It's now 9:25 and after two hours of false starts the kids seem to have finally fallen asleep. We have been back in Italy since Monday afternoon and I had hoped that rising at 8 and having no nap to speak of during the day would be incentive enough to make Livia fall asleep immediately. And in fact, initially that was the case, I read the kids their story, gave kisses all around and both of them rolled over and went to sleep. For five blissful minutes I sit on the couch, reading my old copy of "Anne of Green Gables" brought back from the States and enjoy the silence. The the doorbell rings, it's Lorenzo bearing pizza. Giulio comes running out of his bedroom like a shot yelling "Daddy! Daddy!" and Livia starts sceaming like she just got smacked. In the end I have no choice but to let the kids hang around and say hello to Daddy, Livia's face breaking out in a huge smile at the sight of her papa' even though there are still tears on her face. I feel like Hillary Clinton on the campaign trail whenever her husband shows up. All the savvy and know-how gone and forgotten as people crawl over each other trying to shake Bill's hand. I was the one who get the night lights right, took away the "scary" pillow, gave my best rendition of "Baby Mine", and all for me only to have to do it all over again in a moment. If he wasn't bearing dinner I would be more hostile, but as my pizza marinara (with just a little tomato sauce) smells pretty awesome I decide to let it slide. The kids are coaxed back to bed, but then, within minutes Giulio is up again, padding down the hall to talk about how his bed seems scary and setting Livia off again too. Another rendition of "Baby Mine", another discussion about how Giulio's light blue IKEA bed spread with a bubble pattern is the happiest, non-scariest thing around, and how I wish I had one just like it before they are out again. Or so I think. I hear the pitter-patter of little feet, groaning inwardly wait for Giulio to stick his little head round the doorway. "Mommy? My toys are scary." Livia yells out again from the next room. Sigh.
In all due respect they are doing rather well, coming all this way, re-adjusting to being back home. Livia obviously doesn't remember much about the apartment, though she does remember her Daddy. And Giulio? He's the happiest I have seen him in ages, agreeable, co-operative for the most part, and loving being re-united with Thomas the Tank Engine. It also reminds me that this, here, Italy, is their home, and that my home, Cincinnati, is not. They like the States, like the pools, the museum, and the zoo, love the grandparents and the Oreos, but here in Italy is where they belong. For me it always takes a bit of adjustment, though this time I only cried once and that was after unpacking four suitcases and rotating the children's winter/summer wardrobes on only three hours sleep. While sweating profusely. Maybe I was just missing the air conditioning.
The flight over went suprisingly well. Cincinnati-New York had its' usual awfulness, Giulio whining and squirming in his seat, Livia not quite standing but refusing to sit on my lap and squawking, me not daring to look at the teenager at the window seat on the other side of Giulio for fear of what he might say, and then a miracle: both kids fall asleep about half an hour before landing in New York. Peace. I listen to the flight attendant seated in the kitchen space behind me complain about last week when she was called back to do another flight when they were already technically on lay-over when the call came through, and stare down at Livia asleep against my chest, her mouth open.
At JFK we book it over to the gate from where our plane to Milan will leave, even though we have over an hour and a half, I'm hoping to nab the bulkhead before someone else does. The place is swarming with Italians, most wearing newly purchased sweatshirts or sneakers. It seems that they have put the Milan gate and the Rome gate right next to each other, though the change in accents you hear just by moving five feet to the left or right is startling. The gate desk is empty so I walk up to a guy wearing a tie standing by the walkway entrance and ask about who I need to speak to about the possibility of getting the bulkhead seats, especially the ones with the little crib that latches onto the wall for the baby. For once in my life I have asked the right question to the right guy, the guy with the authority and computer codes to unlock these seats and within moments he has handed over new boarding passes and sent me on my way. I cannot believe my luck, and try to walk away while still kow towing before him on both knees.
I go stand over in one corner of the waiting area and take in the view of largely young, corporate Italy with disposable incomes waiting to fly back to Milan. I know these people, I mean, I don't really know them, but I teach people just like them back at home. People who are in life long engagements with their partners, yet still live at home with their parents, waiting for the time to present itself for when it will be right to get married. In the meantime, their company job covers their car payment and leaves a lot of money left over for trips to places like California, Bali, and biking tours through Northern Europe. Lorenzo, who always felt it was important to save money, never revelled much in this lifestyle before meeting me, a policeman's salary really can't take you to Bali more than once, but sometimes I wonder what it would have been like it we had waited 10 years before saddling ourselves with two kids and a mortgage. Then I think of flying with a pre-schooler and a baby to America and back when I am 38 and realize that perhaps I have really done what is best for me and my life.
