Simple tips for super snacking - healthy and delicious bites for kids on the go and at home

Ideas for delicious snacks for your kids

Does this sound familiar? “You can’t have those snacks at home– those are ‘on the go’ snacks!” Or perhaps you’ve said this once or twice? “If you want a ‘fruit snack’, eat a piece of fruit!” These frequent exchanges highlight the two main mistakes I’ve made since our kids have become serial snackers:

1. I fell victim to those cute, convenient and exorbitantly priced single serve packages of pretty much everything. Raisins. Applesauce.Goldfish. You name it. If it seemed relatively healthy, came in a handy “snack pack” and was sold at Costco, I bought it.


2. “Fruit Snacks.” Why they don’t just give in and admit these are fruit-shaped gummy bears, I’ll never know. But, suffice it to say, if you read the label, these so-called "fruit" snacks are far more sugar and far less fruit. And really, with a just a pint-sized handful per serving, they are not filling anyone up! I don’t care if they are made by Welch’s or Mott’s or even organic Annie’s, they are junk.

There. I said it. I have purchased a lot of junk. And I wish I hadn’t because old habits die hard. Even with kids who are only 3, 5 and 7! And, all this junk comes at a steep price. It's far too expensive to continue for the long run -- especially when you have to dole out the snacks five at a time!

So, what’s a mom to do? Well, for starters, learn from my mistakes…

· Avoid those clever, convenient prepackaged snacks and buy in bulk instead. Get that super-sized bag of Goldfish or raisins at Costco and divvy it up in small containers each day. I’m a big fan of the Take and Toss cups that come in two sizes – one that’s just right for tiny tots and one that will be perfect for your budding scholar. If you want something less plastic and more permanent, I have friends who give rave reviews to Glass Lock containers, which have fun, bright lids in several colors to brighten up both lunch boxes and dreary days!

· Pack a real fruit snack. As in a piece of fruit. We’ve had success with bananas, apples, blueberries, strawberries and grapes – even though last year when my only little lady was in kindergarten, she wrote me a note I’ll never forget: “Mom. I don’t lik gren grapz. I like red onz. But I stil love you.”

So, there you have it -- written proof that your kids will love you even if you eliminate fake fruit snacks.

Here is a more complete list of our top choices to keep our pack of snackers happy… and ideally, healthy too!

· Goldfish, pretzels, Ritz crackers, Wheat Thins

· Graham crackers, Teddy Grahams and even the occasional Oreo (we all need a treat sometimes!)

· Carrots, cucumber, pepper slices served with a side of hummus

· Sliced apples, kiwi, clementines, oranges, bananas, grapes, strawberries, blueberries, watermelon, cantaloupe, pineapple

· Raisins and other dried fruit: apricots, cherries, cranberries, mango, etc.

· Cereal bars – our favorites come from Kellogg’s (and are available at Costco and other “big box” stores) or Trader Joe’s

· Yogurt. Note that this says Yogurt. Not Gogurt. I’ve had to boycott Gogurt ever since they introduced the Sponge Bob version that glows in the dark. My kids can be hard enough to handle in the dark – the last thing I need is glowing bellies to add to the fun!

Last but not least, buy on sale and buy in bulk. Hopefully this gives you a few new ideas for how ensure your snackers are happy ones -- and, if you have yummy, healthy snacks that are your go-to favorites, let me know!

Getting organized for back to school - how to get a handle on your little darlings paperwork

Get your organization on during this
back to school period

 It’s official. I can no longer ignore the piles of backpack catalogs and back to school coupons that arrive daily to remind me that fall is right around the corner – a season where paper of all sorts enters our home more swiftly than the leaves fall from the trees. There are class lists and calendars. Cafeteria menus and permission slips. “Artwork” and homework. You get the idea. But what to do with it all? With a third-grader, first-grader and three pre-schoolers, I have to have a plan to tame the paper beast. And I do. And today I’m going to share it with you.

For starters, get yourself some basic supplies. This is the easy part. Clip some of those coupons, go to your store of choice and get yourself:

· A label maker

· A desktop file organizer

· File folders in various colors

· A small storage box for each of your children (note: these can be made rather than bought but I’m not that crafty!)

With supplies in hand, give yourself an hour to:

· Weed through any lingering remnants from the last school year -- in my case, these included a birthday invitation we never RSVP’d to, an expired coupon to a local aquarium and a class list from when our third-grader was a preschooler… proving that I’m not always good at following my own advice!

