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.
Yep. I got sucked into it. The whole $600-odd million megabucks lottery tonight.
I have been holed up in my studio for the better part of this past year when I have not packing for our move to Myrtle Beach, and a vacation is certainly high on my list of priorities at this point.
Maybe to visit my Aunt and cousins in Czech…take a tour of a bead factory…
Maybe to Poland where I had some of the best times of my life….
Or to Italy to see all the magnificent cities the girls and I have learned about…to the city of San Giovanni Rotondo where the shrine to my favorite saint, St. Padre Pio is located….
Then there’s Hawaii…mmmmmm…leis and lazy days and mai tais…..
“Mommy!! She put a booger on me!!” sigh…
It’s the most absurd thing – this hot, beautiful weather in upstate New York.
It’s been such a delight being about to walk through our woods and explore the world waking up around us, weeks and weeks earlier than ever before.
And setting up the sprinkler for the girls to pirouette through in mid-March? Unreal.
My cabin fever has gracefully disappeared, replaced by the cheery budding beauty of new life all around us.
OK, maybe I do actually like Spring here.
“Remember, it’s a fluke,” Randi laughed as we compared temperatures between Myrtle Beach and upstate New York. It was going to be 77 here. Seventy-four in Myrtle Beach. And in the 80’s for the next few days. Randi was going to go spend yet another day playing golf and then practicing softball for the upcoming season for a local business’ team. And then shopping for a gown for yet another fund raiser.
I can never understand why people get upset with age. To me it’s another year of life’s internship completed, making us that much more valuable to this magnificent “company” we are all part of called the human race. We have another year of wisdom secured under belts and another year’s worth of experiences to refer back to.
“Mommy?? We’re going to Chuck E. Cheese’s for your birthday, too, right Mommy, right?” my youngest has been asking ever since the ride home from her last birthday party there.
I’m almost ready to say “yes”, at this point – it seems easier than explaining why NOT twenty times a day.
“Are you gonna have a Barney cake?” she asks.
Today is the beginning of my “birthday octave” – the eight days before and the eight days after my birthday. The two week period where I get special treatment and goodies from my family – little things like breakfast in bed, dishes being done with having to ask anyone and delightful little trinkets at the most unexpected times.
We love to celebrate and entertain in my family. A LOT. And with so much celebrating, I cook. A LOT. The kitchen to me is such a passionate room, a magical place where bright colors and delicious smells, heavenly taste and animated conversations take place. Where promises are made, secrets are told and the bonds of friendships are strengthened – over good food and drink. Where individuality expresses itself in all sorts of flavors.
And where messes made by five kids are the easiest to clean up.
This morning’s mess came compliments of some science experiments…
Yikes! I hate it when they sneak up on you when you’re just in that moment of private delight. Like right now, when I was getting ready to eat my spicy leftover chicken wings before the girls woke up and claimed it for themselves. And the quarter of a container full of Overloaded Caramel ice cream I was going to devour next.
“Want one?” I held out a generous brick-red colored, hot-sauce covered drumstick and offered it to her, hoping it would bribe the six year old to be quiet. Instead, it activated the megaphone in her mouth and she invited all her sisters downstairs to share.
At least, I still had my ice cream that I had managed to hide in a deep, dark corner of my freezer, still wrapped up in the plastic bag from the store. I could already taste the gooey caramel.
As the group attacked the wings, Daughter #2 – my child with a bottomless pit for a stomach, started to pout, “Mommy! There aren’t enough wings to go around!” she held up the empty take-out container…
“Somehow, I think your new golf partner, Steve, had something more to do with it,” I felt bad watching my best friend hack away, just as my family had been for the past 2 weeks. “Try some honey.”
“The last time I felt this crappy was after we went fishing together out on the Cape,” she sniffed and sent her daughter to the kitchen for the honey.
I had to laugh at her timing. Sometimes I think she and I could be twins. We finish each other’s sentences constantly and, millions of times we get on Skype to chat to each other and we find we’re wearing exactly the same colors or styles. I’m a firm believer in there being no such thing as “coincidences”, and clearly Randi and I have a past that goes way back – probably to past lives.
This time, she brought up fishing just as I was going through the “sports section” of our garage, looking for things to pack and things to get rid of.