We eventually board the plane, and it is 3/4 full of Italians, all jolly and happy about going home and eating well again and showing off the crazy deal they got on a pair of Nike Shocks. I find that the heavens have blessed us again by having us share our seats with an Italian named Davide, young, friendly, and who apparently really likes children. I'm initially weirded out. Why is he being so nice to Giulio? What does he want? I realize that my two months in America has made me paranoid about men and small children and that actually this guy Davide is just acting how most men in Italy act around young children: outgoing and attentive. It is also clear that he loves speaking in English to Giulio, even trying to read "A Baby Sister for Frances" to him when Livia is demanding all my attention. At one point during the flight I compliment him, asking if he has kids of his own.
"No."
"Nieces or nephews?"
"No. I have a girlfriend."
"Oh, and SHE wants to have kids someday?"
He nods. It seems a strange logic, is he taking parenting classes or something? Whatever the reason it is nice to be next to someone who doesn't mind when Giulio's feet kick him in the leg. Giulio, aided by Benedryl sleeps until I wake him up when we land.
We finally stumble off the plane in Milan, me staying loudly upbeat to Giulio (Oh look! A moving sidewalk!) so he won't have a meltdown but he seems to know that Lorenzo is nearby, or maybe because I keep saying that Daddy is nearby but at any rate he is in a fantastic mood as we get on line at immigration. My phone rings, it's Lorenzo.
"What line are you on?" he asks.
"I'm on the non-EU line."
"Claire, just use your Italian ID card and go through the other line."
I should explain that I have dual citizenship, American and British, and I'm actually in Italy legally as a British-European Union citizen. (Thanks, Mom!) My ID card in Italy also lists me as British, and you can use an ID card when travelling between EU countries instead of a passport. But I didn't think that would work just then.
"Lorenzo, how am I going to do that? They will never let me in with just the ID card. And what about the kids? All I have is their US passports."
"The kids have Italian names. Trust me." He says and hangs up.
I look around. The line I'm in is stopped dead, the EU line is practically empty. I fish out my ID card and move Giulio and the stroller towards the booth where a police officer meets me at the doorway.
"Passports, Madame?"
I hand him the ID card which he looks at and then asks to see my British passport and I have to tell him that I only have my American one with me.
"Well then, you will have to go through the other line. Maybe someone will let you cut ahead, since you have children."
I stand there for a second, trying to ignore the stares from the other non-EU passengers who are surely thinking, "Whose this @#$hole who tried to jump the line?" when I see Lorenzo standing over by the baggage carousel on the other side of the glass. I wave. He sees me, and I try to mouth to him "They won't let me though, I'll have to go around, this is all your fault." He nods and comes closer and calls something out to another officer who has just taken the place of the one who negged me. "That's my wife." I hear Lorenzo say. The officer looks at me and gestures me over. "Prego, Signora." (I wonder what the other passengers are thinking now.) He quickly stamps our passports, bam, bam, bam, and we are through. Giulio races up to Lorenzo who I see has tears in his eyes. We are together. Back in Italy.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
50 Random Things to Know if You Plan on Living in Italy
1) You can buy real maple syrup in Italy, but you cannot find the fake imitation Aunt Jemima kind.
2) Italian supermarkets do sell Jiffy peanut butter and some places also sell organic peanut butter.
3) What we call bread, they call toast, or Pan Carre. Their bread is much better.
4) I have never been able to find Zip-Loc bags.
5) Fresh milk goes off after a few days, though lately you can find longer lasting fresh milk. Otherwise buy UHT milk which lasts for ages, and I honestly think tastes OK. It's in a cardboard cartons on the shelf, near the dairy freezer.
6) Skim milk ( scremato) can only be found in the UHT form.
7) Whole milk is called intero, while 2% is called parzialemente scremato.
8) They sell Philidelphia cream cheese, Honey Nut Cheerios, and Kraft cheese slices.
9) Kids clothes are expensive, so unless you are ok paying 30 euros for a sweater, you do better buying them in the States.