· Put that label maker to good use. I create a folder for each child in addition to a few extras to corral the mail, menus and miscellaneous papers that arrive via mail, backpacks and, as far as I can tell, by carrier pigeon too!

· Set up a “memory box” for each child – once you do this, you will (hopefully) reuse this box for years to come. In our house, each kid has a box (neatly labeled with his or her name, of course!) and each year we cull through what we’ve collected, keeping only the most precious of memories – first handprints, first report cards, etc. It’s important to recall the items that are NOT worthy of the memory box: random scribbles, spelling tests (even if s/he gets 100!) and ceramics which will break before you even get the lid on. I have several good friends who assure me that when our children are grown and we are gone, they won’t be looking for these lost treasures… and needless to say, neither will we!

The last piece of the process is no doubt the hardest – it’s making a lasting commitment to control the paper beast. To tackle it daily. To keep only what is critical and to recycle or trash what’s not. To actually use your file folders and memory boxes. To keep the paper beast under control -- before it grows big and scary and requires a bonfire to tame it. Although, if all else fails, a bonfire isn’t a bad idea… it is, after all, a sure (and welcome!) sign of Fall.

Making the transition from crib to bed - helping your babies make the big leap

I'm pretty sure this picture was taken yesterday:

Newborn triplets: Kev, Dec and Mac snuggle up together

But, it wasn't.  As it turns out, this picture was taken over three and a half years ago, when Kevin, Declan and Cormac first came home from the hospital.  They were four days old.  They shared a crib.  For months.  And, in what feels like the blink of the eye, they now sleep here:

"Big Boy Beds" aka crib mattresses on floor!

They made the big move last weekend and I have to say, it was a long time coming.  Not in the literal sense -- it's not like I spent months prepping them for the big move, reading books about the transition or frankly, designing the ideal sleep space or investing in the perfect bedroom set (as the picture will clearly attest!). When I say it was "a long time coming", I mean that our little fellas have been climbing out of their beds for a long time.  They have been asking for beds. They told us they were ready and finally, we listened.

Don't get me wrong.  They weren't unhappy in their cribs. Quite to the contrary, they loved them.  They had all their stuffed animal "friends" in there -- many of whom they played catch with from crib to crib.  They would climb out in the morning, enjoying the independence and freedom to get their own Cheerios but, much to our surprise (and delight!), they never climbed out at night.  When they were in, they were in for the night.  And we all had sweet dreams.

Then, on Saturday night, everything changed.  We set them free.  We broke down those cribs, made their "beds" with new sheets and pillows, said a prayer, and hoped for the best.  This is what happened:

If you watched the video, I hope it gave you the laugh out loud it gives me every time I look at it.  And if you didn't, you may want to.  It is pure joy.  Three little fellas, 3 1/2 years old, pushing the limits as little fellas are prone to do. They are free and they are happy.  There is no doubt they have outgrown their cribs and are ready for beds.  Just as there is no doubt that for the next week or so (or possibly more!), the bedtime "routine" will be anything but.  On Sunday night, they were so tired that they were all sweetly snoozing by 8:00.  Last night, I had to shut down a rather rowdy game that was a cross between Hopscotch and Three Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed at 9:00.  So, I suppose if I have a few tips to share on the overall transition from cribs to beds, they would be:

1. Listen to your children, they will tell you when they are ready. (Note: this same nugget of wisdom will work for potty training as well!)
2. Don't stress out about it.  If you do, they will.  And if you don't, well, did the fellas in the video look stressed out?
3. Anticipate - and embrace - a change in your bedtime routine.  Just as you did that night long long ago when your wee one first came home from the hospital and looked oh so small in that great big crib.

Summer packing essential for a family getaway - getting all the essentials in for a gaggle of children

As you might have read, I have officially declared this summer The Summer of Independence.  It's time that our kids started pulling their weight in the most literal sense.  If they want it, they have to carry it.  That's why for our summer vacation, each kid got one bag and one bag only -- one small bag that contained all they needed (and could carry themselves!) for a week at the beach.  In case you're wondering exactly what a kid needs for a week filled with sand, sun and surf, well, it's not much.  This is a lesson I've learned the hard way over many years of over-packing.  Another thing I've learned is that Mother Nature is unpredictable and it's best to bring along something warm in addition to the swim basics.  So, in short, here's all you need to know as you plan to pack up and hit the road this summer:

