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.

The Men In My Life

It seems impossible that it has been a year since our little boy joined the family, but it has. One year ago, around 1 p.m., Jameson McGregor was born. You're never prepared for the love that a new baby brings; I have even found it tough to imagine, before the baby was born, that I could love someone new as much as I love the children I already have, but there has always been room, and no doubt for the all consuming ardor that washes over me when I see that new face for the first time. So has been the case with Jameson. He is so happy, so quick to give a full face grin, so sweet to smell, so warm to hold, so soft to touch. He really has made the family complete. My little man.

That being said, I am no one-woman baby making machine (although there have been times I've been convinced I could have done it all on my own!). The picture of Chris with each of our newborn children is equally as moving as the ones of the babies on their own. I see a reflection of my love for the children in his face. I also see a bit of his love for me, which is priceless. I never doubt that Chris loves me, but it seems somehow different when viewed as his love for our children. These little people are capsules of the commitment that we have made to one another and a testament to the joy (no snickering) that we find in one another. To see him dressed for work still makes me a little weak, to feel the comfort of his arms still makes me feel safe, and his bad jokes and pokes of fun still make me laugh. And I have no doubt this will always be the case. I only hope that my son grows to love his family as my husband loves us. I only wish that Chris' dad could see the family man his son has become.

So I write this for the men in my life...