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.

A red carpet moment reminds Mom she is "The Lucky One" - VIDEO

LyonsDenMom at the premiere of The Lucky One

My hair was done.  My makeup was done.  I was wearing a brand new dress with beautiful shoes and fancy jewels borrowed from my sister.  Why?  To attend the movie premiere of The Lucky One based on the novel by Nicholas Sparks.  With a woman I never met before.

Her name is Julia Rose and it was work that brought us together.  I work for House Party, a social media marketing company that drives consumer recommendations to build brands and drive sales.  In this case, the “brand” was Nicholas Sparks and the conversations and recommendations that our social media campaigns generate will result in movie ticket and book sales.

Julia is one of House Party’s most passionate brand advocates.  She created a six minute  music video to demonstrate her enthusiastic adoration of all things Nicholas Sparks.  She wrote a catchy tune that weaves together the romantic twists and turns of all seventeen Sparks novels and her sister, Deborah Crawford, captured it all on film.  The House Party team rewarded their efforts by ensuring Julia Rose was one of the 1,000 lucky consumers (from a pool of tens of thousands applicants) selected to host a Nicholas Sparks Potluck House Party.

When the Sparks team at Grand Central Publishing (Nick’s publisher) and Warner Brothers (which produced the movie) heard the word, they did us one better.  They gave Julia two tickets to the premiere.  House Party responded in kind by providing airfare and hotel.  And that is how I ended up on the red carpet (to be accurate, it was a faux green lawn!) next to Julia Rose at a big-time Hollywood movie premiere. 

I didn’t know what to expect of Julia, who hails from the Dallas-Fort Worth area and is known around town as one half of the busking duo Gladys and Maybelle.  The other half is her sister Deb, who joined us on the red carpet/green lawn. “Would they be weird?  Would we get along? Were they crazed Nicholas Sparks stalkers?” I wondered as I travelled to LA and pondered my 24 hours with Julia Rose and her sister Deb.

Julia and Deb with author Nicholas Sparks at the premiere

 As I returned to New York, I knew the answers were “No. Yes. Absolutely not.”  As it turns out, I have more in common than I would have thought with these two lovely Texan blondes.  As we got to know each other, I shared stories of the five feisty children and one semi-frazzled husband I left behind; this is one of my constant struggles as a working mom – leaving my family behind.  Not between the usual hours of 9 to 5 but when work spills over into family time, as business travel occasionally necessitates, I really struggle with the juggle.

I want to be a good mom. A present mom.  A mom who rules the roost but inspires her children to follow their dreams, know their limits and be true to themselves.  Well, as it turns out, Julia and Deb, a.k.a. Gladys and Maybelle, share my sentiments.  As it turns out, they named their band Gladys and Maybelle for Gladys Presley (perhaps you’ve heard of her son, Elvis?) and Mother Maybelle, the maternal in-law powerhouse behind a certain Johnny Cash.  These two women who joined me in a fairy tale evening of Hollywood glam were actually a lot like me.  We share dreams for our children; we were dazzled by the stars; and we shared a true Cinderella moment as the light bulbs flashed, the theater lights dimmed, and the story of The Lucky One swept us away.

Now that the proverbial clock has struck midnight, it’s back to reality.  My sleekly styled hair has returned to its typically curly locks.  The dress is in the closet and the sexy heels have been replaced by my signature flats. The kids are screaming, my inbox is overflowing and my to-do list is growing.  But I am content.  I am home. 

I will forever cherish the memory of the night I walked the green grass carpet with two amazing women who reminded me of the power of a great Mom and inspired me to try harder to be one each and every day.  Thank you Gladys and Maybelle.  Thank you for reminding me that every day I return home to five smiling (and potentially snot-nosed) kids and one sweet, patient husband, I am “the lucky one.”

Here's a trailer of the Zac Efron movie "The Lucky One":
 

"I don't know how he'll do it" - leaving Daddy at home with the kids

I have left my husband and five children (aged seven and under!) behind for five days; five days and nights that will combine work and pleasure as I combine a business trip to LA with a visit to my sister and her family in San Francisco.  I am nervous about leaving my family behind.  And that fact that I left on Friday the 13^th isn’t helping matters!

As I drove to the airport, I thought about the weekend ahead – the weekend at home, not the weekend that awaited me in San Francisco.  I thought about the responsibilities I left behind -- dinner times, bath times, soccer practice, baseball practice, birthday parties -- all the weekend activities you’d expect from a busy family with five kids, topped off by several showings of our house, which is on the market.

