The struggle with the juggle - a working mom's musings and tips

I recently started a new job.  It is a good job, a job that I’m really excited about.  It’s challenging, it’s interesting and it’s close to home.  It checks all the boxes I so carefully identified at the inception of my job hunt.  Even so,  here I am, less than a month in and once again struggling with the juggling.

I know I’m not alone here.  I know most working moms struggle with the juggle and these feelings ebb and flow.  I’m just suffering from the tidal wave of starting something new.  For better or for worse, most folks think I’ve got it all together.  “How do you do it?” they ask.  “You look so refreshed!” they say, wondering what my trick is.  The truth is, I have no trick.  And, if I happen to look refreshed, I probably owe it to a good run, a strong cup of coffee or  an unusually stellar application of mascara and under-eye concealer!

We all know that looks can be deceiving and I have to admit that working while juggling five kids at home just isn’t easy.  In fact, It’s really hard to explain to my first grader why Mom isn’t there to pick him up at the bus or to my pre-schooler why the nice neighbor across the street will be dropping her off a few days a week.  It’s tough to leave the triplets in their cribs with wet diapers as I sail out the door yelling “Sorry guys, gotta run!  It won’t be long… I love you!”  And it can be even tougher to walk in from a long day at the office to find five needy souls who are hungry, tired, and just looking for love (and I'm not even counting my poor husband!) -- by that time, I feel the same way. The good news is that the love is there in abundance; the bad news is that dinner may or may not be!

With a new week dawning, I’m making  a conscious effort to be a better juggler.  I’ve been doing this long enough that I’ve picked up some tips along the way and when I actually follow them, well, none of those proverbial balls will drop.  Here they are in no particular order…

·         Get some sleep!  Though I’m often tempted to stay up late on Sunday night to “get ahead of it all”, I find this often backfires and I end up starting the week tired and grumpy – obviously not the best way to start!  So, take it from me and try to tuck in early when you can... on Sunday or any other night of the week.

·         Plan ahead.  I’m guilty of being not just a planner but, an over-planner.  I have to say though, when you’ve got a lot on your plate, planning can be your best friend.  I really do try to lay out the kids clothes, pack up lunches and snacks and make a week-long meal plan… this ensures that even if your day is crappy, you’ll have something to put on that plate when you get home.

·         Just say yes to online shopping – groceries, diapers, snow boots and more, I get it all delivered right to our front door.

There, I feel better already.  Just knowing that I’ve got some survival tactics in place leaves me ready to take on the week ahead.  If you’ve got some tips that help you with the juggle, I’d love to know… especially if you could recommend a good under-eye concealer… truth be told, mine just isn’t working as well as it used to!

Life with two-year-old triplets: the rest of the story

As I mentioned in last week’s post, life with a trio of two-year olds tots most certainly has its ups and downs.  Kevin, Declan and Cormac are as jolly as the day is long but, sometimes the day can be very long – and these are the days that tend to be the toughest.  In the spirit of honoring my promise to share the “horrid” and dispel any myths that I’ve been brainwashed or medicated into believing that my children are truly cherubs,  here are a few glimpses into the dark side of life in the Lyons Den.

You may recall the cherished moments I went on about last week…  the sweet snuggles, the fantastic firsts, the belly laughs and how amazing it is to experience them all times three.   Well, the same rationale applies to the downsides that you’d rather not recall – the spit up, runny noses, exploding diapers, temper tantrums and tiny tyrants – we’ve got all of those times three too!  I get through the day by focusing on the positive – the smiles, the hugs and yes, even those snot-nosed sloppy kisses.  But, I’d be remiss - -and downright dishonest – if I didn’t reveal some of the more trying times that our triplets provide.

For starters, there is the noise.  The cacophony of three screaming toddlers (often amplified by their arguing siblings in the background) is sometimes just too much to bear.  It gets insanely loud.  There is just no more articulate way to put it.  It is deafeningly, horrifyingly, maddeningly LOUD!  And naturally, when the trio gets going, I’m not usually in my best form.  I might be hungry or tired or ornery or stressed out (who wouldn’t be?!) and to my own dismay, often find myself screaming above the din just to be heard.

