That’s what my friends told me that New Year’s Eve night many, many moons ago in Poland. He had been madly in love with my friend Grazyna – who, it turned out, was madly in love with someone else. And apparently, she told him so that night.

In his despair – and after a few many shots of Zytnia wodka – he ran out of the house, sans coat, and into the woods behind the house we were celebrating in.

“O Matko!” wailed Grazyna as she noticed the front door left wide open, blowing snow was beginning to collect like powdered sugar in the hallway, and a gasp followed by whispers, rippled through the room.

Zbyszek? Is that YOU?

I took this opportunity to get my champagne glass refilled while some of the guys grabbed their coats to go look for him, cursing him under their breaths for making them leave. It was the last years of the eighties and the song “Klub Wesolego Szampana” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_Y-M4IiZK8) was playing – “Chcialabym, chciala…”. (It’s so funny how that is stuck in my mind!)

I shrugged my shoulders and giggled at the drama, innocent to the “enormity” of the situation.

“If you’re drunk on New Year’s Eve and stupid enough to wander outside, the Blessed Virgin Mary turns you into a tree. You will have your voice to tell others what happened, but make no mistake,” said the party host – rather somberly –  as he handed me back my crystal flute, “you will be frozen into a tree.”

Zbyszek drifted into my mind because as I was folding my 16th load of laundry of the day, I glanced out my window at the wood line behind our house (did you know there is a man who lives in the woods there?), and really noticed for the first time how the naked grey branches of the deciduous trees were covered with lush, new growth.

Not too long ago, the barren arms seemed to point directly at me, the delicate twigs swaying - wagging  disapprovingly, demanding to know, “OK, Victoria – what are you STILL doing New York? Are YOU frozen? with only YOUR voice left?”

“Mom!!! YUCK!! Charliesheen wants me to play fetch with him,” Izabela, my oldest complained.

“And?”

“And he wants to play with Brownie.”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s his favorite toy.”

“Right, Mom, that’s the problem – it IS his favorite toy. He “butt-danced” with it all afternoon.” “Butt-dancing” is, well, what my younger daughters call – forgive me for using the term – “humping”.

“Speaking of ‘butt-dancing’”, Randi interrupted my story when we Skyped later, “did you sign up for that pole-dance exercise class? You had a coupon, remember? And we all know You NEVER pass up a great deal…”. My best friend is always teasing me that my tombstone will have chiseled into it – “I Hope You Had a Coupon For This…”

No, I have no signed up – not for lack of drive – for lack of time!

“Vicky, you NEED to relax.” She was getting ready to go out – Duke sweatshirt, shorts and SNEAKERS (Christian Leboutin has to be in utter shock). And jewelry.

“Going over to Mike’s?” I asked, knowing the answer, but still asking. “Things heating up?”

She laughed, “We’re just taking care of fantasy baseball…”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s all good,” she smiled wickedly, “you NEED to get down here to Myrtle Beach.”

She’s right.

But, for the moment, I will hold on to what I cherish here – my girls, my family, and my friends. Saratoga Racing season will be here soon – and the world is simply begging me to open up moments gifted to me by destiny and revel in them passionately.

This, I can do

Zbyszek was found, of course, that New Year’s Eve night. He ran halfway up the hill in the witchy darkness, in the deep layer of snow, and huddled under an evergreen tree.

Grazyna went on to marry – not him.

And so, he didn’t turn into a tree. And he didn’t lose his voice.

And neither, will I.

Drzalabym, Drzala…..

In the end, none of us turned into trees.

During this time, however, I have collected delicious morsels of my quirky life and the time has finally arrived for me to again indulge myself in this sweet heaven of sharing my written art with you.

With my right hand basically useless, I quickly regretted not training myself to be ambidextrous like my Dad was…

I was blessed with the wonderful opportunity to visit my favorite Bed and Breakfast – The BellingerRose –  in Herkimer for several days last week, and I will certainly be sharing with you my beautiful experiences there in coming posts. However, I just want to tell you that during my stay, I had a treadmill ”incident” (feel free to envision the most ridiculous accident you’ve seen on America’s Funniest Videos or on Ridiculousness) and the palm of my right hand developed a TREMENDOUS throbbing blister and I was rather sore all over, so I was forced to mine all day in the hot sun with only my left hand (yeah, I’m tough…although, it still did hurt worse giving birth to my youngest on the bathroom floor with no  pain-killers and only my four daughters under the age of ten to help me…).