Our weekends provide little down-time and are virtually devoid of R&R; if anything, I relish the return to work on Monday mornings because it gives me a chance to sit down!  So, as I embarked on the flight that would take me 3,000 miles away from the mayhem of a typical weekend at home, I couldn’t help but think about the dear man I left behind and wonder how he will do it.  It is the question I am constantly asked “How do you do it?! “ And my answer often relies heavily on “my other half” -- the supportive, funny, level-headed fella who is now home alone with five feisty tykes.

He was fretting my pending departure for weeks, telling neighbors, family, friends and pretty much anyone who will listen that I’m leaving him -- that I’m leaving him “all alone” with our five kids for five full days.  Honestly, his stress was seriously stressing me out.  So, I did what any Type A, aspirational SuperMom suffering from a bad case of guilt would do, I offered up a slew of solutions.  “I’ll create a daily meal plan.  I’ll organize rides for the birthday parties and car pools for soccer practice.  I’ll tell the realtor we can’t show the house while I’m away.  I’ll pre-pack the backpacks and lunches for Monday and Tuesday. “ And so on.  Initially, he was all for my organizational gusto.  “Yep, let’s not show the house while you’re away, it will be a mess,” he admitted.  “And a meal plan sounds great,” he concurred. 

And then, in the 48 hours leading up to my departure, something incredible happened.  My stressed out other half turned into an uber-confident SuperDad.  I, for one, always knew he had it in him but even so, was shocked when he said something to effect of “Screw the meal plan! I can feed our kids.  And if they’re hungry, they can just have a glass of milk!”  He went on to say, “And, let’s show the house.  I may not make the beds like you, but I can make a bed. I’ll even plant some pansies to increase the ‘curb appeal’.”  What?  Pansies?  Really?  Wow!

As I prepared to go, it was really hard to say good-bye to the sweet, smiling faces that slobbered me with wet, snotty kisses; for the record, they came from my children, not my husband.  His kiss was sweeter, and seemed to linger longer than the usual perfunctory peck.  As hard as it was for me to leave, I know it was much harder for him; I know how much work it is to juggle the weekend activities with our active clan.  And, I know that I am one lucky gal -- which seems especially fitting given that the work portion of my trip will include a walk on the red carpet for the premiere of the movie The Lucky One.  I am very lucky indeed. 

As for the kids, well, if all they get is milk for the next few days, they may not be quite so lucky.  But, I have a feeling that Dad is going to pull this off with flying colors when he does, I will be the first in line to ask how he did it.

Twas the week before St. Patty's Day - a poem about prepping for our family holiday

Twas the week before St. Patty's Day

And the excitement is a'brewin'

For on the 17th of March,

We know just what we'll be doin'.

We'll be taking an early train,

Down to New York City

Where we'll take in the Parade, 

With bands and dancers oh so pretty.

We'll join family and friends 

As we sing the songs of old

And our Irish Eyes will be smilin' 

Whether the weather's warm or cold.

We'll be wearing our green 

And our Irish sweaters too,

We'll be bravin' the crowds 

With our rather sizable crew.

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On the Cathedral steps we will be

As the parade goes marching by

We'll be burstin' with our Irish pride

As the tri-color flag waves in the sky.

We'll be missing our loved ones 

Who won't be there to share the day,

They will be in our hearts 

As to the music we will sway.

We'll be grateful for the family and friends 

With whom we'll celebrate,

We'll be on that train back home again

Before it gets too late.

We'll smile down upon the freckled faces 

That bring us so much joy,

As we thank God that we are Irish

And have one sweet girl and four sweet boys.

In the blur of baby days and toddler tantrums - "Parents Need to Eat Too" - VIDEO

Parents need to eat too. This may sound obvious but, it is a simple little fact that is often forgotten in the blur of baby days and toddler tantrums. My husband is actually great at remembering this little tidbit and frequently recalls the airline advice that urges adults to put on their oxygen masks before tending to the children around them. He thinks of food (three full square meals a day) like that oxygen... it is absolutely essential and copious amounts are required for his base level of functioning.

The same can not be said of me. Don't get me wrong. I love to eat. Really. I love love love food. But, the notion of putting together a plate for myself while a little one is howling never even occurred to me. I just assumed that in the natural order of all things food-related, the kids come first. Well, guess what? I was wrong. And, in a moment more rare than a solar eclipse, I'm going to admit something else -- my husband was right!

