Keeping the St. Patrick in St. Patrick's Day

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 17^th – a point which is lost on them now at five and seven years old but, I hope they will one day 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 though, 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 good 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.

Cead Mile Failte

With St. Patrick’s Day right around the corner, the Lyons Den is abuzz with activity.  There is Irish Soda bread to be baked, a hearty stew to be made and, time permitting, a lovely Pot of Gold cake to be picked up at the Riviera Bakehouse – a gem of a bakeshop should you ever be in the neighborhood!

  

When I asked our seven-year old, Liam, what St. Patrick’s Day was all about, he responded without hesitation, “It’s about being together as a family and remembering Ireland” – which I thought was a pretty astute answer for a second-grader; after all, I’ve never shared the story of St. Patrick chasing the snakes out of Ireland so it’s only fitting that he thinks the day is about family, togetherness and remembering our Irish roots.

It’s worth noting that while Liam was having his moment in the spotlight, his little sister Ciara and little brothers Kevin, Declan and Cormac (identical triplets and a stroke of Irish luck if ever there was one!) were all nodding in accordance.  “Family.” “Together.” “Family.”  In a rare occurrence, we found a topic to which we all could agree.

Now, as you might have surmised from the impressive roster of Irish names for our brood, we’ve got a lot o’green in our blood and a fair amount of Irish pride that flows along with it.  My maiden name was 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.  As a first generation Irish American whose Dad hailed from County Cork, my husband Des was far too proud to change his name – and, almost a decade later, I can’t say I blame him.

We had the privilege of our taking our clan (yes, we flew to Ireland with five children then six and under!) to Ireland this fall.  We caught up with friends in Dublin, visited family in Bray, drove through the rolling hills of Wicklow, kissed the  Blarney Stone and toured County Cork, sharing the magic of Kinsale and other seaside villages with our kids.  It was a whirlwind of a trip and at times a challenge to juggle five (jet-lagged!) children as we saw the sights but it was well worth it.  While I still recall the screaming banshee I became at the end of a few especially long days, the kids recall a magical, mystical fairy tale of a trip. 

The 2-year old triplets gave us some precious sound bites, one of my favorites of which was “If this is Barney Castle, where he at?” Ciara celebrated her fifth birthday at the Dublin Zoo, a must-see if ever you make the journey and Liam, the oldest of our crew, fell in love with the Emerald Isle. He is reading Yeats, seems to have absorbed the significance of the 1916 Easter Uprising and, in true seven year old form, naturally assumes that we’ll be heading back to Ireland this fall. 

For the record, we won’t – but, if time and money weren’t an issue, we’d go back in a heartbeat.  Ireland is truly the land of a hundred thousand welcomes; not everyone welcomes a family of seven (with a few of them possibly wet – from either the unpredictable weather or an “accident”!) but all over Ireland, we were welcomed with open arms. With big smiles.  With warm tea or a cold pint.  It is that spirit – that welcome, that zest for life, for story-telling, for music, for dance, that I hope our children embody as they grow up -- on St. Patrick’s Day and every other day of the year.  I hope they embrace life experiences and the people they encounter along the way with Cead Mile Failte. A hundred thousand welcomes.

Twas the week before St. Patty's Day...

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.

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.