Tuesday Tip: Bringing Sexy Back

We have five children. The oldest is seven.  Clearly, we’ve had a fair amount of sex – although, perhaps not quite as much as you’d suspect given that A. I’m pretty much Fertile Myrtle and B. our last three came as a package deal. When identical triplets were revealed on an early sonogram, I nearly fell off the table.  And pretty much swore to never have sex again.

As they say, “never say never” but it took me a really long time to “get my sexy back.”  Truth be told, I’m not 100% sure it is back.  Or that I ever really had it at all.  I have curly hair, freckly skin and a big smile.  On a good day, I might be cute.  But sexy?  I’m not so sure.  Sexy women usually have sleek hair, smooth skin and a sultry stare.  Or maybe that’s just what the media would have us believe.  Maybe sexy really does come in all shapes and sizes.  And maybe, just maybe, cute is my kind of sexy. 

Knowing as I do from a whole lot of candid girl-talk, I’m not the only one who has struggled to “get my sexy back” after having children so, having been inspired by the good folks at ParentsConnect and, in the spirit of sharing, here are a few things that actually do make me feel sexy – in a confident, sassy, cute kind of a way.  And, a few that most definitely don’t.

·      Exercise.  If you ask me, looking good is all about feeling good and feeling good – physically and emotionally – is all about exercise.  If I feel fit and trim, I feel great, inside and out.  And if I’m feeling great, there’s a much better chance that I’ll be interested in getting some sexy on.  Let’s face it, no one feels good putting on their “Mom jeans”; we all have those days when nothing else will fit but, if you ask me, a good run or challenging yoga class is the perfect start to getting your sexy back and putting your Mom jeans away. Forever.

·      Shave your legs.  Frankly, nothing kills the mood more than your leg hair entangled with his. Need I say more?  I didn’t think so but, since I’m prone to ramble, I will add that moisturizer is a plus and, lest I put too fine a point on it, stubble is a real buzz kill in the sexy lane.

·      Wear nice underwear.  And be comfortable in it.  I had my days in thongs. Those days are gone.  Today a thong doesn’t make me feel sexy; it makes me feel fat and like I have a wedgie.  Push up bras don’t work either; they are an awkward, uncomfortable reminder that I have nothing to push up!  The moral of this underwear tale? Find what works for you -- what makes you feel good, comfortable, confident and yes, perhaps even sexy.  And then buy it, wear it and flaunt it.  While you're at it, throw away those super-sized granny panties you bought when you were pregnant. You’ll be glad you did.

·      Drink wine.  Ok, this may not be for everyone but it works for me.  One glass of wine relieves the tension of the day and creates possibilities for the night.  Of note, beer does not have the same effect for me; beer equals bloat and bloat tends to lead to the bathroom, not the bedroom. For the record, most cocktails are a no-go for me too.  Sure they are yummy but just one seductively delicious Cosmo and I am one drunk skunk.  Not so sexy. 

·      Sleep.  Being well rested is probably the ultimate tip for getting your sexy back… and, daily proof that I’m not quite there yet!  Many moms operate in a state of sleep deprivation for months, if not years.  Given the choice, I suspect many would choose sleep over sex in a heartbeat. Sleep is all powerful and, once you get enough of it, you will be too.  And that my friends is very sexy indeed. 

The Nields "Full Catastrophe" is parenting set to music. In a good way.

Love this album cover... just add three more pairs of tiny tot shoes and it could be the Lyons Den!

This week I am feeling lucky once again thanks to a sneak preview of The Nield’s new album, The Full Catastrophe.  The thirteen songs swing from soulful ballads to upbeat, catchy tunes as The Nield’s, led by the powerful vocals of Nerissa and Katryna, share the trials and tribulations of motherhood and parenting in general.  Listening to this album is like having your favorite mommy blogs set to music – great music with a hint of folk, a smidge of country twang and a whole lot of honesty in lyrics you can’t help but sing along to.

I have to say, they had me at song one.  “Ten Year Tin” hits close to home since my husband and I will celebrate our ten year anniversary this October.  There are parts of this song that I – and in fact, most of us – might have written ourselves… “Things do not always go according to our plans” for instance or “We’ll save up for a trip across the sea; leave the kids, it’ll be just you and me.”  Isn’t that we all think on the day we say “I do”?  We think we’ve got it all figured out; we think, as the title track notes, “When I met you, I thought the journey was over.”  But, as we all know in retrospect, the journey had only just begun – and, there is nothing like motherhood to remind you that things often don’t go according to plan! 

