In case you were wondering the outcome of my little talk to St. Padre Pio and my father regarding the winning numbers to the lottery…we got 3.
“Beautiful Home in a Beautiful Community.” I clicked on the Craigslist posting.
“HOLY MACARONI!!!” yelled my middle child, who was sitting next to me, as the pictures popped up, “Just LOOK at this house! I want it! Can we move in? Can we?”
A roof over our heads. Probably our number one priority since our decision to relocate to South Carolina, and I am already falling in love with the very first one I am looking at. A large, gabled house, with perfectly manicured gardens around it – the pictures of the interior show spacious rooms with arched doorways, windows exuding LOTS of sunlight. With an open floorplan, everything looks light and airy – summery. I still have my Christmas decorations up…
My day began quite early this morning with the frustrated grunts of my three year old. She SEEMED to be playing nicely by herself upstairs in her bedroom (Legos?) – no need to check on her. I could just relax in bed and enjoy the last few minutes of darkness before the sun brightened up my world. The grunts turned into whining. And then into sobbing.
“MOMMMMMYYYYY!!!” she cried and I jumped out of bed. All sorts of horrific scenes raced through my mind.
She met me at her doorway, tears dripping down her cheeks, “They don’t work, Mommy. None of the glow sticks work and the wings won’t stick to Barbie’s back!” She grabbed my hand and led to her bed, “Look. See, Mommy? I wanted to make all the Barbies into fairies and give them magic wands. Just like Tinkerbell.” She picked up a “glow stick” to show me, “See, Mommy? I tried breaking all of them but none of them will work! NO FAIR!!”
I cheated on Bob today.
It was all Randi’s daughter’s fault, actually. I whined to my friend that I am getting rather sick and tired with coffee. With Bob. My days are beginning to feel like the movie “Groundhog Day” in that regard. Hopelessly addicted to the stuff, I am 1 – getting bored and, 2 – getting rather annoyed at the intense headaches I am experiencing when I as much as even skip a “bowl” of coffee. With five kids to raise and home-school and a business to run, sleep can sometimes be a priceless commodity, and my dependence on the hot drink knows no bounds. So, Randi’s daughter suggested green tea.
When I was younger, I was a consummate tea drinker – however my tea of choice was loose Russian Caravan Black Tea which I bought in these delightful tins from Macy’s. I had a set of gorgeous Polish crystal glasses that you would put into ornate silver “cup holders”, and the loose tea would then be put into a tiny strainer and boiling hot water poured over it. The smell was deliciously intense and I could never wait for it to cool before helplessly giving in to take a sip.
If you’ve ever spent any time what-so-ever on Cape Cod, you very quickly learn that left hand turns are a luxury, and that inconvenience VERY quickly marries with marathon traffic jams.
Stuck in just such a long line of traffic in the middle of July, was where Daughter #1 decided to let out a shriek, “Fried chicken! Fried chicken!” and began to gesture wildly in the direction of Burger King in Hyannis. She was about 18 months old at the time and I realized then that she had already been brainwashed by the TV I was letting her watch. Somehow, Clifford the Big Red Dog was drilling “eat at Burger King” to my little princess. Nevertheless, the line of cars we were stuck in was not even crawling, and being almost nine months pregnant with the bladder the size of a thimble, I did the only sensible thing to do. I swung my car into the fast food parking lot (thankfully a right hand turn!) and waddled inside, all the while, my daughter skipping next to me screaming, “Fried chicken! Fried chicken! Fried chicken!”
I emerged about half an hour later, bag of nuggets and fries in one arm and bored little girl in the other. In the car, she nibbled on a couple of fries and threw the nuggets into nooks and crannies that were not meant to be reached by human hands. From that point forward, she had us trained.
“Daddy said we should move back to Cape Cod,” my eight year old announced as I got home from shopping on Monday night. Apparently my exasperated sigh was a lot louder than I thought it would be, and I could feel ten eyes on me as I concentrated on lugging in the bags. They all knew what was about to hit the fan.