Note to self…do not drink wine before trying treamill for the first time…

In the end, I drove back home in the fire engine red rental SUV, our Herkimer Diamonds packed gently in cotton, and the sun setting romantically behind the looming cliffs and mountains. It was truly a “happy ending” in Herkimer, NY.

And so, what my happy ending ultimately is, is a happy beginning to Herkimer Diamonds Direct…

WELCOME to HERKIMER DIAMONDS DIRECT!!

The clearest and the most valuable of all quartz, Herkimer Diamonds are highly sought after and desired all over the world by collectors for their extremely powerful Metaphysical properties, as well as, for their extremely glittery personalities.

The diamonds I found – left handed…

Perfect, water – clear, high sparkling Herkimer Diamonds are mined by us from the grey dolomite of the pristine Herkimer region, in upstate New York. Formed in the Cambrian Period, these double terminated (psst…that means that both ends are pointed, unlike other crystals, which have one flat end and one pointed end) brilliant stones are found in only one place on the ENTIRE PLANET – the Herkimer, New York area. It is impossible to find these anywhere else in the world.

We invite you to come explore and learn about these enchanting crystals which wield so much beauty and, some say, Metaphysical power.

Aside from us (we mine them, clean them and set them – all by hand) you will be the very first human to hold this half a BILLION year old gemstone.

From Mother Nature’s treasure chest DIRECTLY to your hands (well, except for a quick pit-stop in ours).

Again, WELCOME and ENJOY! In the coming weeks, we will be adding spectacular specimens we collect to our new site, HerkimerDiamondsDirect.com, where they will be available for sale.

My youngest will be turning 4 soon. Of course in her mind she’s 14, and on an intellectual level with my oldest. So when Daughter #2, the 12 year old, asked how gemstones were measured (apparently she was momentarily bored with her new iPod), the little one’s interest was piqued and she scooted off the burgundy velvet sofa and sat down crossed-leg on her new pink bean bag chair next to us.

I went over how to measure different sized stones and what points are. My older daughter decided she was interested enough to go through some stones I had been working on and try to figure out their dimensions. My curly haired “Denise the Menace” trailed behind her closely, and when I wasn’t watching, pulled out a ruler from my roll-top workbench.

From that moment on, every subject of every sentence had to be measured. In millimeters. In centimeters. Counted tiny line by tiny line on the  piece of plastic.

Even the growth tree wasn’t spared…

“Darling, please set the table,” I handed her some plates.

“How big do you think this stack is?” she asked before whipping out the ruler and carefully standing it up on end and counting the lines, squinting the whole time.

“That’s a great question, here’s some forks.”

She placed the pile of silverware on the table and carefully selected one fork and held it up, “How long is each fork, Mommy?”

“Another great question,” I tried to take away her ruler, but she held on to it for dear life. “Please go upstairs and get your sisters for dinner.”

“I wonder how big the stairs are?” she mused to herself and pranced through the house corralling her older sisters and trying to measure THEM.

And so the evening continued, with Miss Merry Measure measuring everything in sight.

During dinner – yep – the conversation was monopolized with more talk about measurements. Not that I’m really complaining – the five were really getting into it – betting each other who would come closest to guessing the dimensions of the dinner items.

“How much beach does Myrtle Beach lose every year because of erosion? In millimeters,” asked Daughter #3 the nine year old asked, slowly chewing on her piece of pork chop. (She has a way of asking “crap, I have no idea…” kinds of questions.) “I don’t want to move all the way down there only to get swept out to sea in like, three years.”

Our night continued this way, and I am now fully prepared to redecorate my entire house (as the little one measured, the older ones felt compelled to critique my lack of animal print anywhere), and I know every single dimension. In millimeters.

And so the evening ended with Daughter #5 chasing me, ruler in hand, screeching, “Mommy! Mommy? Wanna know how big you are? Mommy? Mommy? Wanna?” as I ran like a mad woman through the house looking for relief from calculating everything in sight.

I was almost safe. I was almost in my bathroom. I almost had the door closed. I could almost feel the five minutes of peace wrapping me in it’s arms.

And I could clearly see her curly little head directly behind me preventing me from my moment of solitude.

