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Extreme Parenting: Spring Sports Edition

April 19th, 2013 | Posted by Kerry Lyons in Laughter and Disaster | MaMa Moments | parenting | Tips and Quips - (0 Comments)
spring sports overload

All winter we wait.  We optimistically think, “This is last snow storm, spring must be right around the corner!”  We put away our heavy coats and sweaters, often prematurely.  We look for the bright yellow and vibrant purple of crocuses peeking out through dirty, grey snow.  We listen for birds chirping in the pre-dawn hours to confirm that spring has arrived.  And then, finally, the wait is over.  Spring arrives.

We have visions of long family walks while the sun warms our backs; of tending to the garden and nurturing new plants to life while our brood frolics around us; of lazy afternoons on the patio soaking up the sun.  And then reality sets in.  As lovely as spring can be, in our house, it’s more like Extreme Parenting, Spring Sports Edition.  In short, it is a nightmare.

For starters, when you’re watching a soccer practice at 9:30 AM or a baseball game at 5:30 PM, what little sun there is lacks the power to warm your back. Or anything else for that matter. It is freezing out!  Especially when your heavy coat and sweaters have been packed away.

There is simply no time for walks or gardening or soaking in the sunshine when you look at the calendar for Saturday and need to determine how you can be at the Girl Scout Cookie pick-up at 9:00, soccer at 9:30, hip-hop at 9:30 and baseball at… 9:30!  Reality check: you can’t!  And your kids can’t either. For ages you’ve known that a clone would be a good thing for you. For all moms.  In fact, I’ve even suggested the notion of a “sister wife” to my husband — just another gal around the house who would be my pal around the house and help out as needed — car pools, laundry, shuttling kids and equipment to and fro… and if she occasionally “helped” my husband out too well, that’s fine by me because the reality is, this spring schedule is exhausting!  But I digress…

The spring sports schedule has me thinking that even our kids need clones.  How else can they be at the baseball practice and soccer game?  At lacrosse and hip-hop?  It’s just not right.  I’ve always prided myself on “just saying no” and not overscheduling our children but I fear this spring has done me in — so much so that I am already looking forward to next winter, when the days are short, the activities are few and I dream of curling up by the fire… a fire which, for the record, we only lounged by a handful of times this past winter but even so, a girl’s gotta dream.  I just never thought those dreams would include a sister wife and a fireplace!

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Tuesday Tip: What to drive as a mom of five (and kid-carrying tips too!)

January 29th, 2013 | Posted by Kerry Lyons in Laughter and Disaster | motherhood | Out and About | parenthood | Tips and Quips | triplets - (1 Comments)

One of the first things I thought upon discovering I was pregnant with triplets was, “OMG! What will we drive?!”  At the time, we had a one and three year old and I just couldn’t envision a vehicle that would accomodate their two car seats plus three more unless it looked like this:

When the triplets were born, we had an Acura MDX — the nicest car I will ever own.  That car was a decision we toiled over for months before we bid adieu to our beloved Jetta and bonjour to Bebe #2 so, saying good-bye was a bit traumatic.  But, six brutal weeks of putting our toddlers in through the trunk while our triplets were jammed into a too-tight second row and our strollers were left on the curb forced our hand.  Bon voyage lovely Acura and bonjour… what? What would we drive?  How would we transport our brood from Point A to Point B with five car seats safely anchored and enough room in the trunk for a double and triple stroller… not to mention the other stuff that often filled our trunk — the pack and plays, portable high chairs, diaper bags, blankies and other assorted necessities of those first few years?

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Tuesday Tip: This too shall pass

January 16th, 2013 | Posted by Kerry Lyons in Laughter and Disaster | MaMa Moments | motherhood | Tips and Quips | triplets - (0 Comments)

Last Thursday night I walk talking to my parents and boasted, “I think this is the week!  Five for five!  I think we may actually have all five kids in school for ALL five days for the first time since before Thanksgiving!”  Then on Friday morning, our pale eight year old appeared in the kitchen, dropped to the floor, grabbed his stomach and moaned in pain. “It hurts Mom! It really hurts!”

