Where's WaWa?

Last night, we were defeated once again by an unwanted game of "Where's WaWa" that our little cubs take great joy in torturing us with. To understand the logistics of "Where's WaWa", you first need a brief history of the WaWa.

When Liam (now 5) was just weeks old, one of my friend's sent us little blue dog-shaped blankie -- you might call it a lovey or a security blanket or, as we called it, a "woobie."  Liam instantly took to his "woobie" and we violated every rule in the book as we peered into his basinette, watching him sleep... with his beloved woobie OVER HIS FACE.  We knew that we weren't supposed to put anything in our newborn's bed.  We knew the SIDS police would have us arrested... and probably should have!  However, since we hadn't slept for more than three hours at a stretch for at least six weeks, we were exhausted and we were desperate.  So, we left Liam with his woobie and we all slept through the night. 

Liam slept with that woobie on his head for years -- and, when he started to talk, one of his first words was "WeeWee."  We were confused at first but quickly figured out that "WeeWee" was "woobie" and before we knew it, the name stuck.

Then along came Ciara... who, after many sleepless nights, finally got a WeeWee of her own.  Hers was a little pink lamb and she took to it instantly... like Liam, she put the thing on her head and effortlessly went off to the land of nod.  It worked like a charm and we chuckled for months over the admittely bad joke that Ciara was the only girl on the block with a WeeWee... until, of course, she started to talk and one of her first words was "WaWa."  No WeeWees for this young lady! 

Everytime we left the house, instead of last minute checks like "is the oven off? did you lock the door? do you have the diaper bag?"  Des and I always asked "do you have WeeWee and WaWa?!" ... because we knew that wherever we went, we would be doomed if WeeWee and WaWa weren't along for the ride.

Fast forward to the birth of triplets.  Frankly, I've always been pacifier-averse because selfishly, I don't want to be getting up ten times a night to pop the binky back in the baby's -- or in this case, babies' -- mouth!  As you might imagine, to us WaWa's equal sleep and as such, they were on the top of our wish list when the cubs were born.  Thankfully, this wish was granted.  Kevin took to his "Puppy WaWa", Declan to "Monkey WaWa" and Cormac to "Lion WaWa."  All three of them blissfully suc,k snuggle, chew and cuddle their WaWas as they drift off to sleep.  It was all going really well until a few months ago when they started to play "Where's WaWa?" well after the midnight hour. 

As they toss and turn and flail about as only a baby can, their WaWa's get "lost" -- maybe it's at the top of the crib while they're at the bottom.  Maybe it's fallen -- or, more likely, been pushed -- through the crib slats.  Maybe it's tucked between the crib slats and the wall.  Wherever WaWa may be, if it's not safely ensconced beneath a snoozing cub, that cub is wide awake and wailing... and will not rest until WaWa has been returned. 

Much to my dismay, we're now up at various points in the night goin' on a WaWa hunt. Des has been known to mumble in sleep-deprived stupor "Can't they find their own f-ing WaWAs?!!"  while I shamefully pretend to be sleeping.  Bottom line, perhaps a paci would have been eaiser but, more often than not, the WaWas still equal sleep... for at least a few hours.  And, while I certainly don't enjoy our games of "Where's WaWa" at 3AM, I have a funny feeling that it just might be one of the things I end up missing.  Until then, I look forward to the day these guys start to talk and come up with a name of their own for their sweet bedtime buddies.  

In case you'd like to introduce your little one to the joys of the WaWa, you can buy one at:
http://www.kookoobearkids.com/Blue-Lamb-Snuggle-Friend-Blanket/productinfo/00050015BL/

While they were sleeping...

Much to my own disbelief, as I type this, there are five kids, one husband and one large dog peacefully snoozing -- and snoring -- away.  Truth be told, there's a part of me that's just a bit bitter that all around me are the sounds of peaceful slumber since I too would welcome a well-deserved nap.  That said, there's another part of me that's overjoyed to have a rare quiet moment and the opportunity to get things done without tripping over babies or promising for the hundredth time, "just a minute Liam and Ciara!!!"