Our plan was to have two or three kids; we ended up with five thanks to #3 arriving as a trio of identical little fellas who will forever be our babies; our precious miracles who beat the odds and arrived at almost full term, in perfect health, and cute to boot!  When I look at our sweet angels snoozing in their cribs and then check in on their brother and sister down the hall, I have a burning desire to savor these times, to keep them close, keep them safe, keep the world at bay.  It is this emotion that comes through loud and clear in “Choose this Era” – yet another song on this album that comes from the heart and touches the heart.  “There’s danger in the paper, on the radio; I want to put my arms around you, will not let you go.”  What mom hasn’t felt this way?  I know I do.  Every day.

Last but not least, there is the fantastically funny last tune that you will play again and again.  It’s called “#1 Reason Parents are Cranky.”  Want to venture a guess?  Yep, you got it – they don’t get enough sleep!  It’s not the teething or the tantrums; it is the sleep deprivation that gets us every time.  I for one have long been advocating that the “world would be a better place if we all took naps and got eight hours of sleep!” 

Parenting just might be a “full catastrophe” but you’ll get through it with your toes tapping and fingers snapping if you let The Nield’s be your guide.  To buy their new album, visit:  http://bulletproofartists.com/onlinestore/index.cfm?fuseaction=product.display&Product_ID=209   You’ll be glad you did!

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.

Gripes & Grins: an honest account of raising identical triplets... and 2 more

People have a lot to say about motherhood, especially when you're the Mom of five kids six and under, including identical triplets.   The commentary I receive runs the gamut from the obvious (“Are they triplets?!”) to the intrusive (“Was it IVF?”) to the complimentary (“You deserve a LOT of credit!”).  My responses tend to be "Yes" (even though I'd sometimes prefer to say "No, they're cute clones I got on sale at Target!"), "No" (although really it's none of your business!), and "Why?"  Why do I deserve any more credit than any other Mom?  Did I miss the memo where I had a choice to opt out of fulfilling the basic needs of our children?  I don’t think so. Actually, I think I'm just like most Moms in that I try my best every day and will candidly admit that some days are better than others!

Since I am often asked, I always tell people that the trials we face as parents are universal, as are the triumphs.  Whether you have one kid or five of them, you will inevitably be faced with the challenges of sleep deprivation, potty training and discipline and the rewards of those first steps, wet kisses and joyful leaps off the school bus at the end of the day.  There are general life experiences that unite us as parents yet as the years pass with our identical little boys, (who are now 2 ½), I can’t help but notice that there are a few things that actually do set us here at the Lyons Den apart from the rest of the herd.

For starters, there’s the undeniable fact that wherever we go, we always seem to draw a crowd; people are fascinated by our identical little fellas and delighted to ooh and aah over them as they pass by.  For a while, this was a neat little ego-boost; I couldn't help but get slightly caught up in the wonder and remarkable cuteness of these little people we created and thus far, seem to be successfully nurturing.  Yay us!  More recently however, the thrill has started to fade. Since it's rare that I'm out with only the triplets, I am increasingly sensitive to the impact the triplet adoration has on Liam and Ciara. They are often overlooked; at only six and four years old, the big brother and sister get very little of the glory although, they deserve a lot.

Liam and Ciara inherited a lot of responsibility and high expectations when Kevin, Declan and Cormac were born.  Ciara turned two just a few days before they arrived and Liam was not yet four; both were charged with holding bottles, fetching diapers and setting a good example from that day forward.  Though they are truly remarkable kids in their own right, they often go unnoticed while the adoring public fawns over their little brothers.  Truthfully, Liam and Ciara deserve medals for essentially serving as baby nurses for the past two years and I need to try harder to remember that it's not easy to have inherited a trio of identical tots to follow in your footsteps; this is one of my unique challenges as a parent.

Another unique challenge is specific to Kevin, Declan and Cormac.  Though they look exactly alike, I have to constantly remind myself (and others!) that they are not actually three of a kind but three individuals with their own personalities, preferences and, for better or worse, their own primary colors so everyone knows who’s who.  Kevin is “red”, Declan is “blue” and Cormac is “green”.  This color-coding system seemed like a really good way for family, friends and neighbors (and yes, even us in the beginning!) to tell them apart… unfortunately, since Declan has begun to introduce himself to folks as “Blue”, I think this clever tool has backfired but, once again, I was just trying my best.

I suppose that's the universal theme here.  As a new day and new week begins, I know will once again try my best.  I also know that there will be good days and bad days and highs and lows. I know I'll regret the mistakes I'll inevitably make (like last night, when I lost it after Declan peed in Liam's Croc!) and I'll relish the little moments that later turn into major memories (like yesterday morning, when we had them ALL in the tub, basking in bubbles and brimming with grins.)  While there are undoubtedly unique circumstances in raising all of our little "Cubs", we're really just like everyone else in that more often than not, we're just trying to make it through the day and make the most of it! 

In defense of working moms -- this one, anyway!