I took his temperature. Nothing. He tried to throw up. Nothing. His tummy just hurt.  A lot.  But, given the lack of fever and vomit and my hellbent ambition to fulfill my “five for five” week (not to mention my desire to show up to work on time for a change!), I sent him off to school with toast in hand and the reassurance that if it really really hurt, he should go to the nurse and I’d be there to pick him up in a heartbeat. So, at 10:15 the nurse called and I was. So much for “five for five!”  And so began yet another weekend where the Lyons Den took on the air of an infirmary.

I’m not one to run to the doctor but even I had to admit defeat last week when my pals at work told me how crappy I looked (even on the day I got all fancy and used tinted moisturizer!) and started to call me “the Germ.”  The poor guy who sits down the hall from me was blasting his music just to drown out my  sniffling and nose-blowing — which is admittedly un-ladylike and loud. Really loud. Like a foghorn.  I finally decided enough was enough and sought medical treatment. It turns out that with a sinus infection, my hardcore “this too shall pass” mentality doesn’t work.  Thankfully, antibiotics do!

I share this because it dawned on me on Saturday that one of the triplets has been asking me to take him to the doctor for weeks.  Weeks!  He does lean toward the dramatic but, when I think back, I realize he was the ONLY kid who didn’t make it to the pediatrician during the long, sick month between Thanksgiving and Christmas –  those frenzied four weeks when we had at least two kids home sick from school daily. For real.  It was awful.  And this poor kid got lost in the fray. Has his nose been running? Sure. Thick green boogers? Sure. Fever? Well, not persistently but perhaps on again, off again.  “PLEASE Ma,” he pleaded on Saturday, “please can I go to the doctor?!”  And as we ran from errand to errand, to practices and parties, I told him “yes, tomorrow.”

That night, he was a real pest. A major whiner. And he refused to eat his dinner so, like any good parents, we forced him to.  As we tucked him that night — his very first night with his  brand new “big boy comforter,” he asked again, “tomorrow will you take me the doctor?” And I said yes. Then I got all sappy and sentimental as I looked at our triplets, tucked into their big-boy bunk beds with brand new comforters they could feasibly bring to college.  I went to bed pining for the baby days that have passed us by and not quite ready for the wonder years that lie ahead.  At some point in my slumber, I heard a muffled sound. “I think someone barfed,” I told my husband who was pretending to sleep.

I listened more closely. There was a cough, a snuffling nose, a quick cry. Then silence. So I rolled over and returned to the Land of Nod. Big mistake.  As the sun rose on Sunday morning, I discovered my top-bunk boy bedded down in barf, literally covered with the remains of the dinner we forced him to eat. Unfortunately, it was pasta and meat sauce.  Unfortunately, it was all over him and that brand new big boy comforter.  I don’t need to describe in detail the odor or how gross it was to clean up the mess in the top bunk; I will suffice it say that I had to shake the sheets out in the yard before washing them. It was that bad.

So, who knows.  Maybe those comforters won’t make it to college after all.  But, that boy sure did make it to the doctor. At long last!  In considering the past few weeks, I’ve spent more time at the pediatrician than in my bed and more money on doctor’s visits and prescriptions than groceries.  My pals at work have wondered aloud, “how do you do it?!”  And I resort to my standard answer, my North Star, “one day at a time.”  And then I remind myself that this too shall pass. And quickly.  This winter is long but this year, like those before it, will undoubtedly pass far too fast.  And when it does, I won’t miss the barf-covered bunks or sobbing sick children but, I’m sure the day will come when I do miss feeling so needed, so necessary and so vital to their well-being.  That’s a feeling I’d like to hold on to — one that I hope will never pass.