10) Never go the gym and then dash into the supermarket. The Italians will be weirded out by you looking disheveled and sweaty in their midst.
11) Never drop the kids off at school looking like you just came from the gym, the other well made-up mothers will look at you funny.
12) Your stroller is your friend.
13) Italian women really will look after small children in 3" heels and immaculate white suits and stay clean. We non Italians lack the genes to do this.
14) It is OK to go two or three days without washing your hair. It is not OK to have hairy legs.
15) Your child needs to keep his undershirt tucked in at all times. Otherwise other women will do it for you, telling you that your child risks having a stomach ache or that you have left his kidneys exposed to the elements.
16) Children's colds are not treated with syrups but with liquid drops of medicine mixed with sterile water and then blown out in vapor form through a mask by an aerosole machine. It is your responsibility to hold the mask over your screaming child's face.
17) Italian children don't have bedtimes. People will assume that the fact that your child goes to sleep at 7:30 it is because he asks to go to bed then.
18) Italian children are welcome at all restaurants at all hours.
19) Italian children are welcome just about anywhere at all hours. And it is OK if they make some noise, they are children, that is what they are expected to do.
20) No one wears all white gym shoes.
21) Women don't wear baseball caps.
22) Italians always wear slippers or flip flops when they are home. Walking around barefoot is kind of a no-no.
23) When at home, most Italians change out of whatever they were wearing and hang around the home in sweatpants and t-shirts, especially when cleaning.
24) Men only wear white gym socks when they are in the gym.
25) Italian women don't drink to get drunk.
26) They are also good at resisting dessert.
27) At movie theaters you get an assigned seat when you buy your tickets. People will ask you to move if you are in the wrong one, even if the rest of the theater is empty.
28) Movies also have an intermission half way through.
29) Most stores are closed on Sundays and Monday mornings, though that is starting to change at least among the big supermarket chains.
30) All phone calls from land lines, even to the person across the street are expensive.
31)The FAX machine is still a valid and popular way of sending documents.
32) People rarely, if ever, write personal checks.
33) It is completely normal to go to someone's house for dinner and they leave the TV on while you eat.
34) Always bring something when invited to someone's house. If it is for Sunday lunch it will be assumed, though never said, that you will bring pastries that you buy on your way to their house.
35) Italian network television is terrible. Walker Texas Ranger is a popular show. The Runaway Bride is a frequently shown film.
36) Get cable if you want to see something decent.
37) Always say "Buon Giorno" when entering a shop and say it again when you leave.
38) Don't expect an outpouring of help from shop assistants.
39) Waiters will never introduce themselves by saying, "My name is Paolo and I will be your server for this evening." Nor will he ask you if you are "still working on that?"
40) Sugar is just fine to give to children.
41) Italians tend to do things in droves. If you are going on vacation in the summer, probably 17 million other people had the same idea. If you go to IKEA on a Sunday, expect half of the region to be there as well.
42) If you plan to drive you need to know how to parallel park. Really.
43) It is hard to find a real Christmas tree, most stores only sell fake ones. The real ones will be small and most likely in a large pot so you can keep it for next year if you want.
44) Family always comes first, even if the members of the family don't seem all that fond of each other.
45) Italians fear strong breezes and drafts, especially in the presence of children. A breeze + sweating= certain illness.
46) When you buy fruit at the grocery store wear the provided plastic gloves before touching anything. NEVER start handling fruit yourself at a market or the fruit seller will go off on you.
47) At a supermarket you are expected to weigh your own fruit.
48) Italians are generally friendly welcoming people who tell you that you speak Italian well, even if it's not true.
49) The food is always soooo good.
50) You should always have a second glass of wine.
2) Italian supermarkets do sell Jiffy peanut butter and some places also sell organic peanut butter.
3) What we call bread, they call toast, or Pan Carre. Their bread is much better.
4) I have never been able to find Zip-Loc bags.
5) Fresh milk goes off after a few days, though lately you can find longer lasting fresh milk. Otherwise buy UHT milk which lasts for ages, and I honestly think tastes OK. It's in a cardboard cartons on the shelf, near the dairy freezer.
6) Skim milk ( scremato) can only be found in the UHT form.
7) Whole milk is called intero, while 2% is called parzialemente scremato.
8) They sell Philidelphia cream cheese, Honey Nut Cheerios, and Kraft cheese slices.
