The Crocodile Hunter

I sit at my computer trying to compose an email. Not just any email, an e-mail in Italian that explains that I will be coming back to work from my vacation a day later than I had originally stated.
Just to make things clear, I do speak Italian-well in fact. There are days when I speak only Italian, with the exception of when I am talking to my children. My husband and I speak Italian together. I can be speaking to my father on the phone in English while at the same time speaking to Lorenzo and I can forget which language I am speaking. I speak Italian at work. I dream in Italian. I forget what is the correct English translation of a word or phrase that I completely understand when said in Italian. So, yes, my level of speaking and comprehension is high. Writing however is another matter. As with most languages, Italian is not spoken as it is written, in fact unlike English where less is more, in Italian, more is always more. An Italian sentence uncoils and unravels and continues without a period in sight long after a period would be necessary in English, commas don’t go where they go in English, in fact at this point I have pretty much been frightened off commas all together.
Plus I don’t fear making mistakes when speaking. A spoken mistake is there for a moment, and as long as no one blows coffee out of their nose for the absurdity of what was said (which I have been known to do for various mistakes made in English by Italians), you go on. The error has vanished, no one can pin it down, or hold it against you. No one has to know that you aren’t exactly sure where the apostrophe goes, or if the article has one L or two. No one knows how ignorant you really are. But when it’s written on the page, it’s there for all your colleagues to snicker at. I imagine them reading my little messages, “I can’t believe she thought the accent went there.” Or, “Honestly, doesn’t she know that it is written with two m’s instead of one?” I shudder to think. I have improved. I think of how much trouble I had as little as six months ago and I feel better, but still there are things that bother me. One thing is that it is hard for me to judge my tone in emails written in Italian. Do I come across and friendly and professional, rude and shrill, or simply prim? If anything I sound like my colleague because she is the one who edits them for mistakes and tells me different ways of saying things.
I crave correspondence for English speakers. Writing emails in English has become my new secret pleasure, the choice of words there before me, like an apple tree weighed down with lush, ripe fruit, and I stand below it, choosing and discarding until I have the sentence exactly as I want it. No tense is too difficult, no punctuation too confusing. Like easing my Cadillac down a newly paved highway with extra wide lanes, I settle down with complete ease and confidence as I write to our clients, sure of my tone and my ability to say something without actually saying anything at all, a skill that I’m learning is crucial in the business world. I’m feel like the Bill Shakespeare of e-mails.
On a completely different subject, I’ve become Croc obsessed, about three years after everyone else. Don’t worry, before anyone reminds me how silly adults look in them I would like to add that I don’t want them for me for me but for my kids. It all started yesterday when Lorenzo spent his day off in the mountains with Giulio. Let’s just pause and think about that sentence for a second. Lorenzo used his day off to bond with his son in the peace and fresh air of the Alps. What do I do on my days off? Housework and childcare and waiting around for Lorenzo to get off work so I can actually DO something on my days off. If I had a free Friday, a day when both children have the nido or school, I would use it to do housework, iron, grocery shopping, and squeezing a nice long run in there somewhere so I could then try and enjoy Saturday with the kids without having to do any errands. I am so grouchy on a Saturday, trying to clean my house while two children do their best in the meantime to mess it up again. Rather like bailing water out of a sinking rowboat. No sooner have I vacuumed the living room than the kids are asking for a snack, which is eaten in the kitchen but somehow manages to spread crumbs throughout the house again. I sound like your typical bitchy housewife by noon, all I’m missing are the curlers and the fuzzy slippers. “Don’t sit there! I just vacuumed!” “No Livia, don’t touch the windows I just wash them!’ “Giulio, get in here and clean up these toys! I do nothing but clean up after you kids!” And so on and so forth. Lorenzo in the meantime came how glowing about his day alone with Giulio, all the interesting things they talked about, how bright Giulio is, and how sweet he is too. Yeah, I can imagine, I wouldn’t personally know because 90% of my time with Giulio is spent along with Livia which is fine, but it doesn’t give us a lot of talking, one on one time. I intend to make Giulio-me time a priority so I too can be privy to all the neat things that Giulio shares when the pace slows down and his sister isn’t around.
But Lorenzo came back with a pair of knockoff Crocs for Giulio , he picked them up somewhere between here and the Alps for about 10 euros. They are blue with a yellow strap and Giulio loves them. Livia loves them too. She was actually the first person to try them on when they got home, showing us how nice they looked on her feet. The shoes have now become a bone of contention between the rightful owner Giulio and the wistful wanna-be Crocs owner Livia. Lorenzo bought them for Giulio for when he goes to the swimming pool at day camp, but I quickly realized that Giulio wouldn’t be content to just wear them at the pool. As he lay on the couch watching cartoons while Livia was taking a nap he asked me if he could wear his new shoes to school. Andrea has a pair, as does Marco. Andrea’s are blue, Marco’s are yellow. I realized I was going to have to find another pair of pool shoes for Giulio, and while I was at it, another pair of faux Crocs for Livia.
I could kick myself about this whole Croc thing. We have spent two whole summers in the States with every child under the age of 12 running around wearing Crocs, real and knockoff, finding the stores full of the shoes, my father even had a pair to wear to take the garbage out in, but I had been put off on spending 30 bucks on shoes for the kids, especially shoes that I thought would be considered too ugly for words back in Italy. Then suddenly around a year ago I started seeing Crocs at the mall for adults for about 50 euros and now suddenly this summer is shaping up to be Croc summer here in Italy as far as kids are concerned. I figured it wouldn’t be that hard to find a cheap pair of knockoffs for Livia, I had seem them everywhere lately, though Livia didn’t really need them, I had already got here a neat pair of sandals for 8 bucks on Landsend.com clearance.
I drove to the slightly sketchy mall about 15 minutes from our house, full of discount stores and parents with children even more hyper than mine. I found Giulio another pair of pool sandals, 10 euros and a new pair of running shorts for me, but I didn’t see anything resembling Crocs. Then all the way on the other side of the mall there was a store that sold shoes, umbrellas, and luggage, and according to the display outside the door, something called Mox. Things were looking up. We went into the store and I asked the woman if they carried any of these Croc-like things in a toddler size. Livia wore the smallest size they had, which came in blue or army camouflage, which was fine, what wasn’t fine was when I asked the price they told me 21 euros. Uh no. Not when I can get the actual thing for less than that in the States. Or if Lorenzo knows a good place where they sell them for 10. I left the store cursing under my breath about all the times I passed the racks of Crocs that they have at malls in Cincinnati without even looking at a pair. I know there are women who are ethically opposed to Crocs. They are ugly, they are expensive, they can be dangerous on escalators. While I like my kids to look nice, I also want them to be comfortable, and when possible, independent. Giulio can already put on his own shoes, but suddenly the thought of being able to say “Kids! Let’s put our shoes on and go!” And then 30 seconds later they would have their shoes on and we would be out the door is super appealing to me. Also kids look cute in anything, even ugly shoes. Now I’m trying to calculate the equation of: Is worth it to beg my mom to buy Livia a pair and have her mail them to me vs. the cost of trying to keep the peace with my children every time the Crocs/Mox/Lox shoes come out until August when I can buy them a pair in the States.
How does one quantify such an equation? How does one determine these values? And once again, how did I manage to completely miss the boat on this trend, leaving me high and Croc-less heading in summer?