Tuesday Tip: Be Nice to your Husband

Sometimes I struggle to come up with a meaningful tip to share.  Sometimes I feel out of tips and like I could use a few myself.  Sometimes I'm so tired or so overwhelmed with work that I'm not tuned in to the tots around me to take in the daily observations that turn into weekly tips.  This is one of those times.  As I sat here wondering what to write, I turned to my husband and said "Hey hon, help!  I need a tip!" And he responded in jest "Always be nice to your husband."  He meant it as a joke but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this is perhaps one of the best tips of all.

Be nice to your husband.  It sounds so simple and yet it's not always easy to do.  Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm routinely or deliberately not nice to my husband but, I'll be the first to admit that I could be a whole lot nicer.  I don't think I'm alone in confessing that when the going gets tough, the fella to whom I said "I do" can sometimes be made to feel like a great big "I don't."  Not in a I don't love you type of a way but, in a I don't have time for you, I don't have energy for you, I can hardly even muster up a smile for you and I at would rather fall into bed (by myself!) than talk to you. Now that's not good, is it?!  This is not at all what we envision when we stand at the end of the aisle waiting for our fairy tale to begin.

The reality, as we all know, is that a good marriage takes work.  And, raising kids is hard work.  And, with two working parents... well, it can lead to all work and no play. So a part of this week's tip is to make time to play -- not just with your kids but with your husband too.  An official playdate.  What the hell, make it an official date.  And try to do it frequently.  Like many couples, we have an ebb and flow, a feast or famine approach to finding time for each other; when we sense that famine approaching, we're quick to make amends and find some quality time together that isn't focused on paying bills, yard work, scheduling or meal planning.  And yes, my guy helps with all of that stuff, which is yet another reason why I should always be nice to him!

It sounds corny (and ok, I guess it IS corny), but knowing how hard (and expensive!) it can be to find a sitter and how precious our time together is, we've been known to squeeze in some quality time and a good laugh in the most unexpected ways -- for instance, there was the mid-day, mid-week trip to Costco, where simply tackling this dreaded chore together and sans kids made it more fun.  There are the nights we tuck the tots in early and try out a new recipe together -- something that was routine when we were dating and reminds us of those carefree days.  Once in a while, we pull out our old photo albums and a bottle of wine... just looking back at the fun we had and adventures we shared is a great way to ease the tension of the daily pressures we have today.

I suppose being nice is about much more than date nights and quality time though.  It's about thoughtfulness and caring.  I hate to admit it but in our house, my husband often comes last.  When I come home from work in a tizzy and get tackled by five crazy kids (and one 90 pound dog!), I sometimes forget the guy who made them and the amazing life we lead all possible.  The guy who is my rock.  Who reminds me not to sweat the small stuff.  Who makes me laugh.  Who makes me dinner!  This is a guy who deserves the best of me, not the leftovers.  So, with this in mind, I hope to live into this week's tip for many weeks, months and years to come.

Turns out that running just may be a team sport

I had a lot of anxiety about running the New York ½ Marathon on Sunday.  For starters, I’m not a distance runner.  I’m more of an ambling jogger who routinely trots along for four miles a few days a week.  Given this, one might expect there was an extensive training regimen leading up to Sunday’s 13.2 miles; alas, there was not.  Between snow, sleet, ice, five kids, a new job, dark mornings and darker evenings, it was hard enough to get in my typical weekly runs let alone amp up the mileage in any substantial way.  I did manage to get in a seven-miler and ten-miler a few weeks before race day; neither was very much fun and neither filled me with confidence that I would actually cross the finish line.  As my Mom so aptly put it on Saturday night, “Well, Ker, you know the way home if you can’t make it!” 

So, as Sunday morning dawned – actually, an hour or so before dawn, while that remarkable full moon was still in its splendor – I really wasn’t convinced that I’d be celebrating the completion of the half marathon; I thought it far more likely that the city sanitation trucks would sweep me up with the other stragglers.  Turns out I should have had a bit more faith in myself… and, as with most of life’s challenges, turns out that I most certainly didn’t do it alone.  There were facebook cheers and family fans and my running buddies who never doubted that I could do it and told me as much.  Then, perhaps most significantly, there was Des.