For years now, this man begged, pleaded, cajoled and tried to guilt me into moving someplace warm – “for the good of the family”. I resisted…after all, I moved back to upstate New York from my beloved Cape Cod to be with my parents. Being an only child, I depended on them to guide and support me. I was not going to abandon them now! However, my conscience started to eat away at me, and after years of soul-searching – and my mother’s blessing – I was FINALLY able to make peace with my decision and move forward and move all those hours away to where everyone was begging me to move to. And NOW, out of the blue – I get hit with Cape Cod.
I have no problems with moving back to the Cape, in fact, I have the most incredible memories of living there and I truly would be happy to return to my sleepy little Chatham. But, we have decided on moving somewhere warm and at this point the girls and I have our hearts set on “tropical” Myrtle Beach.
In the meantime, I have been beginning to pack.
“It’s kinda gloomy out on the boardwalk, I don’t see anyone out there,” I mentioned to Randi this morning as we did our Skype ritual. Bob has been acting up on me lately, not really seeming to give me all he really could, flavor-wise, so I had to do my “vinegar-cleansing” on him to set him straight. Now I was just waiting for him to complete his first pot for me.
“I admit, it’s about 42 out this morning,” she agreed with me as she tried to wrestle one of the new pink slippers I bought her away from her dog, Cliff. I could tell she was trying to hide how hard she actually had to pull. “But really? No-one on the beach?” Continue reading
I am not a neat freak. I am not even organized in the slightest. And truth be told, most days operate like a living “I-Spy” game here, with most objects weighing under 10 pounds located four-feet off the ground because of my two-year old. One of the best pieces of advice my Mom gave me was to stop stressing over every particle of dust. There was a point in my life where everything in my house had to be perfect before I’d even open the door to pizza delivery people.
“If people come to look at your house and judge you by what your house looks like instead of spending quality time with you, why have those people in your life?” she asked once when we were getting ready for our annual Christmas Eve party, and I was upset my house went from “pristine” to “post two-year-old-daughter tornado” in a matter of minutes right before people started to arrive. “The people who truly care about you would rather see a little clutter and you spending time with your children than a house that makes people afraid to walk or sit down or feel comfortable. A home should be a home, not a museum. Now pass me the pirogue platter.” Continue reading
I must admit, when my best friend Vicky told me that she and her girls were starting to warm to the idea of moving south, I absolutely jumped for joy! We have had discussions about it in the past, but I could tell her heart was simply not totally into the idea. And now, here we are just a short time later and she is on the verge of moving to Myrtle Beach!
Vicky and I have known each other since our early twenties (no, you don’t need to know how old we are now…just assume 29). And although there was a period of time where we lost touch, we have always been very, very close. Back then we used to do ALL KINDS of travelling together, albeit mostly in the northeast. Seems like we were ALWAYS in the red Toyota pickup that I used to own back then out looking for adventure (you have to ask Vicky sometime about the Northern Lights we saw from the back of said pickup….was one of the coolest things I have seen to this day!). Continue reading
Woohoo!! Happy Friday (the Thirteenth), Everyone!! CHEERS!!
It occurred to me that I haven’t mentioned my two-year old very much – and, there’s a very good reason for that. Once I start, I’ll have a hard time stopping. She looks like Shirley Temple but acts like Dennis the Menace. There’s not an ounce of fear in that child. Not of bugs or reptilian things. Not of storms or the zombies her sisters threaten her with if she tries to invade their rooms. Heights? Hahahaha….we have one of those GIGANTIC Corda-Roy beanbag sofas. If you’ve never seen one before, it’s two foam filled (king-sized in our case) mattresses which fit into a bean-bag like shell. When you pull out the mattresses and fluff them out, they’re HUGE…about three feet tall!! And feels JUST LIKE a feather bed. Continue reading