And, he's not alone. Debbie Koenig, who you may know from the blog Words to Eat By has a fab new book that will help parents everywhere master the struggle of the juggle -- in particular, the juggle of a jiggly newborn or tuggy toddler and the dinnertime dilemma.

In Parents Need to Eat Too, Debbie shares tips and recipes that will speak to busy moms of tiny tots, myself included! Although my kids no longer require swaying and shushing and being strapped to me in a sling, those days are not so far behind and I sure would have appreciated this book then. It contains tasty, simple recipes that be made during nap-time, like Zucchini and Spinach Risotto or Roasted Vegetable Lasagna. It also includes what I think is a stroke of pure genius -- an entire chapter of meals that can be eaten with one hand! Only a mom (and especially a new mom!) can truly appreciate what it's like to have to eat meal after meal with only one hand free because the other one is building up a huge bicep while supporting the head of your precious offspring. I kind of remember feeling like this in those days...

It's true. I can vividly recall being so hungry and so helpless that I literally wanted to put my face in my plate just like "mommy's little piggy." Thanks to Debbie's chapter of One Handed Meals, other moms need not face the same humiliating fate! Her Broccoli and Cheddar Pinwheels will please kids and parents alike and the same can be said of her Chicken (Pot) Handpies.

I was lucky to receive an advance copy of her book and look forward to trying out more recipes in the weeks to come... especially since she also devotes a chapter to "Mom's New Friend: The Slow Cooker". I got a slow cooker for Christmas and was convinced it would help solve my dinnertime woes... it hasn't yet but, with Debbie's easy recipes in hand, it just might!

To get your own copy, visit Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

Are French parents really superior? - Wall Street Journal review raises questions

Petit Madamoiselle

 Did you see the article in last weekend’s Wall Street Journal entitled "Why French Parents Are Superior", by Pamela Druckerman?  It’s another cleverly timed, contentiously inclined piece of prose (a la the “Tiger Mom”) promptly published just days before the release of the book that expounds upon this very premise, “Bringing up Bebe: One American Mother Discovers the Wisdom of French Parenting.” 

According to the article (and I assume the book as well), there are five key tenets to French parenting success:

·      Children should say hello, goodbye, thank you and please.  It helps them learn that they aren’t the only ones with feelings and needs.

·      Whey they misbehave, give the “big eyes” – a stern look of admonishment

·      Allow only one snack a day. In France it’s at 4 or 4:30.

·      Remind them (and yourself) who’s the boss.

·      Don’t be afraid to say no.

Really?  Is it just me or do these seem more like common sense than yet another shining example of French superiority?  Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against the French and will be the first to admit that as a country, they produce many superior products – wine, baguettes, brie and croissants come instantly to mind.  But to presume that they wrote the book on parenting?  I don’t think so.

I understand that today’s American parents can be, well, a bit crazy.  I’m one of them.  I have five kids – a seven year old boy, five year old girl and three year old identical boy triplets.  Take a moment for that to sink in.  It’s taken me a few years to be able to say “I have five kids” without stuttering.  I admit I occasionally struggle with parenting and have a lot of not so proud “Mama Moments.” It’s not easy.  It’s loud, it’s messy, it’s expensive and it’s exhausting.  However, I (in fact, we), never for a moment let our kids rule the roost.

Maybe it’s because we have so many of them that we’d be completely overrun.  Maybe it’s because we were both raised in stoic Irish families where discipline (apparently more broadly captured as “education” by the French) reigned supreme.  Maybe it’s because my own mother is a Francophile at heart, even though her maiden name was O’Brien and she married an O’Connor; when I was in fifth grade, she wore a green beret on St. Patrick’s Day and I swear I have friends that still talk about it.  The point though, is that my husband and I are raising our clan of kids the way we were raised.  We were expected to follow the rules, to be polite and to know our place in the family pecking order – which, until we officially moved out of the familial roost, was as the bottom.  For many families today, it seems the kids get a place at the top.  And this, no doubt, is why Ms. Druckerman’s book will sell many copies. 

For anyone who doesn’t have the time to pore through yet another parenting tome, I suggest you take the advice shared here to heart and start by reestablishing the pecking order in your home.  Parents first, kids second. You are absolutely the boss and you probably don’t need a book to tell you so.  It goes without saying that your kids should say please and thank you – not just because it reminds them that other people have “feelings and needs” but, more simply put, because it is the right thing to do and normal functioning members of society all tend to say hello, good-bye, please and thank you.