“How was your weekend?”  It’s a perfectly normal question for folks to ask on a Monday morning.  The thing is, I’m pretty sure they don’t want to hear how my weekend really was.  And that’s ok.  Because the reality is, my weekend – our weekends – are often so exhausting that my husband and I are happy to see Monday morning arrive.  Monday morning means back to work.  A place that while challenging and stressful at times, also affords the opportunity to pee without anyone sitting on your lap and to eat sitting down… both minor indulgences  after 48 hours at home with our five little Lyons Cubs!

As I’ve mentioned in the past, people say a LOT of crazy things to me.  One comment I hear frequently goes something like this… “You have ALL those kids and you WORK too?!   Wow….”  Then they walk away, leaving me to wonder if I’m a terrible person because I have “ALL” these kids and leave them behind for roughly 40 hours a week or if there’s something in my appearance that suggests we are independently wealthy and therefore I don’t need to work.  Given that I’m cruising around in a minivan too beat up to even be called a "swagger wagon" and most of my clothes date from the 90s (at best!), I’m pretty sure it’s not the latter.  And, I know in my heart – and my checkbook! – that it’s not the former either.  Five kids (and one 99 pound dog!) are expensive.  And this past weekend was a real doozie in terms of dollars and sense.  Here’s a rough breakdown…

• Trader Joe’s for groceries                               $170
• Dog to Vet for annual checkup & shots              $175
• Return trip to vet for antibiotics upon discovering dear dog has lyme disease   $275
• Birthday gifts for upcoming parties                   $60
• Oil change and inspection for minivan               $75
• Car #2 to mechanic to repair failing brakes       $175
• 2 cases of diapers                                           $70
• Trip to Urgent Care for 6 year old with presumed pink eye      $50
• Antibiotic upon confirmation of pink eye                                $80
• Spring plants/soil/essentials for backyard clean up                   $100
• Stop & Shop grocery delivery                                                $150

It’s a lot, right?  I don’t have the heart to add it all up but at a glance, a weekend full of essential expenditures (not even including Friday night pizza or a date night!) looks like it’s close to $1000.  Granted, this time around our lovable lab accounts for more than his fair share but, we’re not about to give him up – the entertainment he provides our kids is priceless.  And I don’t think we can give up the diapers yet either although trust me, we’re trying! 

As I assess this list, I’m reminded that my paycheck is pretty important to our bottom line.  And as I assess my aching limbs after a weekend of chasing, lifting, wrestling, battling, tickling, and twirling our kids well, I’m grateful for the time we’ve had together and, I’m glad that tomorrow is Monday!

Church on time?

When our firstborn Liam arrived, Des proclaimed "There are two things that are non-negotiable: he will be Catholic and he will be a Yankee fan."  I've always wondered if he sees these two things as equivalent and with each passing year, I'm more convinced that he does.   With baseball season upon us, there will be plenty of time to share my musings on raising five little pin-striped fanatics so, today I thought I'd dwell on raising five little Catholics.

For starters, we go to church on Sunday.  EVERY Sunday.  We're as reliable as the US Postal Service; we show up in rain or shine, showered or unshowered, with sick kids, cranky kids, and sometimes need a spanky kids. And now matter how early our day starts, we always show up about fiften minutes late.  Now that Liam can tell time, I'm pretty sure he thinks we attend the 10:45 mass when in fact, the rest of the congregation dutifully arrives at 10:30.  

Now, as you might imagine, there is nothing subtle about our arrival at church -- or anywhere else, for that matter!  When the triplets were babies, we would walk to church because it was easier than getting all five kids in and out of the car.  Our entry procession included two strollers - a standard issue double for Liam and Ciara and a front to back triple as long as a Cadillac for Kevin, Declan and Cormac.  Today, as Liam and Ciara bolt down the aisle and the triplets toddle behind them, our entry is less impressive but far more vocal. "I see Jesus!  I see Jesus!  I see Jesus!"  the triplets can't help but announce, sometimes adding additional commentary like "Why he has no shoes on?" 

Thankfully, our priest and our parish are both friendly and forgiving.  Our tardiness isn't looked down upon and we seem to get a fair amount of credit and goodwill for simply showing up, no matter how late we may be.  Given the antics that we provide (typically from a front pew since that's the only space left by the time we arrive!), it's a wonder they don't just lock the door at 10:44.  They continue to welcome the Lyons Family Circus and we continue to show up.

Here are a few of my favorite moments from our weekly 45 minutes of religious obligation and observation:

• Cormac following the guy with the collection basket, taking a $20 and running for the door.  Hey, charity starts at home, right?
• A lady who told me that "my kids just LOVE watching your family at church; it's better than reality TV!"
• The day an elderly woman who had kindly settled down a distraught Declan suddenly dropped him back in my lap noting  "I think he has a present for you,"  as the stench from his diaper nearly knocked us out.
• The time that Kevin ran to the altar to check out the Nativity scene but left his pants behind. Turns out that I shouldn't have ingnored him when he said "pants too big Mama!"
• Advent.  Between the Nativity scene and Toys for Tots collection, our kids provided a lot of comic relief... which, granted, isn't why most folks go to church but it never hurts to have a good laugh, right?  Some highlights were the attempted removal of toys from the altar, failed attempts to "wake up" the Baby Jesus and the near demise of one of the wise men (courtesy of a wobbly triplet).