 

 

Dear Ikea (a “thank you” letter from a busy bunk bed builder)

December 3rd, 2012 | Posted by Kerry Lyons in Laughter and Disaster | MaMa Moments | parenting | Tips and Quips | triplets - (1 Comments)

Dear Ikea,

I just wanted to thank you for high-jacking our weekend and providing my husband and I with a few hundred more grey hairs.  As working parents of five children, we were truly delighted to dedicate our weekend to bunk bed assembly, rather than enjoying quality time together as a family.  We were especially thrilled that as the moon rose on Sunday evening, the bunk beds still lay strewn in pieces and we had to farm out our triplets to other rooms of the house in sleeping bags.  Do have any idea what kind of disappointment this has been to our trio of four-year olds?  Or what that disappointment sounds like?  Imagine heartbroken wails, whines and tears; a symphony of agony as our little fellas faced the dark alone on the floor rather than snuggled together in the “big boy beds” they so eagerly and patiently anticipated.

With all of this in mind, we’d like to applaud you for astutely recognizing that most bunk bed consumers have large families and busy lives and as such, the luxury of time to labor feverishly over the fourteen thousand pieces you so thoughtfully provided for building the beds.  We especially appreciate the effort you put into creating the user-friendly, simple and intuitive assembly manual.  When we saw the first page – the one with an X through one stick figure and circle around two stick figures — we gave each other a big hug and jumped right in, knowing from the sweet diagram that this was a job for two people in love.  When darkness fell and we were still surrounded by bits of wood and bags of bolts, we swore and snarled at each other and considered burning your manual, having learned from a grueling day that it is woefully deceptive.  Building a bunk bed is not a job for team of two but rather, for a group of at least three, each of whom ideally has an engineering degree.  Next time you update the manual, please consider adding a third stick figure (at a minimum!) and a diploma to the diagram; this will save other harried, time-pressed parents from the frustration and duress we experienced today.

As dusk began to fall, we recognized we needed that third set of hands and called in my Dad in to help.  He was impressed by how you cleverly numbered the wooden dowels, screws and other assorted pieces pictured in the manual; he was far less impressed when he, as we had, searched for the corresponding numbers on the dowels and screws themselves and realized they did not exist.  That was a mean trick.  It literally drove my father to drink.  Not wanting to see a grown man drink alone, we joined him.  Needless to say, this didn’t make the assembly any easier.  What would make it easier would be if you could separate the thousands of pieces and place them in numbered bags that correspond to the numbers in your maddening manual.  Perhaps you were being environmentally conscious by putting approximately 14, 462 pieces into one large bag rather than several small ones? Perhaps you thought it would be fun for parents under pressure to build beds before sundown to revisit the puzzle-solving joy of their youth?  Whatever your intentions, they were wrong. We suggest you buy the baggies, number the parts and save the sanity of parents the world over who, like us, will be wooed by your Swedish design and undeniable affordability.

As for us, two weeks have passed since I first started this note of gratitude.  Though we purchased two sets of bunks, we’ve only built one. It took roughly eighteen hours.  So, here we are, two weeks later, with three boys in one set of beds. How does it work?  There’s one fella up top and two on the bottom.  Which was all well and good until one of the bottom boys barfed this week.  On the bunk, bed and brother. All we can say is that when they grow up and wonder why they shared a bed and why one was the recipient of the other’s regurgitated hot dog, we are telling them to call you. And hoping they will have a better experience than we did with your customer service line!

(not so) Fondly Yours,

The sleep-deprived members of the Lyons Den

 

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Tuesday Tip: Picky eaters? Mix it up and make lunch the new dinner!

October 2nd, 2012 | Posted by Kerry Lyons in Laughter and Disaster | parenting | Tips and Quips - (0 Comments)

Look familiar?

Does this picture look familiar?  With five kids who are now seven, five and three (times three!), this is a look I see all too often.  Like three times a day.  Breakfast, lunch and dinner. Times five kids.  That’s ten eyeballs rolling to the skies with pretty much every plate we ever place in front of them.

What’s a frustrated (and occasionally pissed off!) Mom to do?  We’ve tried reasoning with them: “Just try it, you might like it.”  We’ve tried pleading with them: “Please? Please eat just one!  Just ONE?!”  We’ve tried bribing them: “Eat your beans and you can have dessert.”  We’ve tried bargaining with them: “Ok, just eat seven beans because you’re seven years old and you can have a cookie.” And, as a last resort, we’ve even stooped to guilting them, just as our parents did to us: “You HAVE to eat it. There are starving children in (insert country here).”