9) Kids clothes are expensive, so unless you are ok paying 30 euros for a sweater, you do better buying them in the States.
10) Never go the gym and then dash into the supermarket. The Italians will be weirded out by you looking disheveled and sweaty in their midst.
11) Never drop the kids off at school looking like you just came from the gym, the other well made-up mothers will look at you funny.
12) Your stroller is your friend.
13) Italian women really will look after small children in 3" heels and immaculate white suits and stay clean. We non Italians lack the genes to do this.
14) It is OK to go two or three days without washing your hair. It is not OK to have hairy legs.
15) Your child needs to keep his undershirt tucked in at all times. Otherwise other women will do it for you, telling you that your child risks having a stomach ache or that you have left his kidneys exposed to the elements.
16) Children's colds are not treated with syrups but with liquid drops of medicine mixed with sterile water and then blown out in vapor form through a mask by an aerosole machine. It is your responsibility to hold the mask over your screaming child's face.
17) Italian children don't have bedtimes. People will assume that the fact that your child goes to sleep at 7:30 it is because he asks to go to bed then.
18) Italian children are welcome at all restaurants at all hours.
19) Italian children are welcome just about anywhere at all hours. And it is OK if they make some noise, they are children, that is what they are expected to do.
20) No one wears all white gym shoes.
21) Women don't wear baseball caps.
22) Italians always wear slippers or flip flops when they are home. Walking around barefoot is kind of a no-no.
23) When at home, most Italians change out of whatever they were wearing and hang around the home in sweatpants and t-shirts, especially when cleaning.
24) Men only wear white gym socks when they are in the gym.
25) Italian women don't drink to get drunk.
26) They are also good at resisting dessert.
27) At movie theaters you get an assigned seat when you buy your tickets. People will ask you to move if you are in the wrong one, even if the rest of the theater is empty.
28) Movies also have an intermission half way through.
29) Most stores are closed on Sundays and Monday mornings, though that is starting to change at least among the big supermarket chains.
30) All phone calls from land lines, even to the person across the street are expensive.
31)The FAX machine is still a valid and popular way of sending documents.
32) People rarely, if ever, write personal checks.
33) It is completely normal to go to someone's house for dinner and they leave the TV on while you eat.
34) Always bring something when invited to someone's house. If it is for Sunday lunch it will be assumed, though never said, that you will bring pastries that you buy on your way to their house.
35) Italian network television is terrible. Walker Texas Ranger is a popular show. The Runaway Bride is a frequently shown film.
36) Get cable if you want to see something decent.
37) Always say "Buon Giorno" when entering a shop and say it again when you leave.
38) Don't expect an outpouring of help from shop assistants.
39) Waiters will never introduce themselves by saying, "My name is Paolo and I will be your server for this evening." Nor will he ask you if you are "still working on that?"
40) Sugar is just fine to give to children.
41) Italians tend to do things in droves. If you are going on vacation in the summer, probably 17 million other people had the same idea. If you go to IKEA on a Sunday, expect half of the region to be there as well.
42) If you plan to drive you need to know how to parallel park. Really.
43) It is hard to find a real Christmas tree, most stores only sell fake ones. The real ones will be small and most likely in a large pot so you can keep it for next year if you want.
44) Family always comes first, even if the members of the family don't seem all that fond of each other.
45) Italians fear strong breezes and drafts, especially in the presence of children. A breeze + sweating= certain illness.
46) When you buy fruit at the grocery store wear the provided plastic gloves before touching anything. NEVER start handling fruit yourself at a market or the fruit seller will go off on you.
47) At a supermarket you are expected to weigh your own fruit.
48) Italians are generally friendly welcoming people who tell you that you speak Italian well, even if it's not true.
49) The food is always soooo good.
50) You should always have a second glass of wine.
Friday, August 10, 2007
SAHM
I have a whole new respect for Stay at Home Moms now. (Hereafter SAHM). Since Lorenzo went back to Italy two weeks ago it has just been me with the kids. Except it hasn't been just me. It has been my parents taking the kids first thing in the morning so I can sleep in 'til 7 or 8 because now, God help me, Giulio wakes up at 6:15 wanting breakfast and Livia is rising now around 7. I am very curious to know how I am going to handle this when we are together again---oh, wait--yes I do know, it will be ME who will be getting up at 6:15 to get Giulio his breakfast. So right now it isn't just me in the morning, and it isn't just me when at 5 o'clock my father puts a glass of wine into my shaking hand, but it is me throughout the day. Every day since I got here I wake up in our basement guest room (my brother's bedroom on the 2nd floor is the 1st guest room and Giulio is sleeping there) and hear Giulio scurrying overhead, followed by Liviaon all fours. Giulio is usually giggling uncontrollably and Livia is saying "Daaaaaaa! Daaaaaaaa!" Talk about the pitter-patter of tiny feet. And my goal for the rest of the day is to do what I can to tire out those tiny feet.