I clearly recall looking for diversions at church when I was a kid; now my family is the diversion.  It started when Liam was just a tot himself, clapping along with the choir and shouting "YAY!" when they finished a song.  I'm not sure if or when it will end but, until it does, I plan to just embrace it and enjoy it.  While I may not always hear the message of the gospel and while we may never get to church on time, at least I have 45 minutes a week to sit down (when I'm not shooing tots off the altar!) and reflect on just how lucky I am -- lucky to have happy, healthy kids; lucky to be embraced by our community and, well, with the season in full swing, lucky to have so many little Yankee fans... more on that later, to be sure!

From the mouths of babes -- the funny things kids say

When you have five kids and the oldest is only six, you realize that kids say a LOT of funny things. You also realize that as a parent, YOU say a lot of funny things. One of the things I will always remember saying is “Liam, please don’t drive your tractor through the feta cheese”. This is when I knew I had most certainly crossed a line and was most definitely not in Kansas anymore. I thought it might be fun to share with you some of the most silly, absurd, incongruous things that my kids and I have said in just the past few weeks and, invite you to share a few random remarks of your own. I’m sure that you and your tots are just as insane at times as me and mine… I hope you are anyway. If you’re not, it proves that I just might be insane! But, since I am willing to take that risk, here are a few of my recent favorites:

Last week, we took the kids out to celebrate Liam’s good report card. Mind you, Liam is only in first grade but he seems to be on the right track and that seemed to be worth celebrating so, last Thursday we went out to dinner and that event yielded a handful of colorful commentary:

• As we loaded the kids into the car, explaining that we were headed out for a celebratory meal, Ciara whined from the backseat “But what about MEEEEE? Can we also celebrate that I wished upon a star?!” Really, this is true. If only I could get someone to take me out to dinner every time I wished upon a star!
• After he begged, kicked and screamed for chocolate milk, we finally caved in and ordered it for our little man Cormac. Upon delivery, he took one look at it, pushed it away and loudly proclaimed: “NO LIKE IT! This milk is DIRTY!!!”
• When Liam’s plate of mini-burgers and major fries arrived, he gobbled down the burgers and just picked at his fries, prompting me to ask “What’s the matter buddy, you don’t like them”? His response? “I do Mom but don’t you know that fries aren’t good for you?" So much for celebrating!

Last Saturday, we were taking the kid for haircuts and noticed a helicopter hovering overhead. I’d heard on the news that there had been a bank robbery a few towns away and commented that perhaps they were doing an aerial search for the bad guys. This prompted some priceless remarks, including:

• From Ciara: “So Mom, do bad guys usually run on the right side or the left side of the street?”
• From Liam: “I don’t think they usually run, do they Mom? Ciara, I think they will be the guys you see tip-toeing down the street all hunched over. They’ll probably be wearing black tights and masks.” Thank you, classic cartoons, for providing this timeless image of bad guys!
• From the triplets in the third row of the mini-van: “Bad guys! Bad guys! I see bad guys! Over there! Bad guys over there!” I should have known. The pint-sized police are always on high alert!

This weekend prompted a classic. After 36 hours of tripping over Legos, blocks, trains and rocks (yes, the rock collection somehow made it inside!), we’d had it. The “clean up song” has lost its allure, the notion of teamwork wasn’t working and we were at our wits end. Des, who never loses his cool actually yelled at them. He yelled “IF YOU DON’T CLEAN THESE TOYS UP, I AM GETTING A TRASH BAG AND THROWING THEM ALL OUT!” Liam, unable to contain a giggle and a smirk was put on the hot seat. “You think it’s funny?!” , Des asked. “No Dad,” he responded with a grin. “I’m just thinking you’ve never done it before so you’re not going to do it now.”

Yikes. Where is the owner’s manual for these little people when you really need it?! Since I don’t have one, we’re just doing the best we can and trying to laugh as much as possible. If we don’t, I’m quite certain we will in fact go insane. Until then, I’ll keep sharing the crazy things our kids (and we!) say and hope that you will do the same.

Manic Monday

One of my first bosses, who is now a close friend, dubbed me “Pollyanna” after knowing me for just a few days. Even in the workplace at the beginning of my so-called career, my unfailing optimism and extreme idealism couldn’t be missed. Indeed, it is these very qualities that allow me to pop out of bed each morning, genuinely happy to face the day ahead and the challenges it entails.