Needless to say, that doesn’t work.  You know what worked?  The night I took the trash out and didn’t come back.  Truth be told, I  just didn’t come back as quickly as they expected.  I deliberately took out the trash to get away from the noise, to clear my head, to get some fresh air.  And I stayed outside long enough to do just that.  Long enough to take a few deep breaths, look at the stars, pray for patience and brace myself to address the din.  It was just a few minutes, less than five, I’d say.  But you know what?  When I walked in, it was quiet.  You could hear a pin drop.  This is a strategy that I’d highly recommend – I think it’s why they say “when the going gets tough, the tough get going” – they just forgot to mention that it’s good to go back again!

Then there’s the mess.  The “mess” can fall into any number of categories – food (in the form of literally “mashed” potatoes, flying hot dogs, spaghetti face and numerous other iterations), bodily functions (including but not limited to boogies as hair gel, poop as an art form and our home as a “Vomitorium”), toys (ranging from the piercing pain of Legos underfoot to the “wall as canvas” approach to arts and crafts).   All of these “messes” are a natural part of having kids – or at least that’s what I tell myself to remain at least partially sane.  But, when they are multiplied by three, well, let’s just say that even a Magic Eraser can’t help.  Trust me, I’ve tried!  Here’s the thing about the messes though – when we first thought about having kids, I had some real reservations – a fair amount of them rooted in the fear of the mess – sticky hands, runny noses, constant drooling – I really didn’t think I was up for any of it.  But, it turns out, I am.  There have been many things about parenting I didn’t think I was up for (most of it, in fact!) but, the many messes have shown me that learning to roll with it, to accept things as they are, is one of the best things about having kids… whether they arrive one at a time or in a bundle of three!

So, while it’s true that when they are good, they are very very good and when they are bad, they are horrid, they’ve taught me a lot about myself and that, I have to say, is very very good.

Life with two-year old triplets: a love story

People often ask what it’s like to have a trio of two-year old tots at home. The short answer is reminiscent of a classic nursery rhyme – when it’s good, it’s very very good but when it’s bad, it’s horrid. Fortunately, while I’ve seen a few horrid glimpses of the “terrible twos”, life in the Lyons Den is for the most part very, very good. It is so good in fact that my husband and I have occasionally remarked we feel sorry for all the folks out there who only got one baby at a time… mind you, that was us (twice!) before we got the surprise of a lifetime and discovered that we were having these three little guys!

Think of all those tender baby and toddler moments that are probably part of your fondest memories… the precious warmth of a snuggly newborn, the infectious belly laughs, the wonder of the first tooth and first step, the humor of the “do it self!” phase of burgeoning independence… now imagine it all times three. All those endearing moments and memorable milestones – imagine them multiplied and intensified by three and that is life in the Lyons Den. Since today is Valentine’s Day, it seems especially appropriate to focus on all that is very very good… we will save the horrid moments for a later date!

Since he is the firstborn triplet, let’s start with Kevin. With the admittedly unfortunate nickname of KooKooBear, (often shortened to just KooKoo), Kevin is a consistently good natured little fella. We liken him to Winnie the Pooh; this sweet guy started happily humming in his crib when he was about six months old and he hasn’t stopped. He is always singing and never in a hurry. This is a guy with no sense of urgency, just a laidback sweetheart of a two-year old who likes to do things on his own time. A brisk walk to “school” would never occur to him; there’s just no need to move quickly when there are snowplows to watch or birds up above or perhaps a cat across the street. One day this week, my KooKooBear told me I looked like a princess which, of course, melted my heart. Until my husband suggested that he wasn’t actually saying “princess” -- he was saying “pants on.” Whether he was referring to his diaper-clad self or suggesting that I should trade my skirt for pants, I’ll never know. In my mind, I’d much prefer to believe he thinks his mama is a princess. And so I do.

Next there’s Declan, born as “Baby B.” I think Declan (sometimes referred to as “Duckling”) might be a genius. Really. I know every parent thinks their kid is a genius but, let’s face it, I’ve got a lot of kids and if I had to pick just one genius out of the group, it would be Declan. He was the first to roll over, sit up, walk and talk. He has a quiet, introspective side and can often be found on the couch “reading” a book with the “big kids” while Kevin and Cormac are spinning in circles until they fall down dizzy. Our “Duckling” is an avid animal lover and can also be found reclining on Finnegan, our 80-pound lab; he has a certain kinship with Finn and is naturally drawn to animals of all sorts – as am I. Though he can be a tad serious, he’s got a laugh that lights up the room – an infectious laugh that comes from the heart (and belly!), is filled with joy and can make a bad day good. Interestingly, Declan seems to exist on milk and milk alone. He might nibble on a meal now and again but he can down a sippy cup of milk in a minute – often hands-free, which is just another of his firsts. Genius, right?