Needless to say, none of these ploys work.  And, my frustration is growing in direct proportion to our growing grocery bills.  I just can’t stand — can NOT stand! — throwing food away.  We work hard for our money; we work hard to provide healthy, well balanced meals.  And, if that’s not enough to persuade our persnickety half-pints, there truly are starving children all around the world — and, for that matter, close to home as well.

My frustration reached fever pitch the past few weeks with the return of school — and the associated return of lunchboxes that came home almost as full as when they left.  Each evening, I was faced with room-temperature yogurt, misshapen cheese sticks and soggy sandwiches.  “Why didn’t you eat your lunch?!” I yelled at their little upturned noses.  “It was too warm.” “It was squished.” “It was soggy” I was told.  Of course, that wasn’t quite the truth.  The truth is that they were bored with the same-old options.  In an effort to control my temper and not further frighten my third-grader who was eyeing me like the madwoman I was, I gathered what wits I had left and asked him to write down five things he’d like to have for lunch.  This is what I got:

  • pasta and butter
  • mac and cheese
  • chicken nuggets
  • chicken noodle soup
  • grilled cheese

You know what these things are?  Dinner! Not every night, of course but, these are my lazy working mom’s go-to weeknight standbys.  I panicked.  If I give the kids mac and cheese for lunch, what will I do for dinner?!  And then it hit me.  Sandwiches! Yogurt! Cheese Sticks! Apple slices! Carrots sticks!  And all the other yummy, healthy things that I pack for lunch and unpack at the end of the day.  Yes my friends, that is the solution.  A weapon in your arsenal against picky eaters:  Make lunch the new dinner and vice versa!  It works!

From a kid perspective, it is fun and novel and new — and that is half the battle.  We’ve long enjoyed “breakast for dinner” on busy nights when the fridge can’t cough up more than a few eggs and english muffins but, the notion of “lunch for dinner” or better yet, “dinner for lunch” hadn’t occurred to me. Until now.  And so far, it’s working like a charm.  As for the old line about hungry kids around the world, well, we can’t help them all but we sure hope to help some.  This fall we’re going to bake brownies for a local shelter and deliver food baskets for Thanksgiving.  I’d like to think that we’re doing our (admittedly small) part in stamping out hunger and, selfishly, I will sleep better knowing that my own kids won’t be “starving” in their school cafeteria.

Do you have any tips for picky eaters? Please share — before the novelty of this one wears off for our brood!

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Tuesday Quip: Mom Tries Hard but “Dad is Great”

September 26th, 2012 | Posted by Kerry Lyons in Laughter and Disaster | MaMa Moments | motherhood | parenthood | parenting | Tips and Quips | triplets - (1 Comments)

It’s only Tuesday and already it’s been a long week.  The kids are still struggling to get in the back to school routine and, well, I am too. It’s exhausting!  Each day starts with dragging them out of bed, forcing them to make those beds and then rather unceremoniously shoving them out the door to the bus.  Each day ends in a frenzy of “Did you do your homework? No, you can’t play the Wii. Why didn’t you eat your lunch? Where is your library book?!” And so on until we shove them back into those nicely made beds.

I decided tonight would be different.  My husband had to stay in the city for a work-related event and I decided to make a concerted effort to be the kind, patient, supportive Mom I want to be rather then the tired, cranky, nagging Mom I often am.  I have to say, it kind of worked.  Not in a gold star kind of a way but in a “greatly improved” kind of a way.

After a quick dinner of “dinner eggs” (see, I told you there would be no gold star!), I ushered my four youngest kids out to the yard so I could have some quality time with my third-grader — the one who is most often on the receiving end of my bedtime barrage of questions.  Instead my typical yelling and accusing as I dash to and fro with pajamas and toothbrushes in hand, I sat down and I listened.  And he talked.  And he told me why sometimes it’s hard to finish all his homework.  And he told me what he would like to eat for lunch.  And it was all very reasonable. And we both felt good.

I then called in the little ones and asked my big guy to curl up with a book while I got them ready for bed.  We actually had fun as we put on PJs, brushed teeth and picked out a story. Separating “big” from “little” worked like a charm. Everyone felt like they got a piece of this tired, stressed-out Mama – and apparently, they like that!