If you’re afraid to say no to your children, well, I suspect you may need another book altogether.  As for the big, admonishing eyes Ms. Druckerman recommends, that was called the “evil eye” when I was growing up; my mom had it, my grandmothers both had it and, as sure as the day is long (especially the days when I’m home alone with five kids!), I have it too.  The evil eye can stop a trouble-bound triplet in his track and elicit instant silence from my sensitive seven-year old.  It doesn’t work quite as well on my feisty five year old but for her, fortunately, the threat of no snacks – at 4:00 or any other time of day – tends to work just fine.

So, there you have it.  This parenting stuff isn’t easy but it’s not that hard either.  We find that consistency is king, discipline is required and at the end of the day, after the tots are tucked in, it’s great to unwind with a glass of wine.  Possibly French wine -- which, in some instances, is most certainly superior.

A tale of two sisters

The O'Connor Sisters in 1979

My sister and I have a storied past.  I was five years old when she was born and quite accustomed to my spot as queen of the roost. I was the first child, first grandchild and a first class brat by the time she was born in June of 1976. I hated her.  All I knew about babies being born is that they were "delivered."  So, for the latter part of 1976, every time we passed a mailbox, I asked if we could send her back.  Back to wherever she came from before she arrived on the scene, all precious and cute and attracting all sorts of attention that had previously been devoted to me, me, ME!

I tortured her for years.  I set her up time and again in ways that were at times mischievous, cruel or downright dangerous.  A few examples include the time I painted her and the bathroom in Bain de Soleil (remember that greasy orange "gelee" that turned our fair Irish skin to a crisp?!) and then washed my hands, called my Mom and blamed her for the mess; or the time I took her out of the crib and perched her at the top of the stairs.  Or the time I poured all my Bonnie Bell cologne down the sink and then started crying and blamed her for the tragedy of it all. Kind of crazy, right?  I really didn't like her.

I spent much of grammar school dragging her around by her pigtails -- and then I went to junior high, left her behind and never looked back.  When I left for college, she was in the throes of her Beverly Hills 90210 obsession and a true loser in my book.  But then, somewhere along the way, things changed.  I think it was when I went to visit during her freshmen or sophomore year at Boston College.  We tailgated before a football game and all of sudden, my baby sister was no longer a baby.  No longer a loser.  In fact, she seemed more and more like me.  In fact, she even looked more and more like me as we were both featuring the fashion of the day --  a flannel shirt complimented by the "freshman fifteen."

With the passing of years, we had more shared experiences and of course, the collective memories that only siblings can share.  We offered each other advice on jobs, boys, New York nightlife and life in general.  Somewhere along the way, she became more than my sister, she became my best friend. She was my maid-of-honor and several years later, I was hers.   She babysat for my firstborn and my second as well.  She told me she was moving to San Francisco the week I discovered I was pregnant with triplets.  I was devastated.  I didn't know how I'd get through the juggle of a high-risk pregnancy with two toddlers and a career without her constantly by my side.  But I did.  And for three years, we kept close despite the miles as I counted the days until her return to the East Coast.

She came back in September, with her husband and two year old fella by her side and a baby in her belly.  This time, I got to be by her side the day Maeve was born in November.  I was thrilled.  My sister was back.  I was an Auntie once again and we were all going to live happily ever after.

Except for one little detail.  My sister wasn't happy to be back in New York; as it turns out, she left her heart in San Francisco.  And as it turns out, she is there once again.  This week, she and her family packed up and moved back to the place she now calls home.  A place that is 3,000 miles away.  A place she went once before and I believed would temporary.  As it turns out, I was wrong.  How is it that when this tiny little person arrived on the scene in 1976, I would have given anything to "send her back" and now she occupies such a huge part of my heart that I'd give anything to have her back.  If I had to do it all over again, maybe I'd lay off the Bain de Soleil.  Or better yet, I'd stick her back in that crib so I could keep her close to home forever.

Enjoying Snow Day with five little "cubs"

Many of you are probably familiar with the story of the Five Little Ducks and if so, you may know the story has an accompanying song. It’s kind of a catchy tune (I’m ashamed to admit!) and if you know it, you should feel free to hum along to the following adaptation.

To provide a bit of context, the New York metro area had it's first significant snowfall of the year this past weekend. My heart still leaps when I see those first flakes fall -- and then it sinks just a bit when it's time to wrestle five little "cubs" into snow boots, snow pants, jackets, hats and mittens before heading out to enjoy (or perhaps brave) the elements. Truth be told, snow is no fun for kids. At least not for very little ones. Their mittens fall off, their sleds tip over but still we drag them out in the name of fun. And, in some ways, it is. Our experience this weekend went something like this...

