Lessons learned on a Kindergarten field tip - being grossed out, enthusiastic and countless questions

Kindergarten field trip

This week I had the pleasure of accompanying my daughter’s Kindergarten class on a field trip to our local Audubon Society.  I’m pretty sure it was all the more pleasurable because I got to ride in my own car (aka Swagger Wagon) drinking coffee rather than bouncing along in the school bus belching up breakfast. 

Transportation issues aside, I learned a lot in my few hours at the Audubon with twenty five-year olds.  For starters, I really learned a lot about bugs.  While I might have preferred to focus more on flora and fauna, insects were the topic du jour.  Did you know, for instance, that an insect by definition has six legs?  Or that monarch butterflies (technically not insects!) only lag eggs on milkweed?  Or that treasure troves of creepy, crawly bugs live under rocks and fallen branches?  That one wasn’t a total newsflash to me but, some of the other tidbits most certainly were.

I happily picked up a neat new catch phrase for avoiding poison ivy (“Leaves of three, let it be.”) and rather reluctantly laid my eyes on spittlebugs for the very first time. I’m not sure how I missed this unique species for the past oh, forty years but, once you know what you’re looking for (hint: they look like nasty piles of spit on a plant stem), they are really hard to miss.

When I got back to office, I shared my newfound knowledge with my co-workers, all of whom seemed either A. grossed out; B. confused by my enthusiasm; or C. questioned why my mind was retaining such details.  “Where are you ever going to use that nugget about monarch butterflies?” they asked.

Where?  Well, for starters, beyond the little lady who I was lucky to accompany on this adventure, there are four boys at home, all eager for information and all amply impressed when I shared this nugget: “You know, if you pick up a frog, it really will pee on you.”  Ok, so a frog isn’t a bug and that pee may actually be a mucous discharge that acts as a defense mechanism but still, this an impressive nugget of knowledge! 

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Perhaps most importantly, I learned how important it is to simply show up.  To take a few hours off of work, leave the phone in the Swagger Wagon and focus -- completely focus -- on my little girl.  Hold her hand.  Jump over puddles. Leap over logs. Peek under rocks.  Tune out everything but her… well, her and the poison ivy which is apparently prolific this time of year! 

I left the Audubon thinking about happy it makes me to hold her little hand.  And, that I don’t hold it nearly enough.  My hands are often over capacity trying to hold the hands of her triplet little brothers as we cross streets, navigate stores and maneuver our way through the world around us.   Thanks to this kindergarten field trip, I’m going to be holding her hand more often.  And, I see once again the wisdom in that adage “everything you need to know, you learned in Kindergarten.”  I’d put holding hands at the top of that list. Although, if those hands recently handled spittlebugs, I’d much prefer they were washed first!  

The myth of Mother's Day - commercial hype, disappointment and changing up the rules

Long before we were married, Des forgot Valentine’s Day. I don’t know how he missed the hearts in the store windows, the repetitive diamond commercials or the red roses that beckoned on every Manhattan street corner but somehow, he did. When he arrived home to find me in a disgruntled and disappointed snit, he gave me a big hug and kiss and said, “I’m so sorry but, with you, every day is Valentine’s Day.” Cheesy, right? Here’s the thing though,I fell for it. Because it’s kinda true.

Since then, we haven’t gone out on Valentine’s Day -- which is not to say that we don’t celebrate -- we most certainly do, but on our own terms. Rather than battle overcrowded restaurants with overpriced meals, we now put the kids to bed and enjoy a nice dinner and bottle of wine at home. I daresay that Valentine’s Day 2008 just might be the cause of our identical triplets… which leads me to Mother’s Day.

I’m not sure why, but I consistently seem to fall for the Mother’s Day hype. I fell especially hard in 2009, when we had five kids under five. People would stop me on the street to tell me what a great Mother’s Day I was going to have. “This is your day,” they said. “This Mother’s Day will be all about you.” “Don’t you dare lift a finger Dear, this is the one day a year that you get to relax.” I’m somewhat ashamed to admit that I fell victim to this flawed thinking on multiple fronts.