Then I looked at the book they chose.  Want to know what it was?  It was called “Dad is Great.”  I kid you not.  I don’t how or when that propaganda landed on the bookshelf but boy, did it ever burst my bubble!  I mean, of course, their Dad is great but really, do we need to dwell on it tonight of all nights?  Tonight would have been a good night to read “MOM is Great,” is such a book exists.  If not, I’ve changed my mind.  I want that gold star!

Starting the day the tumbling way

August 24th, 2012 | Posted by Kerry Lyons in Laughter and Disaster | MaMa Moments | parenthood | triplets - (0 Comments)

What were you doing today at 7AM?  I had just gotten home from a run.  It was a hard run.  I was tired.  I thought that perhaps the kids would still be asleep and I could have a few quiet moments with my coffee on the porch to wake up — and armor up — for the day ahead.  I was wrong.  This is what was going on in our house at 7AM.  And, if you’re wondering where our fifth kid is, he had an early departure for a special day out with Dad.  Leaving me home alone with this:

 

 

I’m now on my third cup of coffee and I still don’t have the energy they have.  Which, I suppose, may not be such a bad thing… after all, I wouldn’t look nearly as cute bouncing off the walls and, it might be kind of inappropriate once I get to the office.  Wherever your day takes you, I hope it includes a bit of the energy and a lot of the joy that kids bring into our lives… even if they bring it a little earlier and a lot louder than we might hope for!

Keeping the faith with five fiesty tykes

April 2nd, 2012 | Posted by Kerry Lyons in Catholic church | church with kids | Laughter and Disaster | Out and About | Palm Sunday - (0 Comments)
“How was your Palm Sunday?” asked good friends we had dinner with last night.  Truth be told, it was not so great.  Not that Palm Sunday is a historically a great day anyway, but their question was motivated, I think, by a curiosity about how we juggle five children under seven during mass — especially mass on Palm Sunday which, by my estimation, is the longest mass ever. 
We take our children to church every Sunday.  We always have.  I was raised Catholic and even attended Catholic school for several years  (until an unfortunate incident involving a certain Sister Mary Lynch made me go public!).  I went to church every Sunday until I was 18 and then took about a decade off, spending Sunday mornings either sleeping off the effects of the night before or running a race in Central Park.  I suppose I’ve always been a gal of extremes; it was either up for a healthy morning run or down and out after a few too many the night before; up and out for mass or a decade of religious abstinence.
Then I met Des, who is now my husband.  I was stunned that a cute, fun, single guy actually went to church every Sunday.  And, since I was instantly madly in love, I started to go with him.  We got married, had children and I accepted Des’ proclamation that they “will be Catholic and Yankee fans.”  To this day, I still wonder about the equal weight of this mandate of religion and sports fanaticism, but frankly, I’ve got bigger fish to fry so, I just go along with it.
As our children arrived, we took one, then two, then five children to church every Sunday.  What a sight we were just a few years ago as we rolled in ten minutes late with five tiny tots strapped into a double and triple stroller.  Even today, we joke that the 10:30 mass is really the 10:45.  We may be late, we may be slightly more sloppy than I’d like but, we show up.  Every Sunday.  Including Palm Sunday, which, in addition to being one of the longest masses ever, is also the only day in the liturgical year that everyone is given a slight, wispy weapon upon entry to church. You guessed it:  palms!
Imagine if you will, what one seven year old, one five year old and three three-year olds can do with a fistful of palms.  If sword fights, fishing, tickling, tackling and tug-of-war come to mind, then you guessed it right. It’s hard enough for us to control our clan at church on any given Sunday but on Palm Sunday, it is downright impossible. It’s no easy task to try to listen to the gospel while intermediating the increasingly violent escapades of the palms of our pew.  It’s not easy to keep our cool in the front row (yes, we sit in the front row!) while the kids are clobbering each other, climbing over us and creating weapons from a religious symbol.  At one point yesterday, I took a palm to the eyeball and could have sworn I tore my retina.  Thankfully, I didn’t.  Although, I’m pretty sure I did swear under my breath. 