As silence envelops the Lyons Den, I've crossed a fair amount off our (ok, really it's MY) ambitious weekend to-do list.  Balance checkbook and pay bills.  Check!  Update calendar for February.  Check!  File bills and organize 2009 tax folder.  Check!  Buy gifts for next weekend's birthday parties and baby shower.  Check!  Start laundry.  Check! Locate Netflix movies for return mail tomorrow.  Check!  This one, by the way, gives me great pleasure in checking off the list because, as my Netflix queue just confirmed, we've had The Incredibles since July 17th!  And, the worst part, of course, is that we didn't even watch it since Liam deemed it too scary after the first five minutes.  Incredible, indeed!

I suppose what I should do next is start dinner... although, I'm quite tempted to just settle in and settle down for a few moments myself.  As always, it was a whirlwind weekend, kicked off by the "Cubs" 15-month visit to the pediatrician on Friday.  The doctor's visit reminded me once again of how quickly the time flies by.  It reminded me of how much I will miss about these baby years... and, how much I won't!  In a nutshell, I will NOT miss cutting grapes into six pieces and blueberries into fours.  I will NOT miss spit up, baby cereal or my constant state of snot-covered shoulders. I will NOT miss the sobs of teething or the "age of peril" as the babies attempt to swim in toilet boils, ignite themselves on the stove and swing from the bookshelves.  But, I will miss the irresistable appeal of a little tot saying "Uppie".  I will miss those awkward open-mouthed wet kisses.  And I will definitely miss the thump-thumps of speed-crawlers and the pitter-patters of little feet.  And, although I have missed a lot of sleep, well, I know it's all just part of this fleeting phase and I wonder if next Sunday, I just might join in as my pretty ones sleep. 

Amazing Things

In the past week, I've twice encountered the notion of "amazing things can happen" and it's really resonated with me.  First, it was Conan's last show -- which, for the record, I didn't watch live despite my best efforts to stay awake, but did TIVO and boy, am I ever glad I did.  Rather than dazzle us with his comedic talent and ascerbic wit, Conan decided to deliver an inspirational and seeminlgy genuine message. It was time he could have used at NBC's expense, delivering one last shot before he rode off into the Hollywood sunset.  But instead, Conan used his moment to inspire today's youth by imploring them (dare I say us?) that if you are "kind and work hard, amazing things will happen."  I was impressed that he took the high road and thought to myself that these are truly good words to live by.

My second encounter with a phrase involving "amazing things" occurred today as I went to NY Presbyterian for my annual exam.  There was a big banner above the door with the hospital's logo "Amazing things are happening here."  I remembered when the triplets were born and they had just unveiled this new corporate slogan. I thought to myself "Wow, three amazing things really did just happen here!"  Walking in the door today was a very different sensation though... without a big belly in front of me or a bunch of kids and babies next to me, well, I was just like everyone else.  Gone was the sense that I was a part of the amazing things happening there.  It was replaced with a sad feeling that my amazing thing had already happened -- against all odds, and with many thanks to the great doctors at NY Pres, I gave birth to three healthy babies.  So, now what? 

I don't know if it's age or hormones or what but I find myself really contemplating if my amazing thing has already happened or, if I'm kind and work hard, are there yet more amazing things ahead of me?  Ever the optimist, I suppose I'm in the camp of the latter.  Most certainly, amazing things have happened in my life -- and the babies are really just one example.  When I think about it, my life in general is fairly amazing -- I've got healthy kids, a great husband, a job I like, incredible friends, a supportive family and hobbies that I'm passionate about.  With this in mind, I'm now convinced that amazing things in my life aren't simply in the past tense -- there surely must be more to come... especially when I remember that amazing things need not be life-changing events but can be even the smallest of accomplishments in any given day... a baby taking his first steps, a 3 year old taking her first gymnastics class, a 5 year old learning to read -- these are the amazing things in my life and I'm now confident that if I'm kind and work hard, there will be many more. 

Game Day

Somewhat against my will, we (ALL) headed to the Fordham basketball game this afternoon.  I had a bunch of reasons I believed to be good ones NOT to go -- it was nap time for the babies, there was laundry to be done, sheets to be changed and a handful of other household chores that I might have accomplished on this chilly Saturday afternoon.  But, Des was keen to go... "It's Collegiate Day!" he proclaiemed as he extolled the virtues of seeing Division I basketball up close and personal and just a half hour away from home.