Each day most certainly contatins its own challenges – some big, some small. Liam might miss the bus or we might run out of milk or there may be three or four kids with raging fevers as I scramble to make myself presentable and get to work on time. As I’ve mentioned before, most days are good days and thankfully most of our challenges are small. But sometimes, even our small challenges add up to something bigger than I can gracefully manage; in those moments, the Pollyanna in me disappears. She is replaced Cruella deVille or the Wicked Witch of the West or some other such character with a dark disposition and menacing laugh. Last night this dark alter-ego appeared and I have to say, I think I dislike her as much as my husband and kids do.


Yesterday was the most Monday of Mondays. Everyone was tired and loathe to get out of bed, suffering as we were from switching the clocks over the weekend and waiting for our bodies to adjust. Work was, well, work. A lot of work! The day passed swiftly by and before I knew it, my tired, cranky bod was on its way home and fielding a call from Des who was going to be an hour late. The expletive I muttered under my breath wasn’t missed and it’s a wonder that the poor guy got on the train and decided to come home at all!

As I turned onto our block, pondering the mayhem and dinner preparation that awaited me (and just me!), I was almost run down by five tykes on trikes and bikes all of whom, as it turns out, belonged to me and none of whom were eager to go inside to accompany me while I started dinner. That was Battle #1. Simply getting them all inside was a Herculean effort with a resulting deafening roar of dismay and disagreement. With my head pounding, I did the only thing I could think of to quiet the masses – I offered them a snack. This kept them busy for about approximately three minutes while I popped the salmon and potatoes (prepped before I left for work!) into the oven.


With the snack gone and dinner cooking, the chorus of whining and wailing began. “I’m tired. I’m hungry. Can I have a banana? When’s dinner? Can we watch TV? Mac Mac bit me! I have to pee! Kevin’s taking his pants off! I don’t want salmon! Can we have more Goldfish? I’m STARVING! Declan threw a block at me! Where’s my baby stroller? Can I have another snack?!” And so it went. And so I texted Des “This is a NIGHTMARE. When will you be home?!”


That’s when the smoke started to come out of the oven, one of the kids fell off the counter barstool and I literally started to scream like a banshee. I just lost it. I was tired, they were tired. They were screaming, I was screaming. Dinner was burning, the table wasn’t set, the dishwasher needed to be unloaded and the groceries that had been delivered cluttered the counter. It wasn’t pretty. Des walked in shortly thereafter to a smoky scene that resembled a warzone. It was me against them and I’m pretty sure they were winning. Somehow, we salvaged dinner and by the time the sun came up this morning, I had almost found Pollyanna again. She’s still reeling a bit from her alter-ego’s violent outburst but firmly believes that today will be a better day. And tomorrow will probably be even better. Phew. She’s back!

Pint Sized Police

With last week's arrival of Lent and the challenge of finding something to “give up” for  forty days, I am reminded once again that our children thrive in their role as self-appointed pint-sized police. We have an usually large task force at work here in the Lyons Den – a team of five who are constantly on the prowl, eager to catch someone in a forbidden act and then promptly rat them out to the prevailing parental unit which, for better or worse, happens to include a legitimate local judge.

Our pee-wee patrol alternates between committing and reporting on numerous petty crimes. The two-year old triplets are eloquent in the language of accusation – “he bit me!”, “he hit me!”, and perhaps most unfortuantely "he PEED on the floor!" are part of a daily refrain which is often followed by stern self-administered sentencing: “NO Declan!”, “Time OUT Mac Mac!”, “Bad boy KooKoo!”

The “bad boy” expletive is puzzling to us since we do our best not to actually tell our kids that they are "bad". Because, of course, they’re not. They’re just kids. While I’ve certainly slipped up and dropped an F-bomb now and again, I honestly don’t think I ever called one of them a “Bad Boy”. As it turns out, I didn’t; their Big Sister has.  It appears that Ciara has taken on a Lieutenant role of sorts and I'm told that she lets that “Bad Boy” fly routinely while we’re at work. She was outed by her Big Brother, who assumes the Captain role in their pee-wee patrol unit.  This all helps to explain why one night when I strongly suggested the triplets finish their dinner, I was verbally assaulted by three two-year tyrants screaming “Bad Boy Mama! Mama BAD BOY!!!!!!”


Then there’s the big kids – they don’t let anyone – including me and Des, get away with anything. We were driving home from Costco last week and they overheard me talking to a friend about our Saturday night plans, saying something like “oh, I’d love see a stupid, mindless movie for a change – especially since the last thing I saw was Black Swan!” I was immediately interrupted by the petite police in the back of the minivan, “MOM! You said STUPID! STUPID is a BAD word MOM! What’s stupid anyway? Why did you say that? I’m telling Dad.” Oh geez, I thought, here we go… it starts by telling Dad that I said "stupid" and then quickly escalates to the fact that I was talking while driving, might have rolled through a stop sign and somehow spent almost $600 at Costco! It’s all fair game to my four foot and under platoon.