Five little cubs went out one day

Out in the snow and into their sleigh,

The biggest one said “I want to pull”

And four little cubs were left there still.

Four little cubs went out one day

Into the sled and far away

The little girl cub said “GET OFF ME”

She hopped out and then there were three.

Three little cubs went out one day

Bouncing along in their blue sleigh

The one in back cried boo hoo hoo,

We took him out and then there were two.

Two little cubs went out one day

Slipping and sliding in their sleigh,

They were having so much fun,

‘Til we hit a big bump and then there was one!

One little cub went out one day,

Feeling all alone in his big sleigh,

He waved his arms and he smiled a big grin,

And the four other cubs went running back to him.

The end!

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Christmas with five tots: The good, bad and merry!

In the days leading up to Christmas, people often said things like "It must be great to have all those kids on Christmas!" Or, "Wow, Christmas in your house must really be something!" It is great to have "all those kids" on Christmas (and the other 364 days of the year!) and this year, our Christmas really was something. Something like this.


It started at 5:15AM because little Mac couldn't find his "Wawa" and was wailing like a madman. That smelly, soggy "Wawa", as it turns out, was right underneath him the whole time. With that crisis solved, we sighed, rolled over and said a prayer that we would fall back asleep until sunrise. No such luck.


At 5:30, Liam appeared in our room. You might think he was there because of the excitement of Christmas and anticipation of opening his gifts but alas, that was not the case. As it turned out, the reason for his pre-dawn appearance was a bloody nose. A very bloody nose.


It was about 6:00 when that nose stopped bleeding and Ciara got up to pee... and ask if it was time to open presents yet. This reminded Liam that it was indeed Christmas and started the frenzied repetition of "Did Santa come? Can we go downstairs? Did Santa come? Can we go downstairs? Did Santa come?" You get the idea.


We managed to hold them at bay until about 7:30, which was no easy task. Liam and Ciara took a peek downstairs and scampered back up announcing, as if with a megaphone, that "Santa came! Santa CAME! SANTA CAME!" These whoops of joy awoke the triplets -- all of whom, until then, had been peacefully slumbering with their respective WaWas.


What happened in the next two hours is unclear. Perhaps because my husband and I were so tired, we couldn't see straight -- not to mention the fact that it was especially hard to see through the flying gift wrap, bubble wrap, boxes and tissue paper that blew across our living room much like last year's Christmas blizzard blew across the Northeast. It is also possible that our memories of the gargantuan gift opening are vague because our camera batteries died at roughly 7:32, just as the kids were coming down the stairs. I'm not sure how it happened, but Christmas Day dawned without a single AA battery to be found in the Lyons Den; next year, I'm putting batteries on my list for Santa!


At around 10:00, we were putting away dishes from our Christmas Eve dinner and getting ready for breakfast; as I reached up to get the silver chest out of a cabinet, a stack of dessert plates came careening down onto my head, shattering on the floor around me. Needless to say, this just about shattered my Christmas spirit. And, my scalp.


With that mess cleaned up and pancakes and bacon on the table, we all enjoyed a merry breakfast. All of us except Ciara, who suddenly looked flushed, dazed and confused. Out of nowhere, the poor girl spiked a fever of 102 and was whisked off to bed. Where she slept for two hours. Leaving me to wonder, "any chance I could spike a fever and get a two hour nap out of the deal?!"


By around 1:30, Ciara was up (and pumped up with Tylenol) and we went over the river and through the woods (well, over the river, anyway!), to my parents house, where we had a truly wonderful time. It was a remarkable, memorable and magical Christmas with generations of family visiting and exchanging gifts. It was really very Norman Rockwell. The fire was crackling, the music was playing, the kids weren't fighting, it was all good. Very good. And very much the way Christmas should be.


Of course, this little reverie was abruptly broken when we returned home; Declan had a fit because he couldn't find his Hexbugs, Kevin peed on the rug and a quick glance in the mirror informed me that I received a zit the size of Texas for Christmas. Oh well. Such is life. And I will take it. All of it. The good, the bad, and the merry. Because really, on Christmas and every other day of the year, life with "all those kids" will undoubtedly have ample bits of good, bad and merry. And I, for one, wouldn't have it any other way.

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!

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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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! 

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!