So, in considering the question “How was your Palm Sunday?” I can only recall the power struggle in our pew as the palms waved and the kids whined.  And, I think about how I prayed for peace. And patience.  This is my wish for Easter, for my family and for all of you.  Peace and patience and perhaps even a pretty palm or two to adorn our home until next Palm Sunday — when the battle of the palms will almost surely start anew!

A new twist on forgetting Valentine’s Day

February 19th, 2012 | Posted by Kerry Lyons in Laughter and Disaster | MaMa Moments | menopause | Parents magazine | pregnancy | Valentine's day - (0 Comments)

I recently wrote a piece for Parents where I shared the many personas of pregnancy.  One such pal I met along the way was Felicia the Forgetful.  She arrived during my first pregnancy at the onset of the second trimester — right about the time when I forgot to bring my lunch to work and couldn’t remember where I left the car keys.  I naturally assumed she would leave once the baby arrived and, like so many assumptions I had about “when the baby arrived”, I was wrong.
As it turns out, Felicia is here to stay and, the prognosis isn’t good.  I heard a report on the radio the other day that one of the symptoms of perimenopause is forgetfulness.  What does this mean?  I fear it means we ladies don’t stand a chance.  We get a severe case of “Mommy brain” before we even meet our babies and now it seems that a good decade before the big M (Menopause!) sets in, we officially have no chance of finding the mind we lost; it just may be gone forever.  Which brings me to an interesting little tale from this week.  It involves our dog who, under different circumstances, just might have been gone forever as well.
It was Valentine’s Day.  We’re not big believers in Valentine’s Day since my husband rightfully proclaimed many years ago, “when you love the one you’re with, every day is Valentine’s Day.”  So, we didn’t have big plans. Some might say we had no plans at all.  Des was going to take our second-grader to his 6:30 basketball game, leaving me home to tend to dinner for our other four kids.  After basketball, we hoped to hustle them all to bed as quickly as possible and then cuddle in with some wine, fondue and last week’s episode of 30 Rock.  Sounds romantic, right?
I got home from work a few minutes earlier than usual and realized I needed to get a baguette for the fondue-dipping.  Perhaps not surprisingly given my post-pregnancy, pre-menopausal brain, I’d forgotten that critical detail for our Valentine’s dinner.  Being the consummate multi-tasker, I decided to take our dog with me while I ran around the corner for bread… it wasn’t quite doggie exercise but, at least it was a chance for our large, loyal lab Finnegan to pee.
I returned home pleased with my bounty and quite content to whip up a Valentine’s meal of “Dinner Eggs” and heart-shaped toast for the kids.  When I cracked the eggs, I recall saying “have you guys seen Finnegan?  That’s weird that he didn’t come running when he heard the eggs crack.”  This is a dog that loves a good eggshell.  Don’t ask. He just does.  In any case, when he didn’t come running, I assumed “we must have left the gate closed at the top of the stairs.” And I carried on.
About 15 minutes later, my sweet Valentine’s kiddie supper had pretty much imploded.  There were fights about the not-so heart-shaped toast, spilled milk and a 5-year old having a fit.  That’s when the phone rang.  In an effort to diffuse the tension, I asked the sobbing 5-year old if she’d like to answer it. And she did.
I couldn’t help but notice the caller i.d. was “Mima” – the name of a cute little Italian restaurant right around the corner.  My heart leapt.  Could it be?  My sweet hubbie had a Valentine’s day surprise in store?  He’d booked a sitter and made a reservation and we were headed out for a late dinner after tucking the tots in?!  It seemed to good to be true.  And, as my confused 5-year murmured “What? You have Finnegan?” into the phone, I realized it was.
As you may have guessed by now, when I went around the corner for that baguette, I left the dog behind.  Tied up and totally forgotten. I never even looked back. When I snatched the phone from my bewildered little girl, the lovely hostess on the other end of the line said “I’m really sorry to bother you but he’s been here over an hour and he’s really starting to look sad.”  Um, oops.  Chalk that one up to Mommy Brain!  
The kids were crushed “You left him in the dark?! All alone?!  On VALENTINE’S DAY?!”  Yes, yes I did.  But, I didn’t mean to.  And, after calling a neighbor to watch the kids while I ran back around the corner to get him, he greeted me with a wagging tail and unconditional love.  And we all had a Happy Valentine’s Day after all.  I think.  Part of me doesn’t quite remember…