So, my sense of adventure overruled my sense of responsibility and we hit the road.  We arrived just after half-time to a cheering crowd and blasting band that confirmed it would be a nap-free afternoon.  While I grumbled about over-tired tots who were overheating in their coats, something rather remarkable happened... Liam was transfixed by the players, Ciara was awed by the cheerleaders, Declan started waving his fist in time with the music, Kevin seemed to be humming and Cormac was just as jolly as can be.  And Des, well, he was charming a security guard and before I knew it, we had front row seats!

Just as I was thinking things couldn't be better (unless, of course, Fordham won the game -- which sadly, they didn't), one of the security guards informed us that the Yankee's World Series trophy was in the building. You must understand, ours is a family that takes great pride in "pinstripes."  As Des put when Liam was born, "there are two things that are non-negotiable -- he will be Catholic and he will be a Yankee fan."  So, when the game ended, we had the good fortune to have a photo-op with the very trophy that Jeter and the rest of the Bronx Bombers had worked so hard for.  And, it was a good reminder to pause in the pleasure of "Game Day." The naps, as it turned out, weren't needed and the laundry and sheets can wait until tomorrow.  And, I've learned once again, that there is most certainly no harm -- and most likely a lot of fun to be had -- in indulging your sense of adventure!

Perfectionist no more?

Those who know me would probably agree that I've got a perfectionist streak. In fact, they'd likely say that it's much more than a streak! It's exemplified in a variety of ways, big and small -- from making sure the bed is made before I'm barely out of it to dressing in a way that's admittedly a bit too matchy-matchy. These perfectionist tendencies started when I was just a kid -- I took great pride in the 5th grade when my socks matched my undies matched my sweater matched my bermuda bag matched my watch band matched my headband. Very cute indeed.

Since having kids, I've tried hard to be true to my perfectionist self. Although now, with five under six, I've come to realize that sometimes I just have to let go. Like last Thanksgiving... the triplets were 6 weeks old, Ciara just turned 2, Liam was not yet 4, I had bronchitis and we were hosting the family dinner. As it turned out, Whole Foods actually made a tasty turkey for us and everything tasted great without our fancy china or a tablecloth on the table. Stunning, I know! Turns out, you don't actually need fancy china, an ironed tablecloth and a homecooked meal to celebrate Thanksgiving... all you really need is to be surrounded by family and friends in good health and you realize there's a LOT to be thankful for! What a revelation!

More recently, my slipping perfectionism has revealed itself more often than I'd like... just this week, I was pulled over. Twice. Once on the way to the pediatrician with two tots in tow and once en route to visit my grandparents with the whole circus along for the ride. Was I speeding? No. Talking or texting? No. Turns out my inspection expired. In December. Who knew?! The pre-kid me definitely would have known but now, well, clearly not! And, even after the first eagle-eyed cop noticed my inspection sticker and pulled me over, I still couldn't find time to remedy the situation before being pulled over again! Now, whenever the kids see flashing lights, they ask, "are they coming for you, Mom?" Gotta love it.

Another shining example of perfectionism passed is when I called to cancel my haircut (again!) yesterday and said "Oh sorry, could you repeat that? I just stepped on a baby and totally missed what you said." I just stepped on baby! Can you imagine?! Not only doing it but saying it?! Oops! Truth be told, I do step on a baby at least once a day... if they're lucky, I don't have shoes on and, lest you're wondering, it's not deliberate -- there are just literally babies underfoot here!

The things that fly out of my mouth these days are really just astounding... I can't imagine my former Polly Perfectionist self saying things like: "Delcan, please don't bite your brother's head." "Kev, was it really a good idea to eat that dirt covered grape off the floor?" "Cormac, that was NOT an uh-oh!" "Ciara, stop smothering your brothers!" "Liam, if you do that again, I'm going to... oh geez, I don't know what I'm going to do! Just STOP IT!!!!"

Where oh where did Polly Perfectionsit go?! Some days she makes an appearance but I see less and less of her as the days go by. Sometimes I miss her. I'd be lying if I pretended not to be upset when I can't find my red scarf to go with my red bag! But, most days, I'm glad she's moved on. Letting Polly Perfectionist go has been good for me -- and better for my family, I'm sure! That said, if anyone finds her out there, could you just send her back with my matching red gloves?!