• Less really is more.  Everything our kids needed for a week fit perfectly into the little bags pictured above:
• 2 pjs
• 2 bathing suits
• 2 swim shirts
• 3 pairs of shorts
• 4 t.shirts
• 5 pairs of underwear
• 1 sweatshirt and 1 pair of sweatpants
• 1 fordable rain slicker
• 1 lovey blanket (or a "WaWa" if you ask us!)
• 1 pair of sneakers and socks (Crocs were worn in the car and truthfully, the sneakers were never worn but, if my man Liam had been called into a pickup baseball game, he would've been ready!)
• Toothbrushes/toothpaste/sunblock/shampoo/water bottle (Note: these items were shared -- except the toothbrushes! -- and carried in my bag)

• Laundry is inevitable.  Between the sand, salt, chlorine, sunblock and the possibility of throw up and/or an accident involving gallons of pee, I accepted long ago that a "vacation" does not include a break from the laundry. And that's okay.  If you approach your getaway with this mindset, you'll avoid the over-packing and perhaps even go home with clean laundry! 

• Showers are overrated.  What does this have to do with packing, you wonder?  Well, less showering or bathing means more time swimming.  More time swimming means more time in a swimsuit.  More time in a swimsuit means less time in any other type of clothing -- quite possibly eliminating the need for anything else.  But, should Mother Nature decide to grace you with a cold snap or violent storm, you'll be glad you packed those aforementioned change of clothes!

Summer road trip survival tips - words of advice from a Mom of five

When I mentioned to people that we were headed to Boston to visit friends for Memorial Day weekend, I was met with a consistent chorus of "All of you?!"  I'm not sure if the stunned responses were aimed at us for being brave enough to battle holiday weekend traffic with five kids in a minivan or our friends, for being brave enough to invite the Lyons Family Circus to town.  Again.

These are very very good friends.  We have been visiting them once or twice a year for as long as I can remember -- including those dicey days when we had five kids under five and would roll in with a car full of pack and plays, strollers, high chairs and, more often than not, at least one smelly child who had been sitting in his or her own stink (from either a diaper or projectile vomit or both) for hours in the aforementioned traffic. 

How do we do it?  Well, for starters, we've gotten pretty good at planning and packing -- and, we've learned over the years that rarely do we leave when we plan to, arrive when we hope to or survive any extended road trip without pulling over at least once for a roadside bathroom or vomit break. That's just the way we roll.  Here are a few tips to help you roll to wherever the road takes you in Summer 2012.

• Pack extra everything.  Or plan to do laundry. Or both.  Perhaps most of all, pack your sense of humor.  You'll need it when you're on the side of 95 with a crying kid peeing on your foot.  Or when the projectile vomit hits the back of your head. Or the bag of snacks in the backseat.  You get the idea. Family road trips aren't pretty but if you leave your sense of humor at home, they will be downright dismal!
•  Learn to tune them out.  By "them", I mean the kids in the backseat.  Whether you have one of them or five or more, they make a ton of noise.  Ours start to ask for a snack before we turn off our block.  Then it's on to a relentless cacophony of "Are we there yet?" "He's kicking my seat" "She's bothering me" "I have to pee." "I think someone farted.' "Are we there yet?" and so on.  We've discovered it can be really fun to taunt them the way they taunt you.  A few of our favorites are to:
• A. Put all the windows down when you're doing 65 on the highway so the wind literally knocks them silent or...
• B.  Blast your favorite classic car tunes (for me it's Don't Stop Believin' by Journey; for my husband it's anything Led Zeppelin) and sing along at the top of your lungs.  They will be momentarily stunned into silence upon realizing that you have a repertoire beyond "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." You can and should use this to your advantage and feel free to keep it up until someone starts to cry - which in our experience is typically well into the last refrain.
• Reset your expectations.  Remember when a bathroom break took five minutes?  Or when you'd stop for dinner and be back on the road in fifteen minutes?  Well, those days are gone.  If you've ever hit a roadside rest stop with your tots in tow, you know that it takes longer and is a far more menacing place.  Everything is dirty and everyone is a stranger-danger.  You will hold your kids close, your Purell closer and wonder how you lost a half hour of your life in a filthy bathroom. And you may only be a few minutes away from home!

So, it may take longer and there's no doubt that it's messier but, if life is all about the journey, I say go for it and enjoy the ride!  Happy travels!  

Read more from Kerry here. 

