Stay at Home Weekend

We went and bought a new vacuum cleaner today. I am more excited about it than I'd like to admit, though I only used it for a moment. When we came home I took the kids to a birthday party for another one of Giulio's classmates, and left Lorenzo to clean the house, and he is pleased with our new vacuum, especially with its flexible head that makes it easy to get under furniture. The arrival of the new one meant it was time to take Signora Pala's back. There is something almost private about sharing a vacuum cleaner, in my opinion, a bit like lending out your shoes, so I had held back from using hers a lot and was glad to be able to return it. When I took it downstairs to her she told me that she has had that Hoover vacuum since 1962 when she got married. Talk about not making things the way they used to! She admitted that while she doesn't really need it just for herself she had noticed that when the grandkids come to visit the crumbs tended to multiply, something I know a lot about. Cleaning Livia off after breakfast is a bit like searching her for ticks. I find Cheerios everywhere. Signora Pala wouldn't let me take the vacuum down to the storage room for her, or help her disassemble it, wrap the various pieces in plastic, and carefully put it away. She shows more care with the vacuum than I do with my car which might explain why it has lasted for as long as it has.
When I came back upstairs I found on our hall table a folded piece of paper that Giulio had brought home from school yesterday; I assumed it was another one of his scribble drawings. Opening it I read "Menu" written in large letters at the top, with the name of our town and the words Winter Menu written below, followed by a chart with week 1 to week 4 going across the top, and the five days of the week going down the lefthand side. By now these menues no longer suprise me, but when Giulio first started going to the town's daycare and they sent home the menu I called my dad to read out the various dishes offered. This one was no different. For example, Monday, Week 1 they will be eating pumpkin risotto, bresaola (a very lean kind of beef), steamed carrots, bread, and fruit. Or Tuesday Week 3 they will be having vegetable soup, roasted pork, green beans and potatoes, bread, and fruit. The menu had been stamped and signed by the Board of Health of the province. I found the menu funny for several reasons. First of all if this was the winter menu that meant there was a fall and spring one as well. And second it was so far from the sloppy joe, tater-tots, jell-o, and milk menu of my youth that my homeroom teacher used to read out everyday. In America you run for your life from cafeteria food, in Italy you wonder if they offer a take-out option for parents. Now that's an idea! Come pick up your kid and dinner too-- that way mom doesn't have to rush around getting dinner but could instead dedicate herself to quality time with the kids. Except, knowing the other mothers the way I do, I'm sure they think that the cafeteria food isn't great shakes and that they could certainly do better. But at least these school lunches take a lot of pressure off of me. My spies tell me that Giulio eats a lot at school, always asks for seconds on the pasta. The news was relayed to me as proudly as if Giulio was showing strongs signs of being gifted compared to the other children. "Your kid can read at age 4? Well MINE always asks for seconds at lunch!" Thanks to these lunches I have no problem offering Giulio scrambled eggs for dinner, or a turkey dog, at least this way he will know that not all meals have four courses.
Lorenzo has been home all week on sick leave. He's sitting on the couch coughing as I write. It's been really nice having him at home, though we haven't been able to go anywhere even with him home. When you take sick leave as a state employee you have to be home from 10-12 in the morning and from 5-7 in the evening, the time when they supposedly send someone to check to make sure that you are actually sick, though because there are so many state employees and so few of these "checkers" no one has ever come by to see if Lorenzo is actually at home trying to get well instead of say, off skiing somewhere in the Alps. We have a pretty quiet evening planned, we are going to watch a movie that Lorenzo will fall asleep 45 minutes into and somewhere around midnight we will go to bed. Luckily I like to stay in and hang out on the couch. Except right now I have a student whose 22 and every weekend he goes out clubbing. Not that I want to go out clubbing, but somehow I feel like his middle-aged mother teaching this young whippersnapper instead of someone who is a mere (!) 7 years his senior. I have a husband and kids and I sleep no more than 7 hours a night. He has no responsibilities, other than to learn English, and can stay in bed until noon on the weekends and therefore goes out every weekend, which he should do, and if I think hard enough I can sort of remember going out on weekends to clubs and stuff, especially in Rome, when I was exactly his age. And not that I even want to go out to clubs again, the music alone makes me want to tear my hair out. But yesterday I came home, it was cold and raining, the computer was on the fritz and had been all day, making Lorenzo very grumpy as he tried to deal with it, and Giulio was hyper and Livia is teething and therefore unhappy unless I was standing there holding her, and suddenly I thought, God, what I want to do is put on my best "going out" clothes, make myself beautiful, and go out and be 22 again, just for one evening. To not feel like 29 going on 40, but just me. Instead, when Lorenzo had finished fixing the computer I put on my iPod, my running shoes, my reflective vest and went out into the damp evening and ran for four miles. When I came back I felt a young, happy 29, glad to be putting my kids to bed and drinking a glass of wine with my husband. At home on my couch.