Last but not least, Baby Mac. Cormac was the smallest of the litter when they were born and from the moment he arrived, seemed determined to defy his “Baby Mac” moniker. When they were newborns and it was difficult to tell them apart (they are identical, after all!), I would tell people that I thought Cormac’s eyelashes were “curlier”. Now, that’s really grasping for straws, isn’t it?! Curlier eyelashes? Who in their right mind would notice such a thing? I now know what caught my attention; it wasn’t his luscious eyelashes (which all my kids have) but rather, a glint in his eye. You know what I mean… that impish, charming glint matched by a similarly impish, charming smile. This is the guy to watch. If we say zig, he zags; if it’s time to go, he wants to stay; if we say no, he wants to play. He is as charming and contrarian and conniving as a little guy can be and he will lead his brothers down the path of destruction if given just the hint of a chance. If asked, he may tell you that he is “KooKoo” or “Duckling” but when you see that glint (and chronically running nose!), you will know it is “Baby Mac.” Ladies, you have been warned. And you should also know that he gives a great hug – a really big, tight, cling-on kind of a hug that can only mean “I love you.”

I am so lucky to have these little Valentine’s in my life; they may be identical but they are each an original and so far, it’s been a delight to watch them grow. And, lest you think I’ve been heavily medicated or just completely lost my mind, tune in again next week for the “horrid” part of the story!

Superbowl Sunday proves once again that 'boys will be boys'

My daughter Ciara and I are surrounded by boys in every sense of the word.  Even our dog (a loyal golden/lab mix named Finnegan) is a boy.  And even Finnegan seems to revel in the primal pleasure of burping and farting in a way that I’m certain I will never understand.

In our house, while I’d like to think that I rule the roost, I am woefully outnumbered and consistently amazed (and slightly horrified!) by just how much "boys will be boys" and just how young it all starts.  I remember when Liam, our firstborn, was about one and a half, he looked at me with outright glee and said ‘FART!”.  I instantly shot my husband a stern look that clearly said “where the hell did he learn that and do you really think it’s appropriate for a kid under two to be joyfully exclaiming FART?!” and then I sweetly looked at my little lad and said “No, no.  Not fart.  Toot.”  And then he and my husband exchanged glances and roared with laughter as if to say “Is she serious?!  What a loser!  Guys don’t TOOT, we FART!”  And so it began.

Our triplets were about the age Liam was when they discovered the joy of flatulation... and they were equally exuberant.  I sometimes feel like a poo-poo prisoner because though they just recently turned two,  they have figured out the one way to get Mom’s undivided attention is to shout with all their might “Poo Poo Potty!!!  POO POO POTTY!!!!!”  So, I take them, one by one to sit on the potty.  They hold me hostage as I rub their back, sing them songs, tell stories and urge them to poop or pee or do something other than hold me against my will in our dirty bathroom.  And you know what my reward is?  The occasional fart!  The stinky fart (most certainly NOT a tender toot!) has become the first inking of potential success with the potty training.  Ah, the irony of it all.

Then there are the sports.  My husband is a bit of a fanatic and despite my occasional (actually, make that increasingly frequent!) protests, our four little boys are clearly dedicated to following in their father’s footsteps while poor little Ciara just looks at me as if to say “are they for real?!”  

The triplets just love to get in the game – any game.  They are obsessed with balls.  … soccer balls, soft balls, baseballs, tennis balls, footballs, beach balls, golf balls, lacrosse balls, you name it, they love it.  They’re even starting to enjoy their own personal sets, if you know what I mean.  Their limited vocabulary is fairly fluent in the language of sport – “pass”, “catch”, “out”, “my turn” and my personal favorite, “who’s open?!” are a part of their daily vernacular.  Regrettably “NO BALLS IN THE HOUSE” has become part of mine. 

Beyond playing sports, watching them has also become a favorite pastime.  Liam has been known to cry if bedtime arrives before the game du jour ends and apparently “needs” to watch Sports Center when he wakes up.  The  triplets have mastered “J-E-T-S, Jets, Jets, JETS!,” and seemed visibly crushed to learn that their team wasn’t going to the Superbowl.  Even so, naptime yesterday was more of a battle than usual because the little fellas didn’t want to miss a minute of “the big football game.”  Try as I might, they just didn’t understand that the game didn't start until well after dinner time and that without a nap, they’d surely miss the kickoff!