“Mommy? Mommy?” Her head burst through, just as I was about to sit down, “You’re 60 pounds and 8 minutes, Mommy!”

We are SLOWLY getting ourselves back into the swing of the move, and to keep ourselves (ok, ME!) focused, I decided to challenge myself to taking a picture everyday – and to give me a theme, I am using angel cards. These are cards with inspirational words on them, which you draw from a pile and then read the corresponding “message” in the accompanying book.

I must say…it’s freaky, spooky accurate. At least for me!

I invite you to please stop by and and check it out .

The girls and I are hunkering down, waiting for “Frankenstorm” to shake things up a bit around here. Mostly they we are eyeballing all the junk food and arts and crafts supplies I bought to make things a little fun, since there most likely won’t be any trick-or-treating here in upstate New York this Halloween.

Daughter #5 kicking Daughter #3′s leave pile…

The wind has been gusting lightly for about the last hour or so – shaking the gorgeous leaves off the trees as if we were in a giant snowglobe and gently stirring some forgotten seashells we found at the Cape last month in the backyard.

I’ll try to let everyone know how our fun will be progressing periodically throughout the storm! I have a fresh pot of coffee brewing and I am ready for this “weather event”.

The first thing I am going to do when the storm really gets here is to change my nail polish from a light grey to a delicate pink – I’m in a super girly mood.

If you’re in the Northeast like us, please STAY SAFE -  they say this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. XOXOXO

Playing tag…Daughter #4 and Charliesheen, the puppy.

Daughter #5 right before she threw the leaves in my face…

Daughters #1 and #4 and our puppy, Charliesheen.

I spy, with my little eye, a fluffy-pawed puppy named Charliesheen…

Ghost of Halloweens past…

On dolomite.

The rhythmic pounding on rock with rock hammers and chisels, in hopes of having water-clear, double terminated Herkimer Diamonds come spilling out onto the grey dust gives me just an incredible rush.  Actually, they more like come flying out – looking perfectly faceted. Seeing the glittery rainbow sparkle peek out from the mazes of stone crevices makes every blow worthwhile. After a few hours, dust covers one from head to foot, and muscles scream for mercy, but clear zip-lock bags filled with gemstones keep us going until the very second the mine closes for the day.

Last weekend, after a long day of mining, I dragged my weary body – dusty and sore – to the Bellinger Rose Bed and Breakfast in Herkimer, NY. I did not have a particularly successful day finding diamonds, and there was nothing more I wanted than to settle into my room.

The fruits of my labor!

Except for being in the hospital after giving birth, I have never been away from my children overnight, so I was eager to check in with them. Herkimer is about an hour and a half away from my home and a gorgeously scenic ride, especially now, at the peak of autumn, but experience has taught me that I am way too tired to make the drive home after eight hours of banging. So this time, I booked a room.

The owner, Chris, was an absolute doll. She and her two adorable dogs, Ashley and Teddy, greeted me at the door and cheerfully showed off all the beautiful details of the inn, and once she showed me the hot tub/sauna area (clothing optional…) – my eyes glazed over. In my room, she had a fire roaring in the fireplace and champagne chilling. And in my bathroom, a jacuzzi claw-foot tub, and big, thick robes in the closet.

My room and the gorgeous corner fireplace

The instant she left my room, I headed for a glass of champagne and the jacuzzi.

“Do you have to share a bathroom, Mommy?” Daughter #3 asked as I called her from the tub. I assured her I didn’t and that I would take lots of pictures.

As I hung up after talking to all the girls and stressing that they behave while I was gone, I giggled at the luxury of being able to sit in the very bubbly hot water. For as long as I wanted.

After the soak in the jacuzzi, I sat by the fire to dry off a bit,  then padded down the ornate hallway, down the spiral staircase, lined with gorgeous paintings and pictures to the hot tub/sauna area. The room was wonderful. There was an enormous flat screen TV in the room, but I kept all the lights off. Except for the blue and purple ones on the hot tub. The calming sound of the waterfall mixed with the churning water was all the noise I needed. Or wanted.

When I did finally turn in for the evening, my bed enveloped me and the crackling fire lulled me to sleep – much sooner than I wanted to.