And yet, how does one manage to coordinate two different children at very different stages of their lives? By the time everyone has eaten, dressed, and I've cleaned up the kitchen and gotten Giulio excited about going somewhere, Livia has started to fuss and it is time for her morning nap. When she wakes an hour later, usuallly around 11 we then begin a whole new round of eating and changing to make another attempt to go out. Somewhere in there we have Giulio going into Time-Out a few times and those scenes drag on and on, and I'm also trying to convince him that he needs to try and go to the bathroom which takes some coaxing, and then there are also the snacks and the spats, and cleaning up a bit so the house doesn't look like someone with an anger management problem came by, and then you realize it is 2 o'clock and it is time for Livia's second nap and we still haven't gotten anything really DONE and I am wishing I could take a nap myself. I have also realized that there is an advantage to having a small apartment when you have two children; you can do other things like make the beds or clean the bathroom and the children are never more than a room away. While I love the fact that my parents' home is large enough to absorb my family and all its stuff, there there are times when I have to dress Livia and I'm on the groundfloor and her clothes are down in the basement but somehow the box of wipes has wound up upstairs in Giulio's room. Rather than leave the children to their own amusements which usually involves Giulio hugging Livia round the head, I heave her on my hip as we lurch downstairs to retrieve clothing before stomping upstairs to get the wipes.
There there is the dance of the shoes. As a way to keep Giulio moving towards the door I have him get his shoes or sandals and tell him to put them on while I'm rushing around trying to grab all the water bottles, snacks, diapers and wipes that go into an average family outing. Putting on his shoes is part of him being a Big boy, independent, capable of doing things on his own. I watch him run to retrieve his shoes and then his sits on the floor looking dejectedly at his sandals but making no attempt to put them on. "Come on, Giulio" I call. "Put your sandals on." He then makes a sort of half hearted attempt, Livia crawls over and sits down next to him, picks up a sandal and chews on the strap. "Mommy I can't." This is his new thing now, he can't. He can't go to the bathroom, he can't help me pick up his toys, he can't put his shoes on. Except that he can, and my patience is running thin. I hurriedly help him into one, and then he somehow finds the strength to put on the other. Finally we are ready. We head out the door to what is my car while I am in town, my brother's ancient Volvo stationwagon. What it lacks in engine power it makes up for with a top of the line sound system and cd/mp3 player. With Johnny Cash singing about how it ain't him, babe, we head over to the nearby museum, aka my home away from home. Pools are a good choice for tiring out the kids but I don't like to go alone, it really takes two adults to wrangle two small children in the water. I should also add that since Lorenzo left the weather has gotten unbearably hot so most outdoor activities are out and we are all taking refuge in the a/c, while Lorenzo, who left us in Ohio to escape the heat (yes, I know, a contradiction in terms) is enjoying breezy, pleasant temperatures in Italy. He even claims that he sleeps with a blanket at night. So the museum is our destination today. I pull into the parking lot, free Giulio from the car and get Livia into the stroller and in the steamy heat we begin the long, uphill treck to the museum.