All I can say is, heaven help me and my little lady… yesterday’s Superbowl confirmed that much to my chagrin, ALL my little guys seem to enjoy watching any sort of ball game while keeping a tight grip on their own.  My husband assured me this is all normal (as he asked me to move so he could see the score!) and uttered with an admittance and acceptance that I’m starting to understand, “Sorry hon, boys will be boys.” 

A working mom's stay at home sabbatical

I recently took a few weeks off between jobs. I was burned out, needed a break and really yearning for some quality time with our little Lyons Cubs. Having only known the life of a WM (Working Mom), I always wondered what it would be like to be a SAHM (Stay At Home Mom).

I officially joined the workforce as a gift-wrapping teenager back in the 80’s and since then, my only time off has been maternity leave… nine weeks when Liam was born in 2004, sixteen weeks when Ciara was born in 2006 and twenty weeks when the triplets were born in 2008.

I had mixed emotions about my maternity leaves… perhaps because I had mixed emotions about motherhood. With Liam, I was petrified of this little human that I had no clue how to care for; I was honestly surprised that they thought me capable enough to send us home from the hospital together!

With Ciara, I just couldn’t imagine how I’d juggle this sweet little rosebud of a newborn with the always active almost two-year old that Liam had become. And with the triplets, well, needless to say, I was completely overwhelmed!

As any WM knows, a maternity leave is far from the blissful break some folks suggest it may be. It is a daunting time full of sleep deprivation, dirty diapers, saggy body parts and for me, an occasional sense of isolation. I never thought that having a baby (or three!) could be a lonely experience but it was. It was very lonely to be awake with a hungry newborn at 3:00AM with swollen boobs that just wouldn't work. Or mid-day when my pals were out having fun and I was home with a crying soul I was trying so hard to understand. Of course, these feelings are not the sole territory of the WM, I’m quite certain that SAHMs experience the same range of emotions from fear to anxiety to yes, even the wonder of it all. Because it is indeed a wonder -- the fact that your body produced this little person (or, in my case, people!) who stare into your eyes with such adoration… I like to think it was adoration although, I know those meaningful glances might have also just been gas.

My point is that any time I’ve ever taken off from work has been filled with the sleepless nights and unpredictable days of infancy. So, taking a few weeks “off” to be a SAHM with three two year olds, a four year old and six year old was a completely different – and dare I say, much better – experience!

My stay at home sabbatical has been a dream come true. In a way, it was kind of a test… can I really juggle all these crazy kids without escaping to the grown-up work world that I’m accustomed to? Will l like it? Will I still like them? Will they still like me? These are the questions that ran through my head as I embarked on my six week stay at home. And, in short, the answers are yes, yes, yes and thankfully, yes!

I was finally able to participate in the many activities that I know (from a very good friend!) get to be a drone for the full-time SAHM but were a thrill for me… the preschool pick up and drop off, the meet and greet at the school bus, the ability to go to the pediatrician in the middle of the day, the chance to take some kids to the grocery store, host playdates, pick up from CCD and dream up random things to do – many of which focused on cooking or baking so, I fear this stay at home sabbatical has resulted in a slightly rounder me but, c’est la vie! I’ve loved every minute of it. And I’m prepared to admit that perhaps the reason why is because I always knew it would be short-term.

I always knew I was going back to work; it was just a question of when. These past few weeks have essentially been a maternity leave without the sleep deprivation, isolation and post-pregnancy hormone horrors. It was like a dream come true to have this break and, like most dreams, it is coming to an end. I will soon cross the line and head back to the place I know best, back to my role as a WM. I am truly grateful for the time I’ve had – for baking cookies, playing in the snow, walking the triplets to school, taking Ciara to gymnastics, meeting Liam at the bus, finding the time to quietly read to them all, cooking dinner without the post-work angst and mayhem, snuggling in PJs on weekdays, all of it. It has been stellar; it has truly been a gift.

And, I know the grass is always greener… I now know what I have as a WM that I wouldn’t as a SAHM. Beyond benefits and financial stability, working gives me the opportunity to pee when I want to and to eat a whole sandwich without sharing, if I so desire. It gives me intellectual stimulation and constant adult conversation that rarely wanders into the land of potty-training or discipline.

Thanks to my stay at home sabbatical, I will no longer wonder “what if” because I now know. I am glad to have a career and even gladder to know that should it all come crashing down, I have five little people at home who will always be glad to have a SAHM.