In the morning (after another soak in the jacuzzi), I padded down to the dining room where Chris had my breakfast ready from the order I placed the night before (I am not a big breakfast eater, so I did not request anything much – although there was an extensive menu to select from). I had mountains of fresh fruit which competed with the heap of bacon I ordered. Icy cold cranberry juice and perfect brewed coffee finished it off. She had a full house and every single breakfast was beautifully presented on exquisite china. It was a truly delightful start to my day.

I LOVED this claw foot jacuzzi tub!!!

After breakfast, I took the opportunity for one last round in the sauna, one last dip in the hot tub and one last shower in the claw-foot tub. (Clearly there is no doubt I’m a true Pisces).

It was with heavy feet that I left the little slice of heaven I found at the inn, and went back to the dusty mine.

My second day of mining was about the same as the day before – a total dud. I’m not sure if I was simply too relaxed, or just dumb luck. However, the spectacular gem I have found in the Bellinger Rose made up for it.

I am already planning my next trip there – in the spring – the delicious decadence and complete luxury has me completely hooked. So Chris, make sure you have plenty of hot water for me!

I find myself sneaking back to that inn when I get stressed, and planting my tush back in that hot tub.

Mommy? Does my voice sound different?” Daughter #5, the 3-year old asked me last night in the car.

“I don’t think so, Sweetheart, why?”

“My voice sounds different. Listen.” She sang another few lines from the show “Jessie”. “See?” I could see her holding her throat and playing with the sounds her voice could make in the rear-view mirror.

“Ummm…” I shrugged, “your voice sounds beautiful to me,” I smiled at her over my shoulder. “Do you think you’re getting another cold?”

“No,” she sang some more. “Oooohhhh…. she finally said, “I know what it is.”

“Tell me.”

“Remember earlier when I asked you if I could have a Jolly Rancher candy and you said no because you said I could choke on it?” She kept her hand on her throat.

“Yes…”

“Well, I was naughty and took one anyway.”

I drove on in silence waiting for her to finish her confession.

“And I ate it like this,” I watched as she pretended to hold a lollipop. “And then I got tired and put it in my mouth, like this.”

“Ok…”

“And then…I swallowed it. Like this,” she gulped. “And I think there were little people inside the candy. And I think they came out inside my stomach and now they are making me talk funny. What do I do now, Mommy?”

And as the bubbles gently relaxed me in the hot tub in my mind, I smiled at her round little face framed with blonde curls, “Just go with the flow, Sweetheart. Just go with the flow.”

Another fantastic summer has slipped through my fingers – no matter how hard I tried to hold onto it. Delicious memories sprinkled heavily with fabulous foods and drinks and most of all, laughter. LOTS of laughter.

Now, as the hot sunshine begins it’s sexy romance with the harbingers of winter, my house is filled with the heady scent of pumpkin spice potpourri, and Chapter 3 (titled – Fall), of 2012 is comfortably settling in. Spritzes of autumnal colors are appearing in patches against the lush green background, and crispness has certainly settled into these September nights. Our featherbeds and comforters are piled high on our beds, which the girls can’t stop bouncing on.

Rubies, Sapphires and Garnets, oh my…

In the shadowy corners of our rooms, ghosts are sneaking in more frequent visits – eerily beckoning visitors to visit “Mommy’s Bloody Mary”.

Over the summer, I took the opportunity to take my studies in gemology one step further and go full force into geology, as well. And as my thirst for knowledge grew (and continues to grow) to obsessive levels, our vacations are formed around the nucleus of gem mining and faceting.

My new  toys tools have also made my studio feel, well, rather cramped. The new tools with all the bits and cutters and lap machines and microscopes and various gemstone rough have forced me to keep moving my art supplies and jewelry tools into smaller spaces.

“It doesn’t look much like a studio anymore,” Daughter #2, informed me one morning at breakfast as she sat shivering, wrapped in the new One Direction blanket I bought for her for her 12th birthday, “it looks like a lab.”

Daughter #4 checking out the properties of a gorgeous Herkimer Diamond we found.

“It looks like a lapidary, ding dong,” Daughter #1 corrected her.

“You’re the idiot,” her younger sister spat back.

“I didn’t call you an idiot. If you listened more and talked less, you would have heard I called you a “ding dong”!

Daughter #5 – the three year old – just looked at them, and then looked at me, and then looked in the direction of my studio lapidary – bewilderment and fear clearly showing in her bright blue eyes, “Mommy? What’s a “bloody Mary”?