 Knowing as I do that I can’t get away with much, I really struggle with what to give up for Lent. I am under the contant scrutiny of five sets of eyeballs (six, if you count my husband the Judge!) who are just waiting for me to screw up… waiting for me to sneak that potato chip or cookie I’ve tried to give up in the past, waiting for my shrill outburst when I’ve promised to try harder to keep my cool. So, what’s a gal to do?! Giving up wine is out of the question, I’ve tried that and failed miserably and just couldn’t stand my own kids urging me to “just say no.”


So, as I write this, I haven’t committed to giving anything up; my pint-sized police have perhaps put the fear of God in me because I just can’t stand to fail in front of them. Or maybe it's that being called “bad boy mama” is quickly losing its charm. In any case, if you have any suggestions for something I can give up (or take on) between now and Easter, please let me know -- and, should you have your own pee-wee police at home, consider yourself warned! 

Keeping the Merry in Christmas and Happy in Holidays!

Tis the season! Time to trim the tree, make a list, check it twice, talk to your kids about being naughty or nice. There’s a wintry chill in the air and a spirit of festive warmth all around us. Why then, are we consistently bombarded with news stories and magazine headlines geared toward “keeping your sanity this holiday season”? Are we making ourselves crazy? All the shopping, baking, entertaining and striving to create the perfect holiday memories seem to be sucking the happiness out of our “Happy Holiday” intentions.

This can’t be good for our kids. How can we expect them to comprehend the true meaning of the season when we, as parents, are so often caught up in the mayhem? Here are a few simple ways to remind your children that this season, giving really is better than getting:

 1. Give it up. If your house is like mine, it’s about to be bombarded by an influx of shiny, new playthings that will turn today’s favorites into tomorrow’s castaways. I suggest you take a pre-emptive strike and enlist your kids’ help in cleaning out the toy box, toy bins, toy baskets, basement and bookshelves. Encourage them to say good-bye to the old – not only to make room for the new but, far more importantly, to teach them that a child in need deserves a good deed. This is their opportunity to do some good this holiday season; to “share” their gently used treasures with those less fortunate. So, take your kids and the books/toys/gadgets they’ve outgrown to a local children’s hospital, shelter, nursery school or even a thrift shop. (Call first to be sure they are accepting donations!) Tis the season to teach our kids that helping others is a great gift… one that will last a lifetime.


2. Give your time. With Christmas right around the corner, why not plan a family event that focuses on the gift of time? How many times have we all said “oh, how I wish there were more hours in the day! Just think of all I would accomplish!” Well, here’s something you can easily do – find a few hours and take the time to visit grandparents, volunteer at your local charity of choice or even just spend some time together as a family. Tis the season to unplug and tune in to those around you; this just may be one of the best ways to spread the joy of the season.


3. Something’s gotta give. When you “just say yes” to everything – the school bake sale, the Christmas pageant, the cookie swap, the class gift – you stretch yourself far too thin. Speaking from personal experience, I know that this can make you the overtired Grinch you detest rather than the jolly St. Nick you’d much prefer to be. This holiday season, do yourself (and your kids!) a favor and just say no. Giving up a few of the things you think you “have “ to do – whether it’s sending cards, wrapping gifts or baking yourself into a frenzy – will result in a happier you… which, of course, translates to happier kids. So, tis the season to “just say no” -- to doing too much and to the perfectionist ideals set forth in those charming Norman Rockwell prints.


Tis the season to be jolly… remember that and you and your family will indeed have a Happy Holiday season and a most Merry Christmas!

Practically Perfect is Good Enough

I suffer a bit from being a perfectionist. Ok, a lot. Or, perhaps it’s not me, but the people around me who suffer most. I’m somewhat ashamed to admit that even though I know it’s insane, I will reorganize the dishwasher so that it’s done my way, which, of course, is the right way and therefore, the only way. On the odd occasion that my husband puts the kids' laundry away, instead of simply saying thank you, I’m prone to point out where things should have gone. I encourage all five kids to line up their shoes in perfect pairs and at times, can't resist laying out matching socks and underwear with their outfits -- just as I liked to wear mine when I was a kid… perhaps that’s where this all began.



I thought that having triplets would cause me to loosen up, to let go a little, to lower my standards or perhaps more aptly put, become a lot less anal!  But, alas, it’s not to be. The triplets and the daily challenge of juggling five kids five and under have really just upped the ante on my naturally perfectionist streak. I aspire to be like Mary Poppins – “practically perfect in every way.” I’ve even been known to sing “A spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down!” and say “Spit spot!” with a kind (although admittedly forced!) Mary Poppins smile as I hurry my kids along.