The reality is that Mother’s Day was not “my” day and it was most certainly not all about me. While I would have relished the opportunity to stay in bed until noon and not lift a finger as I’d been advised, I found that by 9AM, I had changed about ten diapers, done two loads of laundry, been spit up on at least three times and not yet had a cup of coffee. So much for the one day a year I was supposed to relax! I had fallen hard for the “Myth of Mother’s Day” and as a result, spent the day much like that Valentine’s Day long ago – disgruntled and disappointed – with an alarming dose of post-partum tears tossed in for good measure! I sadly succeeded in making that Mother’s Day miserable for myself.  But, much like that day when Cupid was a no-show, I learned a lot from what we now refer to as “The Mother’s Day Meltdown.”

1. Every day IS Mother’s Day. You can’t turn off your kids or roll over and make them go away. Trust me, I’ve tried. It didn’t work. So, on Mother’s Day, I think it’s best to recall what the point really is… which is not to escape from your children and responsibilities but to embrace them. To give thanks for the small things we take for granted -- like ten fingers and ten toes or sloppy wet kisses or someone small who wants nothing more than an “Uppie”. And, if someone else offers to bring you breakfast in bed, well, that’s ok too – just don’t count on it!

2. Moms deserve more than one day a year to relax. And, it’s up to us as mothers to make the time to do so. While I dream of long bubble baths with candlelight and a cup of tea (or better yet, a glass of wine!), it’s just not happening. Were I ever to get into a warm, sudsy tub, I’m sure I’d be joined by at least one small tot… or worse, one very large dog. So, I’ve found other ways to get in a bit of R&R on a regular basis -- a book club and occasional girls night out do the trick for me; they give me something to look forward to once or twice a month, rather than some supposed day off that only comes once a year… and truly never comes at all.

3. It’s not all about you.  Mother’s Day, like most days, really isn’t all about me. What about my Mom? What an interesting dilemma this holiday presents when you become a mom yourself yet still have your own Mom to consider. On this day, like most days, I find it best to defer to my Mom’s wishes. This is how I found myself on a Yankee Stadium tour with a two year old and a newborn a few years ago… it wouldn’t have been my top choice but, if you can’t indulge your own Mom on Mother’s Day, well, what’s the point?!

My Mom and I haven’t always seen eye to eye but I’m so grateful to her for so many things… especially for the ability to see the silver lining in almost any cloud. I guess you could say that thanks to my Mom, I truly believe that every day is Valentine’s Day and I’m proud to have reached the point in life where every day is indeed Mother’s Day.

Communion, cardboard and cake - A mom's musings on First Holy Communion

I didn’t know what to expect when our firstborn made his First Holy Communion.  Of course I knew that he’d be accepting the Host, the body and blood of Christ, during mass that day but beyond that, there were a few unknowns.  How would he feel about it?  How would I feel about it? What, pray tell, do you get your seven year old son when he makes his First Communion?  And how in heaven’s name would I pull off the post-Communion party in the midst of traveling for work and juggling our busy lives?

The answers, it turns out, are simple.  As they often are.  How did our sweet Liam “feel” about his First Communion? “It tasted like cardboard.”  Can’t argue with that!  And, such is the level of emotion routinely revealed by your average second grade boy.  Why I continue to expect a response akin to “I’ve been spiritually renewed. I feel like a man now Ma”, I’ll never know!

As for my feelings, well, let’s just say the tear ducts got a good workout that day.  For starters, in looking at my “baby” in a navy suit, I realized that the kid he is today bears a strong resemblance to the man he will be tomorrow – not literally tomorrow but, one day in a future that I know will come far too fast. As he posed for pictures with his pals, all shined and scrubbed and full of anticipation in their matching pint-sized suits, I knew I was looking at the same group of guys that are likely to appear when he is confirmed, graduated, and married.  The spectrum of life’s milestones passed before me as the tears welled up in my eyes.  And that was all before he walked down the church aisle with a lovely little lady Communicant in a white dress.  It was before I sat in a pew, sandwiched between my parents and grandparents, with our three-year old triplets climbing in my lap thinking of how lucky we were to have four generations of O’Connor’s witnessing Liam’s special day.  And then he said “Amen”, accepted the Host for the first time and beamed me a great big grin that really got the tears flowing.  Tears of joy for my little boy.