“A lapidary is where they cut stones,” my oldest gathered her up and gave her a big hug and kiss on the cheek before picking her up.

“Oh,” she squirmed out of her older sister’s arms, her blonde curls bouncing in disappointment, “I thought it was something fun!” and went back to practicing writing her alphabet.

Although the summer vacation has ended, tomorrow at 4 a.m., my five girls and I embark on yet another trip. A place with a very, very old history (which means lots of potential for haunted sites!) and the ocean (lots of treasures there!). So, my next several posts will be from this location.

(I’ll be checking in frequently via Facebook and Twitter, too…I hope you join us for our adventures!!)

Putting aside the slight drought, it’s been gorgeous just about every single day. Closing your eyes and sipping a cool drink is a lot easier than poring over thousands of houses. Dreaming of running in slow motion on the beach and falling, giggling, in the sand, in the arms of that really good looking guy who jogs around the Myrtle Beach boardwalk in the mornings dressed in blue and white, is a lot more relaxing than thinking about packing and moving trucks and unpacking.

And, I’m not quite done saying my good-byes yet. I haven’t even started. The more I close my eyes as I float in my pool – the July sun’s rays touching me in all the right places – the more delightful memories reveal themselves. People. Places. Conversations. Events. Experiences. Sounds. Tastes. Smells.

Like priceless buried treasure.

The excited laughter and chatter coming from my girls bursting into the backyard, interrupted my lazy, quiet afternoon. My icy cold drink (a Staglin white wine on ice – great suggestion Wineguys!) splashed on my wicked hot stomach as I jumped up in the floating lounger, making it rock back and forth wildly in the cool, blue water. My sunglasses flew off their perch on the lounge’s arm and floated way down to the bottom of my pool.

“Look what Daddy bought us!!”, “I can’t believe it!!”,  ”Do you see it Mommy??, Look! Look!!!” Five little girls, young ladies, crowded around me as I reluctantly got out of the pool, hugging and kissing me. “Can we play? Please?”, “Please??”, “Please, Mommy, please!!”  The plastic box to the video game they had been begging me for weeks was practically pressed up to my nose. And, although I have a strict rule about TV and video games before 6pm, I gave them an hour to play it to get it out of their system. (ok, ok…it also bought me another hour of having the pool all to myself.)

It took me less than 10 minutes to get the girls situated and in front of the tv ”mother’s helper” and hop back into the pool.

The hour flew by, as time does when you’re just laying there enjoying heat on your body, cool refreshing drink in your hand. Enjoying the quiet.

The quiet????? Hmmm. There is definitely not supposed to be quiet associated with playing video games. So, like it or not, out of the pool again I climbed to go investigate.

Tip-toeing through our creaky tell-tale side door, dripping down my carpeted hallways, leaving wet spots on the flights of stairs, then running through the rooms to see what was up what the silence was about, I finally found my daughters.

Wii couldn't hold a candle to this classic!

On the floor they all sat. Playing with colorful blocks. Each had magnificent castles in front of herself – the usual mountain of hundreds of shapes not so much a mountain as a hill – as the girls grabbed at the wooden pieces. In the background, the annoying music to the game droned on, completely ignored.

“I thought you guys wanted to play that new game your father bought you,” I sat down next to them to try my hand at building something, “you guys have been begging me for it for weeks!”

Smiling sheepishly, my 13 year old pushed away a blonde tendril from her face, “this is more fun.”

Wooden blocks – basic building components. Basic. Like saying good-bye to people and places one loves.

In the meantime…while my girls stayed occupied with the blocks, I kissed each one and tip-toed right back down the flights of stairs and carpeted hallways, still damp from my previous trip, through the tell-tale creaky side door – right back into the refreshing water and my glass of wine.

“You need to just remember this is a new start,” my best friend Randi said when she bugged me again why I still hadn’t moved down near her. “Buy yourself 8 bottles of nailpolish that match the clothes you’ll be wearing down here, and that will be your signal that you’re ready to move down here.”

“I don’t do manicures,” I laughed, “I’m too hands-on of a mom for that. It would just be a waste of time and money.”

“NEW START,” she reiterated.

We chatted for a while longer. I am certainly ready for that new start – I suppose I just need some time to say good-bye to some people and places first.

I did buy myself 8 bottles of nailpolish. Frisky colors that I never in my life thought I would wear – shades of blues and greens and grays.

