A Tale of Two Sisters

The O'Connor Sisters, circa 1979

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

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

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

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

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

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

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! 

Monkey See, Monkey Do!

It’s pretty common for younger siblings to mimic everything the “big” ones say or do. And there’s a certain amount of adoration that I think, if you’re lucky, comes naturally among brothers and sisters. It’s a phenomenon I witness daily when Ciara (now 3) wakes up and groggily utters “Where’s Liam?” These are her very first words seven days a week. Not “I’m hungry” or “Good morning.” Not “Hi Mom,” “I have to pee” or “I don’t want to get up.” Just a sincere, concerned and eager “Where is Liam?!”

She worships him. Her big brother is two years older and has introduced her to everything from Santa Claus to silly bands. In fact, one of her first words was indeed “Santa.” In any case, she is prone to eat what he eats, repeat what he says, follow him wherever he goes and hang on his every word.

Now that our triplets are 19 months old, they have heroes of their own as they follow Liam and Ciara around like little ducks in a row. My “big” kids definitely appreciate the attentive audience that a trio of one year olds provide and are prone to put on a good show for them. Occasionally however, the triplets just want to do their own thing. As one might have predicted, these little fellas have a language of their own and take the “monkey see, monkey do” dynamic that Liam and Ciara have mastered to a whole new level.

A few weeks ago, we were visiting friends for dinner. They had a massive swing set in their backyard that I was sure the “babies” wouldn’t go near. As I relaxed with a glass of wine, I looked up to see Declan climbing up the slide -- a seven foot slide! Quicker than I could cross the lawn, Kevin and Cormac were climbing right up behind him; the Crocs they were wearing must have had some sort of super non-slip grip because all three of them somehow made it to the top. And then, all three of them started clapping and chanting some sort of a self-congratulatory cheer – because, whatever one of them does, the other two can’t help but follow.

Having just one toddler has its challenges but with three of them tripping over each other and at times literally tripping me up, I have dubbed Summer 2010 the "Summer of Peril." Since Memorial Day (which I believe was only a week ago?!), I’ve already pulled slippery babes out of the kiddie pool, yanked obstinate tots out oncoming traffic, and put a stop to the jolly good time they had dancing on the picnic table in the backyard. I’ve said “no, no, no” more times than I wish to admit as they tore freshly planted flowers from the ground and tossed clean sippy cups on the dirty floor. Needless to say, I’m a bit of a killjoy. But, with toddler group-think ruling our roost, I don’t see any other choice!

There are upsides to this constant parrot-like mimicry. When one brushes his teeth, the others follow. When one heads in for a bath, the others follow. When one sits down for a snack, the other two plop down next to him in a neat little line. Now, if I can only figure out how to get one to load the dishwasher or fold the laundry, well, I’d be all the more willing to embrace this “Monkey see, Monkey do” mentality!

Note: this post originally appeared on http://www.parentsask.com/