A 3 day weekend with 5 tots 7 & under

January 16th, 2012 | Posted by Kerry Lyons in 3 day weekend | grocery shopping | Laughter and Disaster | Potty Training | potty training triplets - (0 Comments)
Tomorrow is a national holiday and I for one am thrilled.  For starters, our five and seven year old actually seem to understand a bit about Martin Luther King and the importance of his role in our society; to see these little people we created start to have some cognizance of the world around them is really pretty cool. Beyond that, like many folks, I’m glad for a day off of work and time to spend with my family.  Although, truth be told, we’re only two days in to this three day weekend and I have to say, I’m more tired — and more broke! — than ever.
Here’s a quick rundown of the events of the past 48 hours…
  • Breakfast, breakfast and more breakfast.  Yesterday there was an appetizer course of two boxes of cereal followed by a main course of about a dozen eggs and six bagels, washed down with a half gallon of juice and almost as much milk. What did I get out of the deal?  Coffee and a lot of dirty dishes.  Thank God for coffee!  Today’s breakfast was pretty much a repeat, but the eggs and bagels were replaced by dozens of pancakes.  Good news though, I got one before they were gone!  Score one for Mom!
  • Costco & Wine.  Our cupboards — and wine supply — hit an all-time low this weekend.  So yesterday, my dear hubby took two tykes to the wine store while I took three to Costco.  I didn’t realize what a bad deal I got until two of the triplets started crying that the clementines I loaded on top of them were too heavy and I realized I could no longer see my five year old, Ciara, over the top of the cart.  For all I knew, she could have been lingering near the lady giving out PopChips but thankfully, she was still hanging off the end of the cart, doing her best to keep a month’s worth of snacks from falling overboard.  Things got worse when I had to navigate the parking lot with a cart that weighed more than I did, three howling kids and gale force winds that were decidedly not at my back.  The upside? An ample supply of wine awaited at home. The downside? A massive dent in our bank account, a back that still aches, four broken nails, a case of possible frostbite and, to add insult to injury, the fact that I arrived home without any milk or paper towels.  And had to go to the grocery store today. Grrrr.
  • Accidents.  The triplets, who turned three in October, have been doing pretty well with potty training.  They flaunt their big boy underwear and will show them off whether invited to or not. They are generous in the sharing of their undergarments and the morning chatter often includes things like “Hey KooKoo, wanna wear my Spiderman underwear today?” “Ok MacMac, you can have my red boxers!” I assure you I never thought I’d have a band of brothers swapping skivvies — just as I never thought my house would be a urinal.  As good as these little fellas are, when they are tired, they get a bit lazy.  So lazy in fact that they forget to go to the potty and free willy — and all of willy’s contents — wherever they may be. So far this weekend, that has been on the couch, under the table and ON OUR BED! Not good.  Especially since the caffeine has worn off, the wine at this point is unappealing and the reality of several more loads of laundry seems especially daunting given my aching back! 

Looking ahead to tomorrow, the day that we honor this amazing man who had a dream, I realize I have a dream too — it is nowhere near as noble and is admittedly self serving.  By comparison, it’s a downright selfish, small little dream but I bet it’s a dream I share with many busy, juggling moms; I dream of a night of uninterrupted sleep that lasts for at least eight hours; I dream of the day the kids will bring me breakfast… or at least share a bit more of theirs; I dream of the day I’m not scrubbing urine, snot, and other bodily fluids out of clothes, furniture and rugs; and, I dream that when those days arrive, I will look back on these days fondly.  Because as long as each day can be, the years most certainly fly by far too fast.  And, aching, tired bod and all, I am so psyched for one more day to play with our little clan. And, when I get to work on Tuesday, I will be grateful for a yogurt to call my own and a chair to sit down on!