The Year of the ..........

Do you know how the Chinese have a different animal for each year; like, you may have been born in the Year of the Chicken or the Year of the Rat? While I personally do not know in what year I was born, or even what this year technically is, I am declaring this the Year of the Mom.
For the last seven years I have been a mom and a wife. This year I am going to be Marsha. It was in February of 2002 that I started puking in my pregnancy with Katie (those of you who know, know I have an insatiable urge to purge through the better part of 2 trimesters in each pregnancy), and now Jameson is 13 months old so I feel like I can safely, sanely, and selfishly redirect a little of my love back to myself.
Don't get me wrong, I LOVE LOVE LOVE the children more than I could ever love myself, but feel that to give them my best I need to find myself again in the pile of laundry, lunches, and diapers that is now my existence. I need to commit to finding a voice for the Marsha I am now. Not the teacher, or the soccer player, or just the wife - but the Marsha that is all those things, as well as a mom. I think I may need to redefine who I am and the expectations I have for myself because, let's be honest, I do not have the luxury of real free time anymore, but I do not have to forget to do for myself. Do I sound like a promo for an Oprah show?
Perhaps I will take a trip...by myself or with a friend. Perhaps I will pick up a new hobby. Perhaps I will just take the time to be alone for an hour several times a week to read, walk or visit a new museum. All I know is that I am ready to find the person that I am now - without the trappings of trying to please someone else, just myself.
I'll let you know how the journey goes.

I Always Knew (Feared) They Were There...

Those of you who have known me, in some cases all of my life, know that I had very blonde hair as a child. This hair has gotten progressively darker as I've aged, but was still pretty blonde when I was in college - probably mainly due to the amount of time I spent outside. That being said, I found the need to "assist" my hair and its pursuit of golden hues around age 21. So began the endless process of highlighting.
I had been quite good maintaining the color (well, there were roots at times) until about 2 years ago when I decided that I wanted to take a break and see what my actual hair color is at this point in my life. As I suspected it is dull ashy brown. I have no problem with having brown hair, but mine is lifeless on its own. I would love to hair the color of either of my siblings; Brent's is very dark, almost black, and Shelly's has always had these nice carmel colored streaks. Mine is just blah.
So I decided to get highlights again after Jameson was born. I have to say that I have not been very good at maintaining it and was inspecting it in the glare of natural light yesterday morning when it noticed it...a long grey hair. Now, Chris has had some grey hairs for several years now and I knew that I must have some, too, but, WOW, it was just shining and producing a glare and kind of waving at me. It kind of takes your breath away, and not in a good, "I'm so excited" way. Such is life, I guess.
Well, I am happy to say that I am not vain, I am not bothered by this hair, and I know I will grow old gracefully. That being said, can anyone recommed a good home coloring brand? :)
Cheers!

Happy St. Pat's!

Oh how far we’ve come. . .
I wore green yesterday. In fact, I wear green everyday. My ID badge is a green Jameson Whiskey lanyard. So as folks harassed me about only wearing the everyday lanyard and a tie with a small amount of army green in it, I was not offended.

I used to celebrate in the “usual” manner, drinks early and drinks late, maybe make a lamb stew and some soda bread, but this year as we commemorated our second “Fitzpatrick’s Day” in Italy, Marsha and I took a different approach.

I got home, Marsha gave the boy a bath and then we all sat down to watch Dancing with the Stars. As we sat there, I was holding Jameson, Katie was at my feet, Marsha was sitting on the love seat and Maddie was in the corner “straining” on her training potty. I looked over a Marsha and smiled. “Oh how far we’ve come from 10 years ago” I noted. Marsha turned to me and said “Well, at least you are still holding a Jameson.”
And that my friends, is what St. Patrick’s Day has become for us. (No, not listening to the sounds of a 3 year old congratulating herself for extricating number 2 in the corner) Enjoying the family. . .

I still had a few Guinness though. How could I not?

I Like to Think of it as a "Love Tap"

So I know that I have mentioned the drivers in Rome; and I know that Chris has a blog entry that he is waiting to post until he has a good picture to accompany it, but this entry from me could not wait.
For some reason the drivers here in the hub of civilization are among the worst in the world. The Italians, and Romans in particular, have given the world so much. Like who isn't amazed by the Pantheon and the Forum and those amazing aqueducts? But I say hold your applause. While the Romans certainly mastered the art of the dome, produced amazing artists and dominated the world (at least at one point), they have a terrible time managing their Vespas, Fiats and Opels in the year 2009. I should insert a disclaimer at this point and state that not all Romans are bad drivers...but Katie did say on Jameson's birthday that he would probably be a bad driver when he grew up because he is, technically, a Roman. Even a 6 year old knows it!
The Corso di Francia is a very busy street that we must travel in order to get in to the city center. It is a 3 lane road that is regularly made 5 lane by the intrepid Roman drivers. It is usually choked with cars, and any space between the cars is filled with motorini. One day this past week, as I was driving in to the center I noticed a older gentleman in an older Mercedes-Benz making his way slowly down the hill towards the Corso di Francia. Unremarkable, especially since he was a good 18 inches or more over the line - another thing that all Roman drivers seem to see as "proper operating procedure." I made a mental note that he was one of which I should be wary, the kind of driver that could cause problems for me. I am not kidding when I say that 2 minutes later this gentleman ran into the back of my car as I was stopped at a light. He did not hit me hard. He did not hurt anyone or cause any damage. He also did not act like it was strange that he was so close to me that I could have strapped him into Katie's booster seat. I tried to be mad, but I couldn't muster the ire over my incredulity. How amazing that he apparently did not even know his car hit mine. Perhaps it was the fine German engineering in his Benz that made his senses impervious to our "contact." Perhaps he was just playing dumb because making a face or gesture to me would have been an admittance of his poor driving, or stopping, rather, ability. Or perhaps he was just practicing good diplomacy and his bump into my car was more a love tap...a way to, silently, tell me how much he likes Americans. :)