All that said, I know my yearning for perfection is extreme and has a fair share of downsides. I didn’t quite realize it until we went on our annual quest for the perfect pumpkin last weekend … an annual quest that is the traditional warm-up for the hunt for the perfect Christmas tree. As we ambled about the pumpkin patch with the camera clicking on a crisp fall day, I overheard some other insane Mom say to her kid “Put that one back. It’s all dented and dirty.” To which the kid whined back “but Mom, it doesn’t have to be perfect!”


So perfectly said and so absolutely true. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Whatever "it" may be. I let my Imperfect Poppins relax a bit after hearing that and, while I know it won’t last, I want to remember that kid’s voice in my ear because it could well be the voice of one of my own children. “Mom, it doesn’t need to be perfect.”

It was with this in mind that I went to bed last night before straightening the rug on the living room floor and with Legos still strewn on the coffee table. This morning, I tried not to flinch when my daughter rejected the matchy-matchy outfit I laid out and went with a funky look of her own. And when my oldest pleaded, “but Mom, I don’t WANT A shirt with a collar”, I said ok. Ok.


While my perfectionist, uptight ways are good for keeping everyone on a schedule, clothes in the right drawers and getting us out the door on time (most of the time!), I also know they can be overwhelming and overly controlling. And, I know that I really don’t want to hear my kids making public pleas for imperfection. So, I’m going to resolve to be better about accepting "good enough" versus  uncompromising perfection and, as a starting point, I have several very lop-sided pumpkins on the porch to prove it!

(NOTE: We picked our pumpkins at Stuart's Farm in Granite Springs, NY, about an hour north of NYC and highly recommended for family fun and, great donuts! http://www.stuartsfarm.com/index.html)

The Terrible Twos? I Think Not!

We’re coming up on a major milestone here in the Lyons Den. This weekend, on 10.10.10 (an especially appropriate date!) our identical triplets will turn two. This is a significant turning point for us and, while some folks may think of the “twos” as a “terrible” time full of tantrums and tirades, I’d prefer to offer up the possibility that what lies ahead may in fact be the “terrific twos.”
 In considering the past twenty four months, we’ve most certainly had our fair share of ups and downs and there are plenty of things that I’m happy to leave behind… nursing and pumping for three hefty fellas from my two tiny breasts, sleepless nights, ass-blaster diapers – you know the ones, the icky mustard colored poops that leak out the side, typically at 3AM? Formula, formula and more formula followed by gallon after gallon of whole milk. If only we had a yard large enough for a cow, I’m convinced we could put her to good use! Then there were the spit-ups, the throw-ups and the many times we were just plain fed up. There was the cacophony of three screaming newborns harmonized by two fighting toddlers. There were the Boppies, Exersaucers, Bumbos, and play mats that turned our humble home into a hardcore nursery. There were the panic attacks associated with three little people taking their first steps… and subsequently teetering on the top of our extremely steep steps. There was the never-ending mountain of laundry and nights that seemed to never end. But, when I look back, it’s all gone shockingly fast.


When I look back, I can chuckle at all of these “downs” because what I remember far more vividly are all of the “ups”… the toothless grins that were so rapidly replaced by first teeth, the sweetness of the “big” brother and sister helping us juggle three babies and three bottles, the kindness of family and friends who would arrive unasked and unannounced to simply hold a baby, the sense of accomplishment of getting them all loaded into the triple stroller… and the additional bonus of having the physical strength to push that stroller up our very steep Main Street. There were the days at the beach and playground where sand was the snack du jour and the nights when we snuggled in our bed like peas in a pod. There were first baths, first foods, first steps, the first time I could wear pants with a zipper again and all of the other wondrous firsts that accompany these first few years of life.


It is with this sense of wonder that I anticipate the “twos” – knowing, as I do, that there will indeed be some ugly moments – full blown, carpet-kicking tantrums and in all likelihood, more extreme, adamant and repeated use of every two year olds favorite two letter word: NO!  But, there will also be the fun and joy and humor that these little guys bring to our lives each and every day. The humming and singing and chattering and dancing and silliness that can make me instantly forget a bad day at work or yet another sleepless night. So, while some might dread the pending second birthday, I’m ready. And, I’m psyched. And, I’m grateful, overjoyed and yes, at times even a bit stunned to know that we’ve done it. We’ve survived the first two years with “five under five” and look forward to what the future holds.

The Awkward Age

This may come as a surprise to you… in fact, it still comes as kind of a surprise to us but, my husband and I really aren’t baby people. Given that there was a short window where we had five kids under four, you’d think we’d be those schmoopie types that just melt at the sight of a newborn and can’t enough of that new baby scent. The reality is we’ve never gone to extremes to ooh and aah over someone else’s precious new babe and it took us a while to warm up to each of our own. Furthermore, we still don’t know what people mean when they bring up the glory of that new baby smell; all our babies always smelled like spit up and dirty diapers, perhaps with a whiff of sweet potatoes thrown in. Not something to get all nostalgic about, if you ask us!