We head inside, breathing a sigh of relief for the air conditioning. We go to the Children's Museum and to the Little Sprouts room, which is specifically designed for children 4 and under. Something always happens when we move into the children's museum: time stands still. On one hand it is wonderful to watch the kids play. Giulio is quiet and focused as he plays at the sand table, moving the sand from the dump truck into the bucket, and it is great to let LIvia crawl about without worrying about her knocking over a lamp. Or wrapping a cord around her neck. Or trying to get into the fridge. But then she discovers the slide and all she wants to do it climp UP it, and despite countless attempts to distract her she keeps heading back there. And suddenly I can't stop yawning and I keep glancing at my watch, waiting for the Promised time of 5 o'clock when the museum closes and we can go home, and I swear I looked at my watch 20 minutes ago and now I just looked again and only 5 minutes had passed. At least Giulio is happy here, this place is perfect for pre-schoolers. Instead it is Livia who gives me fits. The girl just wants to move and she manages to turn the child friendly, carpeted, padded play areas into the site of death defying stunts as she tries to go head first down three steps where I catch her in the nick of time or crawling over to the entrance gate where excited toddlers running past just miss stepping on her hands. I pick her up, carrying her back 20 feet only to have her leap forward like a race horse from the starting gate the moment I put her down and head right back towards the entrance. Eventually I lose patience with fielding Livia or Giulio gets bored and we head over to some other exhibit. Here Giulio loses himself again playing but now I have to focus constantly on Livia. Outside of the Little Sprouts Room is not set up for babies so I must protect Livia from being run over by big kids or putting something tiny in her mouth. She isn't OK with being held for long periods of time and we wrestle for a while before I finally give in, put her down, only to have her try and put a small peg in her mouth so then I go and pick her up again. I can only really stand doing this for about 30 minutes and then I have to go. My head starts to hurt, the kids get hungry and I have to try to convince Giulio that it is actually his idea to leave. "Come back tomorrow?" he always asks, and I can truthfully answer yes, if we want to.
We get home and I'm exhausted as if I just climbed a mountain and then if someone askes me what I did all day all I can come up with is,"We went to the museum." And along the way I got impatient, lost my temper, surely yelled at some point too. I would make the worst SAHM, I just lack the motivation and energy to entertain and keep my children busy all day. Next door to my parents lives a young couple with a little boy named Steven, the mom Nora is a SAHM she always seems to me to be such a shining example. She doesn't yell, is very patient with Steven, takes time to do interesting craft projects with him. They watch a tiny amount of television, eat limited amounts of sugar, and seem to truly take pleasure in each others company. Nora would never turn on the TV for Seasame Street and "forget" to turn it off because it kept Steven quiet. Or distract him from a melt down by offering him a Newman-Os. Or maybe she would. Maybe I seem like the perfect SAHM when I am in the Little Sprouts room, patiently removing Livia for the 10th time from the bottom of the slide or playing super market with Giulio. Meanwhile on the inside I am counting down the days until Giulio goes back to school and Livia goes back to daycare, and the minutes until I can sit on the couch with a glass of wine in my hand and let my tired parents deal with--I mean enjoy--the kids. Tomorrow, I promise myself, tomorrow I will get it right.
And yet, how does one manage to coordinate two different children at very different stages of their lives? By the time everyone has eaten, dressed, and I've cleaned up the kitchen and gotten Giulio excited about going somewhere, Livia has started to fuss and it is time for her morning nap. When she wakes an hour later, usuallly around 11 we then begin a whole new round of eating and changing to make another attempt to go out. Somewhere in there we have Giulio going into Time-Out a few times and those scenes drag on and on, and I'm also trying to convince him that he needs to try and go to the bathroom which takes some coaxing, and then there are also the snacks and the spats, and cleaning up a bit so the house doesn't look like someone with an anger management problem came by, and then you realize it is 2 o'clock and it is time for Livia's second nap and we still haven't gotten anything really DONE and I am wishing I could take a nap myself. I have also realized that there is an advantage to having a small apartment when you have two children; you can do other things like make the beds or clean the bathroom and the children are never more than a room away. While I love the fact that my parents' home is large enough to absorb my family and all its stuff, there there are times when I have to dress Livia and I'm on the groundfloor and her clothes are down in the basement but somehow the box of wipes has wound up upstairs in Giulio's room. Rather than leave the children to their own amusements which usually involves Giulio hugging Livia round the head, I heave her on my hip as we lurch downstairs to retrieve clothing before stomping upstairs to get the wipes.