Who Knew That They Were So Important?

There are a lot of things that you know you will miss when you move abroad. I knew that I would miss my friends and family, our home, our pets, certain restaurants and shops, etc. I did not, however, realize that I would miss something, or someone, rather, that I had, regrettably and apologetically, never properly appreciated before. I miss the men and women who bag groceries. I had no idea how wonderful a service this was until I found myself checking out in a foreign language, in a foreign country, while trying to keep an eye on 3 young children and bag 150 euro in groceries. It is a very pressure packed situation. And one that I must say at which I am not very good. Nothing like waiting for the slow-poke in front of you to get his pasta, wine and vegetables in his bags so that you can start bagging you own...all the while holding off the pushy lady behind you with her cat food, proscuitto, and, yes, wine. :)

Oh, and I actually bought some of the horse baby food today. Just to prove that it does exist.

All right, on a different note, E.T. is in my bedroom. As we wait for the "gentlemen" renovating the apartment above us to finish the demolition so that they can come and repair the patches in our ceiling we have come to recognize and, in this case, name the holes that currently exist. This one is E.T. Looks like his head and torso, no?

The funny thing about this is that Maddie is terrified of E.T. She saw part of the movie once, which Katie loves. She was pretty upset with the image of E.T. scuttling around the house at the beginning of the film. Then Katie, in typical older sister fashion, told Maddie one night as they were going to sleep that E.T. was in their bedroom. Well, it has been a few months since that happened and I still have to reassure her that E.T. is pretend, is not in her room, and is not coming out of the television - like when we were walking in front of the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence and she turned to me and said, "E.T. is pretend, right Momma?" Yep, that's right.

Chris' Post

Married life is funny. Unlike most things today, you can’t get the answers from the Internet or “Internets” if you prefer. There are “Marriage 101” sites that go into the “Right and Wrong Reasons to Get Married”, “Expectations in Marriage” and my favorite section “Myths of Marriage”. I can’t say that I believed any of the listed “myths” prior to our marriage, “marriage will end your loneliness, conflict means lack of love, you won’t have major problems if you truly love one another” etc. One of my friends took the dip into married life and I explained that things are different when you get married. He didn’t believe me, but now, as we plan a golf outing to Ireland, he is realizing that it is different. You don’t just say “I’m going on a golf trip.” You have to be political about it, diplomatic even. And that is what marriage is; Diplomacy at its finest. You have to juggle what is important to you, as an individual; a couple and, in our case, a family. The side show act of tossing objects into the air and keeping them aloft all while playing to the crowd is very similar to marriage. I think my wife and I are on the same page when I say that we have become Diplomat Jugglers. We’re just glad our side show includes a “strong-man”, a “daredevil” and a “horse-girl”. . .

Bon Voyage!

Almost every single day of the year I do not envy my husband and his job. I do not wish it was me getting up and putting business attire on every morning, heading off to a job where I have to be be nice to and professional with others, especially those in foreign countries. Let's be honest, I enjoy that I can be at the house in pajama pants all day if I want, donning jeans only to meet Katie's bus in the afternoon. Let's be even more honest and admit that I may not be the best at being nice to, let alone professional with, foreign counterparts. :)

However, recent events have me feeling a little different. Chris' travels, especially since we moved to Rome, have taken him to some pretty interesting places. He has also been to some places that are not high on my list of travel destinations. For instance, I have nothing against Albania, but have no desire to visit. I also have no burning urge to vacay in El Salvador. I do however want to go back to Paris, which is where he is going this next week. I will miss the opportunity to break out my rusty high school French (Ou est la tour Eiffel? Comment ca-va? Voulez vous couchez avec moi c'est soir? - well, maybe not the last one...). I will miss the opportunity to marvel at the interior of the Saint Chapelle. I will miss the opportunity to gaze at "Tristesse du Roi" by Matisse at the Pompidou. Most of all it means that I will be at home with the kids (not a bad thing), with their runny noses, their laundry, and my bothersome sinus infection (bad things).

Perhaps I should find my own reason to take a business trip to Paris.

The Big Party!

Well, we celebrated Jameson's first birthday on Saturday. He was a big fan of the spaghetti and especially the cake. There was much assistance from his sisters when it came to opening his presents, but he did his share of oohing and squealing. Such fun. And impossible to believe he is already one.