Although we tend to tolerate more than celebrate the first year of life, we can’t help but admit that the old cliché is true and time flies by far too fast. Our triplets officially turn 18 months this week and can hardly be called babies. They are independent, interesting and at times intolerant little individuals. Their onesies don’t fit and their toes are busting out of their footie pajamas. They’ve taunted us by climbing up and unfortunately, falling down the stairs. While fingers are still their favorite utensils, they’ve experimented (with limited success) with spoons and forks and seem to be trying their best to cultivate some table manners. Their bottles have been history for months – a sure sign that the baby days are behind us and the toddler years have arrived. As I watch them babble, banter, toddle and tumble, I can’t help but reflect that these guys are in the midst of a somewhat awkward age that no one really talks about. Let me share some observations…


They are expert walkers but look like they have two left feet when they try to run. They are not bald yet they still don’t have much hair to speak of; what they do have resides on top of their rather large heads in free-form wisps – at times resembling the comb-over look associated with desperate old men and at times cascading down to the rat-tail look that thankfully went out in the 80s. They have very big bellies that sometimes turn the corner before the rest of their little bods. They have some teeth, but not all of them – a look which was adorable with the first few but now looks like the Tooth Fairy is playing a trick on them. They try to talk but are constantly misunderstood... or so they would lead me to believe!


When it comes to teenagers, we expect and anticipate the “awkward age” but when it comes to babies, well, I for one sure didn’t! And, after seeing how quickly our baby days became simply fodder for photo albums, I know that this funny, strange and endearing phase will pass all too quickly. Before we know it, they’ll be out of their highchairs, deciding to wear what they want to wear and running so fast that I can’t keep up. Which is exactly why I’m going to do my best to just take a deep breath and enjoy this time that I know is both precious and fleeting. Not to mention, as soon as these guys can talk, they just might point out that I’m in an awkward phase too… with my fading highlights, rapidly reproducing grays, a few extra pounds and a severely outdated wardrobe, who am I to pass judgement?!

Note: This post originally appeared on www.parentsask.com on April 12, 2010.

Welcome Home!

I thought I would share a few classic Lyons Den greetings.  These pictures are representative of what might await me as I arrive home from work on any given day.  As you can see, there is a chance that our dear little "Cubs" might be scratching at the door, hoping to get to the other side.  This greeting is often accompanied by excited shouts of "DADA!" as they smear the glass with boogies.  That really kills me -- not the snot-smeard glass... God knows I've come to live with that but, it's the shouts of DADA that really get me.  I mean, really, I'm the one who had these guys in my belly for 36 weeks, the one who arguably changes more diapers, gives more baths and on and on and yet, almost 18 months later, they are still calling me DaDa!  I swear they do it just to taunt me.  That and because, in fairness, DaDa is probably (ok, definitely!) a lot more fun and they wish that he was the one coming through the door first!

This second greeting is becoming a bit more common.  It's the "we didn't rush to the door because we don't care that you're home because we're too busy getting into trouble" kind of a sneaky, silent welcome.  This is the type of welcome I received tonight. Here's what went down in our Lyons Den in just about an hour's time...

• Declan and Kevin took a dive into the toilet bowl... it would seem that Ciara forgot to put the lid down and shut the door after she tinkled.  Oops!  And, gross! 
• Cormac decided to chew on an electrical cord... not necessarily my idea of a healthy snack.
• The three of them thought it would be fun to play "Magic Carpet" as they pulled and pushed each other around the kitchen on the rug that usually goes by the sink
• Quickly tiring of the "Magic Carpet" game, they took to moving furniture -- taking turns pushing the stools around the counter and then relocating poor Finnegan's bowls... which, of course, were empty. Poor dog!
• "52 pickup" was next on the agenda... although, these guys don't play with cards (yet!) -- for them, it's Tupperware -- and I swear, there must have been at least 52 pieces that they scattered around the kitchen and dining room

Keep in mind that as I tripped over toddlers and Tupperware, I was also trying to put the finishing touches on "Tuesday Turkey Taco Night".  While Liam and Ciara moaned that they were STAARRVVINGG, I was doing my best to keep my cool but felt myself starting to lose it... just as I was about to scream, there was a jingle at the door... and who should appear but... DADA!!!!!!!!!  I don't know who was happier to see him -- the five kids who just escaped Mama blowing a gasket or me, happy to know that an extra set of baby-wrangling hands had just arrived on the scene.  Either way, for DaDa, it was a warm welcome home indeed.