There there is the dance of the shoes. As a way to keep Giulio moving towards the door I have him get his shoes or sandals and tell him to put them on while I'm rushing around trying to grab all the water bottles, snacks, diapers and wipes that go into an average family outing. Putting on his shoes is part of him being a Big boy, independent, capable of doing things on his own. I watch him run to retrieve his shoes and then his sits on the floor looking dejectedly at his sandals but making no attempt to put them on. "Come on, Giulio" I call. "Put your sandals on." He then makes a sort of half hearted attempt, Livia crawls over and sits down next to him, picks up a sandal and chews on the strap. "Mommy I can't." This is his new thing now, he can't. He can't go to the bathroom, he can't help me pick up his toys, he can't put his shoes on. Except that he can, and my patience is running thin. I hurriedly help him into one, and then he somehow finds the strength to put on the other. Finally we are ready. We head out the door to what is my car while I am in town, my brother's ancient Volvo stationwagon. What it lacks in engine power it makes up for with a top of the line sound system and cd/mp3 player. With Johnny Cash singing about how it ain't him, babe, we head over to the nearby museum, aka my home away from home. Pools are a good choice for tiring out the kids but I don't like to go alone, it really takes two adults to wrangle two small children in the water. I should also add that since Lorenzo left the weather has gotten unbearably hot so most outdoor activities are out and we are all taking refuge in the a/c, while Lorenzo, who left us in Ohio to escape the heat (yes, I know, a contradiction in terms) is enjoying breezy, pleasant temperatures in Italy. He even claims that he sleeps with a blanket at night. So the museum is our destination today. I pull into the parking lot, free Giulio from the car and get Livia into the stroller and in the steamy heat we begin the long, uphill treck to the museum.
We head inside, breathing a sigh of relief for the air conditioning. We go to the Children's Museum and to the Little Sprouts room, which is specifically designed for children 4 and under. Something always happens when we move into the children's museum: time stands still. On one hand it is wonderful to watch the kids play. Giulio is quiet and focused as he plays at the sand table, moving the sand from the dump truck into the bucket, and it is great to let LIvia crawl about without worrying about her knocking over a lamp. Or wrapping a cord around her neck. Or trying to get into the fridge. But then she discovers the slide and all she wants to do it climp UP it, and despite countless attempts to distract her she keeps heading back there. And suddenly I can't stop yawning and I keep glancing at my watch, waiting for the Promised time of 5 o'clock when the museum closes and we can go home, and I swear I looked at my watch 20 minutes ago and now I just looked again and only 5 minutes had passed. At least Giulio is happy here, this place is perfect for pre-schoolers. Instead it is Livia who gives me fits. The girl just wants to move and she manages to turn the child friendly, carpeted, padded play areas into the site of death defying stunts as she tries to go head first down three steps where I catch her in the nick of time or crawling over to the entrance gate where excited toddlers running past just miss stepping on her hands. I pick her up, carrying her back 20 feet only to have her leap forward like a race horse from the starting gate the moment I put her down and head right back towards the entrance. Eventually I lose patience with fielding Livia or Giulio gets bored and we head over to some other exhibit. Here Giulio loses himself again playing but now I have to focus constantly on Livia. Outside of the Little Sprouts Room is not set up for babies so I must protect Livia from being run over by big kids or putting something tiny in her mouth. She isn't OK with being held for long periods of time and we wrestle for a while before I finally give in, put her down, only to have her try and put a small peg in her mouth so then I go and pick her up again. I can only really stand doing this for about 30 minutes and then I have to go. My head starts to hurt, the kids get hungry and I have to try to convince Giulio that it is actually his idea to leave. "Come back tomorrow?" he always asks, and I can truthfully answer yes, if we want to.
We get home and I'm exhausted as if I just climbed a mountain and then if someone askes me what I did all day all I can come up with is,"We went to the museum." And along the way I got impatient, lost my temper, surely yelled at some point too. I would make the worst SAHM, I just lack the motivation and energy to entertain and keep my children busy all day. Next door to my parents lives a young couple with a little boy named Steven, the mom Nora is a SAHM she always seems to me to be such a shining example. She doesn't yell, is very patient with Steven, takes time to do interesting craft projects with him. They watch a tiny amount of television, eat limited amounts of sugar, and seem to truly take pleasure in each others company. Nora would never turn on the TV for Seasame Street and "forget" to turn it off because it kept Steven quiet. Or distract him from a melt down by offering him a Newman-Os. Or maybe she would. Maybe I seem like the perfect SAHM when I am in the Little Sprouts room, patiently removing Livia for the 10th time from the bottom of the slide or playing super market with Giulio. Meanwhile on the inside I am counting down the days until Giulio goes back to school and Livia goes back to daycare, and the minutes until I can sit on the couch with a glass of wine in my hand and let my tired parents deal with--I mean enjoy--the kids. Tomorrow, I promise myself, tomorrow I will get it right.
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