New start, right?

And now, it’s time to start letting go, and saying those good-byes.

Back when he was alive, I would spend countless hours sitting down there with him. The soft red couch he had is still there and feels familiar to my skin as I tuck my legs under myself and close my eyes. This room is where I go to do serious thinking – it’s quiet and calming and all mindblocks vanish as soon as I close the heavy, carved mahogany door behind me.

The air is cool in an unusual way for late June in upstate New York, and a soft breeze moves around the smell of the developing chemicals – stored in neat rows behind a dark curtain to keep them safe from light – and it heightens my memories even more. Graceful white lace European-style curtains flit about like ghosts keeping me company. Carefully folded and packaged in brown paper, Mom brought them back from Poland with her on her last trip, and now, the characteristic delicate cutouts in the material let me play peek-a-boo with the golden afternoon sun as it flickered and slivered into a million different shards of glittering lights against the walls. Against the countless black and white photographs Dad took over the years.

Nothing has been touched since my dad died. It’s all still there just as he left it, and in the summer afternoon quiet, punctuated only by my five girls laughing outside somewhere, I swear I can hear WMHT – the classical station he ALWAYS listened to (the ONLY station he ever listened to) – playing softly from the radio in the corner.

A quiet tapping, low on the heavy door, snapped me back. “Grammy wants to know if you want corn on the cob,” my eight-year old pushed on the ornate door, “she says they’re on sale this week for nineteen cents an ear”.

We looked at each other and laughed.

Ah, corn…

Corn invokes so many wonderful thoughts for me.

Acres and acres of the yellow ears – providing me with so much fun growing up. It blanketed the earth as my father and I flew from tiny rural airports together. It covered so much land that when our plane cut through the air, it seemed like a sea of gold. When we did aerobatics, it became a kaleidoscope of colors -yellow corn, blue sky, green fields and white puffy clouds – we spun and swirled like a ballet dancer. Or a gymnast. And I always held my breath. Marveling.

The heavy ears, husks and all, were carefully placed in campfires in Poland, along with potatoes and sometimes whole chickens. Then, after a lot of singing and joke-telling (and wodka and wisniowka) – they were carefully handed out, home-churned butter and ramekins of coarse salt passed around, the boys prepping the burning hot stuff for the girls. And soon our fingers were dripping with the taste memories are made of – carefree nights under the stars and sweet salty butter lingering on our lips and fingers.

It created the spooky mazes I spent hours lost in with friends in the last days of Octobers in my youth, stealing kisses and scaring the others lost in there.

“No Mom,” my oldest pushed me past the corn display the last time we went shopping, “I have issues eating food that looks the same coming out as it does going in.” She steered me toward the lettuce, “Besides, remember that documentary we watched?”

She was right. A few months ago, on a particularly yucky, rainy day, we all curled up on our beloved sky-blue CordaRoy bean bag chair and watched a Netflix movie called “King Corn”.

HOW MUCH for an ear of corn???

In a nutshell, it was a very well done documentary showing how scary it is how much of our diet consists of corn. And not the kind of corn I remember as a girl in Poland – the “edible sunshine” kind. This stuff in our stores is apparently NOTHING like the corn from 30 years ago from a nutritional standpoint. And after a lot of “research”, the girls and I came to our own conclusions regarding things like the corn problem and buying from local farmers as opposed to overpaying for plastic-packaged “organic” foods. The lesson made us all acutely aware of the problem and we have become ridiculous about reading our food packaging and eating healthy. (Except on holidays and parties, of course…then, well, then there are no rules – except, enjoy yourself).

It’s pretty funny how we get all excited to find something that does not contain corn in some fashion – we’re in awe – like discovering a rare jewel.

“My strawberries soaked in chocolate vodka have nothing made from corn,” my best friend Randi laughed later that evening as we Skyped, “just these, great, big, juicy strawberries from my garden, vodka from Polish potatoes and a good time for everyone on the Fourth. See?” she held up a beautiful chocolate-hugged strawberry and took a dainty bite out of it, “So quit stalling, finish packing up your stuff and MOVE HERE TO MYRTLE BEACH already!”

I started doing it again.

I started doing it on vacation. I really didn’t think I would start doing it so soon, but apparently, I am weak… and it felt so good. That surge of satisfaction knowing I was going to make someone very, very happy ribboned itself around my body and hugged me with the sensation one gets when one has a juicy secret.

