ambiguity and empathy, which I can conjure up as needed.  Without dissing the tooth fairy or the Dad, I was able to discern that at some point last night, Liam found that treasure chest with tooth #5; it had slipped behind the TV and was discovered during a search for a Tom & Jerry video (yes, we do let our kids watch them and if you haven’t seen Tom or Jerry in a while, I’d highly suggest that you revisit them!). 

Like any other 2^nd grade believer, Liam assumed the tooth fairy must have radar and would intuitively know when a small boy places a toothy treasure under his pillow.  With this in mind, Liam had slid the treasure box under the pillow without uttering a word about it to me or the Dad.  When he woke up this morning and found the tooth and treasure chest under his bed, he reached the reasonable conclusion that when Dad did the final late night tuck-in, he must have knocked the treasure chest under the bed, thereby sending the tooth fairy off course.

This was a lot to take in so early in the morning but, grateful for the large cup of coffee I'd consumed, I explained that Liam was right.  Of course the tooth fairy’s radar doesn’t work under little boys beds; it is only effective under pillows!  That answer seemed satisfactory and so it is that tonight, tooth #5 (and the fairy!) will be getting a second chance.  Having reviewed the contents of my own treasure chest of Liam's teeth (yep, I save them... gross, right?), I came across this little gem from a few months ago.  I can't help but think that his initial excitment upon discovering that the absent tooth fairy finally reappeared might be dramatically diminished when he realizes she only left $2.00...

Tooth Fairy Extortion!

Summer vacation with five kids - what this Mom learned

We just got back from a week on Cape Cod,MA.  A lovely, sunny, laid back, relaxing week where we did little more than hit the beach and then hit our beds shortly thereafter.

Now it's back to reality.  Before dinnertime on day one, I had unpacked everything, done about five loads of laundry and reorganized the basement; the basement wasn't on the agenda for the day but, since I spent so much time down there with the laundry, I couldn't stand tripping over the bins of hand-me-downs and had to do something about it.  As I reached the height of my organizational frenzy, my six year old, Liam, wandered down and asked me to play with him.  When I said I was busy, he whined "But Mom, why don't you ever play with me at home?!"  Which made me realize that I learned a lot over the course of our week away and first day home.

1. My kids like to play with me.  And I like to play with them too.  And I really need to do it more often, not just when we're on vacation.  While we were away, I made sand castles, went on walks (without my phone!), and totally tuned in to the five tots that I'm too often tuning out.  It's so easy to use the "busy" excuse but it's amazing how appreciative they are when I slow down, pay attention and really focus on these amazing little people we're so blessed to have.  There was one night when Ciara just wanted me to sit and snuggle and watch Peter Pan.  And I did.  And she was thrilled.

And so was I.  Let's face it, pretty much any kid activity (sand castles, coloring, bubbles, reading, you name it) is going to be more fun that whatever usually keeps me so busy (laundry, dishes, frantic organizing, email, etc!).  That's why I am going to try harder to actually play with my kids -- and ideally, do so with undivided attention as I keep my phone and email at bay!

2. I need at least eight hours of sleep. While we were away we were routinely in bed by ten or eleven o'clock and slept until the first tot toddled in -- usually between 7:30 and 8:30.  That's a LOT more sleep than the five or six hours I typically get and I have to say, I think I was more pleasant as result!  Of course, the blue skies, beautiful beaches and call of the ocean always perk me up but, I can honestly say that I drank less coffee, awoke less cranky and felt a whole lot better with a few extra hours of shut-eye.  I'm not quite sure how I'm going to maintain the eight-hour average as the responsibilities of home and work kick back into high gear but I'm going to try

3. I like my husband.  A lot.  In fact, back in the day, I might have said that I "like him, like him."  These days, we too often go through the motions, the perfunctory "I love you" muttered before we roll over and sack out, exhausted from the constant action here in the Lyons Den.  Vacation was, and always is, a great reminder that this guy I too often bombard with "to-dos" and "why didn't yous" is a great guy.  A guy I once swooned over and thought "this will be the father of my children."  A guy who is a great dad, who always knows the value of playtime and who has always encouraged me to get more sleep.  This is a guy worth listening to more often, who deserves more of my undivided attention and who proved once again while we were away that we make a great team.

It's not easy to load up five kids for a six hour ride or to load up three pack and plays and the rest of our gear but, it's well worth it.  I learned more about my kids, my husband and myself in a week away than I ever would at home.  Just a simple break in the routine is all takes to bring us all closer together.  I'm going try hard to hold onto this loving feeling but know it's likely to fade, as it always does when the stress of our daily lives inevitably mounts.  When it does, I'm going to reread this post, take a look at this picture and remind myself of just how lucky I am.