As for the gift, well, the foreshadowing was in my husband’s remarks the day Liam was born: “He will be Catholic and he will be a Yankee fan.”  As such, it was only fitting that we gave him a beautiful Celtic cross, straight from one of the Irish shops on McLean Avenue in the Bronx AND tickets to a Yankee game… a game to be attended by just the three of us – Mom, Dad and Liam.  Needless to say, the kid was thrilled, “Just us?! Not the little guys?! Not Ciara? Awesome!”  Which is not to say that Liam doesn’t love his sister Ciara or the “little guys” (his triplet brothers, Kevin, Declan and Cormac) but his response really underscored how valuable the time we spend with him and him alone truly is.  More surprising though, was the fact that he actually liked his silver cross.  He really liked it!  He put it on right away and even asked if he could sleep in it…  suggesting, perhaps, he has greater emotional depth about this right of passage than “it tastes like cardboard.”

As for the party, it came together, as parties always do.  It was a family affair, low-key and intimate, as the best parties often are.  I wouldn’t necessarily have chosen to spend that Friday night ironing the tablecloth and prepping the salads but I’m glad I did.  I’m glad we did; my husband Des deserves at least as much credit as I do for the successful soiree we had.  It was as sweet and memorable as the cake that topped it off and the smile on Liam’s face as he dug in and remarked, “This is much better.  Not like cardboard at all!”

A girls getaway confirms there's no such thing as SuperMom

SuperMom is a myth

We flew in from New York, New Jersey, Boston and Atlanta.  We arrived in Florida for some fun in the sun; for some rest and relaxation; to reconnect and revel in our friendship as we celebrated turning 40.  I’ve known these women since we were little girls -- since the fifth grade, when I made the switch from Catholic school to public school and they welcomed me into their fold.  I had a freckled face, bespectacled eyes, a mouthful of braces and a yearning to be liked.  To be accepted.  To be part of the crowd.  And thanks to them, I was.  And thirty years later, I still am.

These three incredible friends know me better than I know myself.  We hadn’t all been together in almost ten years; my wedding was our last hurrah, signaling the end of our care-free twenties and the beginning of our baby-making thirties.  Over the past decade, months -- even years -- had passed without us talking.  But that didn’t stop us from comfortably and familiarly picking up where we left off -- before even having that first glass of wine.

On the first day, I felt a bit on the periphery.  I was happy to be there, thrilled to see them, but anxious and guilty about the life I left behind.  On the work front, my inbox was overflowing and on the home front, I’d left my husband home with five kids and a jam-packed weekend of baseball games, soccer games and birthday parties.  While my pals chatted merrily about family, friends, in-laws, home decor and recipe ideas, I poked my nose into my book, more comfortable escaping into a story than sharing my own. 

This changed toward the end of the second day. Without even knowing how it came up or why it came out of my mouth, I suddenly blurted “You know what?  Our life is hard.  REALLY hard.”  And then I started to cry.

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They hugged me and exchanged knowing glances that seemed to suggest they’d been waiting for this moment.  They knew I was holding something in.  Something I didn’t even realize was percolating inside me.  With them, finally, I let my guard down.  I admitted that as amazing as our full, busy life is, it is hard. 

It is hard to juggle five kids and a full-time job and still find time for my husband and myself.  It’s hard to raise our children with little family support.  My in-laws both passed away before we had a family of our own and my parents still have jobs of their own.  We pretty much do it all our own.  I know that many people do but, it was liberating for me to admit that this grown-up life is exhausting and at times overwhelming.  And much harder than I thought it would be. No one said it would be easy, but no one said it would be quite so hard either.

My girlfriends agreed.  Their lives are hard too.  In fact, I think it’s universal -- being a grown up is hard work.  And while I bound through life with a smile on my face and tackle my long to-do list with great aplomb, my closest friends have always known I’m not the dynamo I sometimes purport to be.  I struggle just like everyone else.  I just hate to admit it.

I recently bumped into someone who said she loved to read my musings on motherhood but wondered if I ever had a really bad day.  I recall looking at her with surprise and saying, “Seriously?  We have TONS of them!  I just don’t write about them.”  “I wish you would,” she said.  “That way the rest of us would know that you’re not Super Woman.”

Well, lest there was any doubt, I’m not.  I’m pretty sure that none of us are.  We are all only human.  We are all struggling with raising happy, healthy, well-adjusted kids.  We are all caught somewhere in the swinging pendulum of work/life balance as we question our roles as mothers, wives, and daughters.  But the one role we never seem to question is our role as friends.  The kind of friends who intuitively know just what you need – whether it’s a little space or a warm embrace.  I am so grateful to have these friends in my life… and I can only hope that we see each other again before another decade swiftly flies by.