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! 

---------------
Read more: 
Barry Manilow dismayed at how his Irish roots were denied


Want to live in a four-star luxury hotel in Ireland for just $128 a month?
---------------

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.

----------------
Read more:
Irish president Michael D Higgins asks for Irish American support for Ireland


Irish government to give full legal status to Pagan weddings
----------------

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.  

"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.

Palm Sunday - Keeping the faith with five fiesty tykes

“How was your Palm Sunday?” asked good friends we had dinner with last night.  Truth be told, it was not so great.  Not that Palm Sunday is a historically a great day anyway, but their question was motivated, I think, by a curiosity about how we juggle five children under seven during mass -- especially mass on Palm Sunday which, by my estimation, is the longest mass ever. 

We take our children to church every Sunday.  We always have.  I was raised Catholic and even attended Catholic school for several years  (until an unfortunate incident involving a certain Sister Mary Lynch made me go public!).  I went to church every Sunday until I was 18 and then took about a decade off, spending Sunday mornings either sleeping off the effects of the night before or running a race in Central Park.  I suppose I’ve always been a gal of extremes; it was either up for a healthy morning run or down and out after a few too many the night before; up and out for mass or a decade of religious abstinence.

Then I met Des, who is now my husband.  I was stunned that a cute, fun, single guy actually went to church every Sunday.  And, since I was instantly madly in love, I started to go with him.  We got married, had children and I accepted Des’ proclamation that they “will be Catholic and Yankee fans.”  To this day, I still wonder about the equal weight of this mandate of religion and sports fanaticism, but frankly, I’ve got bigger fish to fry so, I just go along with it.

As our children arrived, we took one, then two, then five children to church every Sunday.  What a sight we were just a few years ago as we rolled in ten minutes late with five tiny tots strapped into a double and triple stroller.  Even today, we joke that the 10:30 mass is really the 10:45.  We may be late, we may be slightly more sloppy than I’d like but, we show up.  Every Sunday.  Including Palm Sunday, which, in addition to being one of the longest masses ever, is also the only day in the liturgical year that everyone is given a slight, wispy weapon upon entry to church. You guessed it:  palms!

Imagine if you will, what one seven year old, one five year old and three three-year olds can do with a fistful of palms.  If sword fights, fishing, tickling, tackling and tug-of-war come to mind, then you guessed it right. It’s hard enough for us to control our clan at church on any given Sunday but on Palm Sunday, it is downright impossible. It’s no easy task to try to listen to the gospel while intermediating the increasingly violent escapades of the palms of our pew.  It’s not easy to keep our cool in the front row (yes, we sit in the front row!) while the kids are clobbering each other, climbing over us and creating weapons from a religious symbol.  At one point yesterday, I took a palm to the eyeball and could have sworn I tore my retina.  Thankfully, I didn’t.  Although, I'm pretty sure I did swear under my breath.  So, in considering the question "How was your Palm Sunday?" I can only recall the power struggle in our pew as the palms waved and the kids whined.  And, I think about how I prayed for peace. And patience.  This is my wish for Easter, for my family and for all of you.  Peace and patience and perhaps even a pretty palm or two to adorn our home until next Palm Sunday -- when the battle of the palms will almost surely start anew!

Home sweet home - setting up house for five tykes under four

Lyon's home sweet home

When we first discovered we were going to have triplets, bringing our tally of children to five tykes under four, I was absolutely stunned. Shocked. So much so that my initial response was “where we will we live?!” I couldn’t envision how we’d fit five small children in our tiny three-bedroom house. Of course, once the reality of the high-risk pregnancy set in, I became far more concerned with their health (and mine!) than our housing logistics.

Fast forward four years. We are blessed to have five spunky, healthy children aged seven and under. We survived the arrival of the triplets, many sleep deprived nights and the arrival and departure of baby items that simplified our lives and cluttered our cozy home – for instance, a triple set of bouncy seats, high chairs and pack and plays. These have been handed down while our tots have been growing up.

Today, our seven-year old “big guy” and five year old “princess” share a room (and a dresser!) and the triplets do too. As they get bigger, my stoic approach that “each kid only needs one drawer!” is getting harder and harder to hold on to; you can fit many more onesies and baby clothes in a drawer than you can size 3T pants and shirts!