I suppose while I relaxed, it was easier to decide what it was I really wanted to focus on – what would be the right choice for everyone. So, if you’re on my nice list, I found some really amazing things as we wandered around and you’re certainly in for fantastic treats this Christmas.

Of course, if you’re on my naughty list – you’re in for some incredible ones.

Vacation to us means more than just a trip (and the official start to Santa’s shopping season) – it’s a much-needed break from all things electronic. No arguing over what to watch on TV. No fighting over what to play on Wii. No Wizards 101. No Facebook updating. Cell for emergencies only. For me just hours and hours dedicated solely on working on creating jewelry, and a relaxing atmosphere for the girls to wrap up their schoolwork.

I envisioned the whole thing – the girls would all blissfully read some carefully selected books and play nicely together - quietly - at least en route to our vacation place. There would be peace, punctuated by giggles and the occasional crunch of healthy snacks.

The poking, staring, humming, pig-latin started almost the second our vehicle pulled away from the house.

“We’ll be back in time for the Steven Tyler concert, right?” my oldest daughter asked, for the millionth time. She’s been looking forward to going ever since she found out he was coming to Albany. It was all she could talk about.

“Never mind Steven Tyler!” Daughter #2 poked her older sister which started a whining competition, “I’m worried about the gerbils.” One of  the gerbils had decided at almost midnight the night before that it would be the best time possible to escape from its cage. It had taken us all about two hours to finally lure him back into his strawberry abode. “It’s your fault Olie got out,” she hissed.

“I don’t understand why you even care,” the thirteen year old glared back, “he’s my gerbil, anyway!”

Parker

“You care more about the concert than you do about our pets!”

And so the bickering began and progressed to clothes (big surprise), “I don’t see how you can even say having more shorts is the same as having lots of sundresses.”

“You just want Mom to take you shopping.”

And it continued on to the topic of Halloween last year, “NO!!! Mom!!! Tell her that two ‘snack-sized’ candy bars are not the same size as one ‘share-size’!! Mom!! Tell her!!”

Even my youngest, the three-year old, got sucked into the melee, “I wanna go see him! I wanna go see him!! Mommy!! I wanna go! Can I go?”

“Who?” her eight-year old sister teased, “Barney?”

The little one thought for a moment as she tapped her chin in an exaggerated way (she knew there was no way her sisters would be talking about going to see Barney, but the seed was already planted in her head).

“I wanna go see Barney!” blonde curls bopped in excitement, “I want to go see Barney!!” Ripping off her sandals, she began slapping them together, “Barney!! Barney!! Barney!!”

My six year old started bawling then, too, and a game of  ”Guess Why I’m Crying” was started.

Five minutes later I was pulling into the nearest Walgreen’s and hoping their Redbox was well stocked.

Ten minutes after that, the girls were happily snacking and fixated on the DVD player hanging down behind my head.

I looked at my girls in the rearview mirror, my six-year old’s wails had turned into laughter as she watched the movie. “Sweetheart,” I whispered back to her, “why were you crying before?”

Tearing herself away from the movie, she smiled, “I just wanted to say that I love you, but you couldn’t hear me.” She took a bite of her peach and gave her full attention back to the movie.

“Hey Mom?” came my oldest’s voice from the back, “We are going to make it back for the concert, right?”

So, as I was saying, it was a delightful trip.

These last few weeks have been a  relaxing kick-off to our summer. We finished off another school year, and our get-away was perfect for the girls to be able to relax and concentrate on their exams without distractions.

And yes, we’re home in time for the Steven Tyler concert.

Daughter #5

It is nice to be back though. It feels wonderful to sit down and write again – mind refreshed and definately in a summer state of mind.

Daughters #3 and #4

Daughters #1 and #2 are preparing a cool salad lunch and the gerbils are dashing happily on my floor in their clear plastic balls, thrilled to be home, as well, after their vacation at Grandma’s and her two “playful” cats. Daughters #3, #4 and #5 are playing Olympic Swimming in the pool.

There’s giggling coming from the kitchen, “Mom?” I hear “ssshhh” and more giggling, “What’s extra-virgin olive oil?”

Daughters #1 and #2

Did I mention, it’s good to be home?

Now, to find a spot to hide those Christmas presents…