As I mentioned in my last post, entry to the New York ½ Marathon is lottery based, unless you’re an elite runner, which we’ve clearly established I am not!   Against the odds, Des and I both got a number.  Since he ran the New York Marathon (26.2 miles!) in November, I figured this would literally be a stroll through the park (Central Park) for him.  I figured we’d drive in together, line up together and then he would take off and I would linger behind, glad to have Lady GaGa and ABBA on my iPod to keep me company.  Instead, he stayed by my side when my hip and knee went somewhere between miles six and seven and I stayed by his when he visited the PortoPotty somewhere around the 11^th mile.

This is notable for a few reasons.  Like many couples, we have to do a fair amount of dividing and conquering.  With five kids, a dog, our jobs and the responsibilities they all entail, it’s the only way to get things done.  For better or worse, I’ve become somewhat accustomed to flying solo or simply administering tasks and making demands.  Our situation has been all the more intense the past two years as we juggled newborn triplets with two toddlers and then suffered through Des' brother’s losing battlle with lung cancer last summer.  Divide and conquer was key to our survival.  “You take Liam and Ciara to the park; I’ll feed and bathe the triplets.”  “You go to the hospital with Conor; I’ll take the five kids to the pool.”  “You take out the trash and walk the dog; I’ll clean up the kitchen and make the lunches.”  And so it goes.  You. Me. You. Me. But what about us?

Rediscovering the “us” was an unexpected by-product of our own amazing race.  We did it together.  We stayed together.  Those 13 miles had their ups and downs just like the past few years and the many more ahead of us.  But we did it together. And it was nice.  Really nice.  Running isn't typically known as a team sport but, after crossing the finish line together, Team Lyons is stronger than ever. 

Mom's Night In

Last Saturday, Des had a long overdue night out with the guys... which, of course, left me home "alone" with our five little Cubs.  All things considered, I get out a fair bit  -- work dinners, book club and the occasional Girls Night Out satisfy my need for a break from the constant action in the Lyons Den.  This time it was his turn.  But things were NOT looking good at the beginning of my Mom's Night In.

I was bleeding (due to improper knife technique while making dinner), Liam was sporting a new black & blue egg on his head (due to a wooden block thrown at close proximity by Ciara), Ciara was pouting (due to the time-out she was in thanks to the aforementioned grievance) and the triplets were howling in their highchairs (due to a lack of nap, distaste for dinner or both).  As Des sauntered out the door, I had to muffle the primal scream inside that said "TAKE ME WITH YOU!"  I had to remember that this was his night out, my night in.

I'm quite pleased to report that it actually turned into quite a nice night.  The bleeding, pouting, and howling were relatively short-lived and all seemed well as five little Cubs took a bath, five little Cubs put on their PJs and five little Cubs snuggled into our bed for story time followed by a new episode of the Backyardigans -- my favorite of all the kid shows, so much so that I've been known to remark "but really, the music and choregraphy are great!"  Geez, whatever happened to my so-called life?  The answer, it seems, is not much.

By 8:30, they were all tucked into their cribs and beds while I pondered what might come next.  Hubby's gone, kids are asleep, now what?  A bubble bath? Good book?  Glass of wine?  I'm more prone to tackle "2010: the year in pictures" or "2011: regain control of our spending!"  -- both active items on my "to-do" list.  But, I refrained from these expected or obligatory options and instead did just this:

I heated up a Trader Joe's Mac & Cheese (quite tasty, I'd recommend it!), got a glass of apple cider (I'd had my daily quota of wine at a Christening earlier in the day), grabbed the pile of junk mail that grew over the week and got into bed with the remote control. With my better half out for the night, I was able to easily skip over FoxNews and anything sports related.  I loitered a bit on some reality shows and sitcom reruns until I found what I was looking for:  When Harry Met Sally.  A good reminder of how lucky I am to have found the guy to grow old with -- even if he won't eat mac & cheese in bed while watching cheesy 80s movies.  I think, after all, that's best left for a Mom's night in.  And, in case you don't have one of those on the horizon, well, here's the last few minutes -- the happy ending.  Because every Mom's night in deserves a happy ending.