It is this crowding of the drawers and overcrowding of our house that led us – at long last – to put it on the market. We’ve always known we needed more space. Over the past few years, we’ve flirted with other homes, longing for their master bedroom suites and playrooms. We’ve been so bold as to put offers on a few, only to wake up the next day wondering what we had done and scrambling to undo it. We weren’t ready to make a move. And now, I suppose, we are. But the very notion summons up such nostalgia, I’m not sure I’ll ever really be ready to leave this house behind.

We arrived here seven years ago and it was the perfect “my first house.” Even so, I hated it. We moved in on a Friday and I went back to work the next Monday, leaving my 3-month old firstborn son behind as I rode the train to the city. The city was my home; I knew my way around and was surrounded by friends and family. It was really difficult for me to make the transition to our bucolic little home in the suburbs but now, many years and four more children later, I love it. It’s hard to imagine saying good-bye to this humble abode that has truly become our “Home Sweet Home.”

I relished giving all five of our children bottles on the front porch. Watching them play in the backyard. Helping them climb up the stairs, out of cribs and into my arms. In the seven years we’ve lived here, our babies have become children and we’ve all grown older and wiser. It’s time to move on. But it’s so hard to go. Especially when I don’t know where the road will lead us. I can only hope that when we find our second house, it too will quickly become a home as sweet as this.

Celebrating St. Patrick's Day with the family at St. Patrick's Day Cathedral

The Lyon's family outside St. Patrick's Cathedral in NYC

It was dark as night with a thick fog swirling around the street lamps as I wiped the sleep from my eyes and looked out the window. “Do we really need to get the kids up this early?” I asked my husband as he slowly awoke from his slumber. “Of course we do, it’s St. Patrick’s Day!” he responded without hesitation. And so it began.

First Liam and Ciara were hustled out of bed, into their Sunday best and down the hill to the train with their Dad. Why? To make sure they got to church on time – and not just any old church, but St. Patrick's Cathedral. I know what you’re thinking because I had the same thought, “Gee, nothing says fun for kids on St. Patrick’s Day like being dragged out of bed, stuffed into fancy clothes and squeezed into a church pew!” Fortunately for them, this was only the beginning. And, I have to admit, it is a huge honor to be invited to Mass at St. Patrick’s on March 17th – a point which is lost on them now at five and seven years old but, I hope they will eventually realize.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I was hustling our three-year old triplets out of their cribs and into their Irish rugby jerseys. Kevin, Declan and Cormac awoke with their typical cheer and joyful anticipation of the day ahead. “Is today the day?!” “Today is St. Patrick’s Day, right Mama?” “Today we go to the parade!” These little Irish eyes were smiling up at me as I hurried them out of the house to catch the next train to the city. That thick fog was just starting to lift as we headed south along the Hudson to Grand Central Station , eliciting some keen three year old commentary about “smoke on the water” and cute questions like “Is it always smoky on St. Patrick’s Day, Mom?”

We arrived at Grand Central and did what any mom with a trio of three year olds would do next. We rode the escalator. That’s right, it caught their eye while we were waiting to meet my parents at the clock tower and I just couldn’t resist their amazing powers of persuasion. The problem tough, was that once we rode up, they were petrified to go back down. After several failed attempts, I finally left my mom a message explaining that we’d been foiled by the escalator and were going to start marching toward the parade.

What a sight we were as we battled the growing crowds along Fifth Avenue and headed toward St. Pat’s. I had one wide-eyed, fair-skinned, freckle-faced boy in each hand and one tagging along behind, clinging for dear life to the back of my green sweater. We paused a few times along the way, taking in the wonder of the windows of Build A Bear and American Girl. Their excitement and enthusiasm were contagious as passers-by stopped to smile and wish us a Happy St. Patrick’s Day.

We finally arrived on the steps of St. Pat’s where we met my husband, Liam and Ciara and were eventually joined by my parents, brother, sister-in-laws, niece, nephews and friends old and new. As the pipers played and drummers drummed, I said a silent thank you to St. Patrick. Not just for chasing the snakes out of Ireland but, for giving us one day a year to honor our heritage, tap our toes to the music, wear our green with pride and truly cherish our family; St. Patrick’s Day is a reminder of just how blessed I am to look into smiling little Irish eyes and see the wonder of the world from their point of view – for it is a very nice view indeed.

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.

-----------------
Read more: 
Sh**e Irish parents say on St. Patrick's Day to their American kids

GOP Senator Grassley still blocking Irish and hi-tech immigration bill in US Senate
-----------------

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.

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.