Mommy Bumped Into Something (I Guess You Could Say That)

So in this blog we are going to enter the realms of human reproduction. If this is not interesting to you - or if you are not interested in what I might have to say about human reproduction, perhaps you should just turn us off. For those of you who are a little more adventurous...

When I was pregnant with Maddie, Katie was 3, and old enough to start asking some questions about where babies come from. Most of you know the drill - we didn't lie to her, but gave her enough information to feel that the query had been answered. I told her that mommy had eggs in her body and when she and daddy decided to have a baby, one of those eggs grew. She wanted to know how the eggs got into my body, to which I explained that all women had eggs in their bodies - even her - and that they could grow into babies when the time was right. Well, this was good information in her mind. So good that she really seemed to take it all in and think about it on her own. One day I unbuckled her from her car seat and we were walking into the store when she stopped dead in her tracks, arms straight out at her sides. "Mommy, wait! I can feel my eggs moving!" Tough as it was not to laugh, I took her hand and we continued on our way.

This summer saw the topic reenter discussions at our house. My sister and her husband welcomed a new baby while we were visiting and I have had two cousins have children this year. The girls love babies and were talking about having babies and the proverbial eggs a couple of nights ago. Katie told Maddie that when all three kids were still eggs, Maddie cracked into her and she grew into a baby. She went on to explain that Jameson's egg cracked into Maddie when I got pregnant with her. Chris and I were enjoying this health lesson, so he asked "What about Jameson?" Katie thought about it. Her conclusion, I bumped into something, cracked Jameson's egg, and there he was.

I guess for all intents and purposes this is correct. If the "thing" I bumped into is 6 feet 6 inches, brown hair and eyes, and enjoys Chris Farley movies and a round of golf.

Enough said...

Maybe I'm Older Than I Think I Am

Today, in what I am guessing was an effort to express an interest in "The West," Katie told me that she wanted to learn about the olden times, are you ready.........like the 1950s. Back when people didn't have electricity or ovens or microwaves or food! When I told her that her grandparents could give her a lot of information about the 1950s because they were alive then she was aghast. "They didn't have food!?!" I think she was equally mortified to find out that I could remember when microwaves started showing up in homes. Ahhhhhhh youth! Do you think that she would ever believe that the first computers used to take up an entire room?
If any of you have any colorful anecdotes about those days with no food or electricity, please pass them on. :)

Home is Where the...Hole(s) in the Wall Is????

All right, we're back in Bella Roma. The kids and I had a nice visit to the States (specifically Olathe, KS), but it is good to be home. I appreciated the courteous drivers of Kansas. I loved the ease of shopping at any one of greater Kansas City's 1,478,632 strip malls - or Oak Park Mall for those of you familiar with the area. I enjoyed eating out at something other than an Italian restaurant. And I loved that the kids got to reconnect with, and in Jameson's case, meet, their family. The kids loved playing with Brent and Dawn's kids, Josie and Blake, and meeting Shelly's new baby, Colt, who was born while we were there. They LOVED the dog and cats at my parent's house. And, let's be honest, nothing beats all the ice cream that one can eat at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Maddie was already telling my mom she missed her before we even got on the plane to come back. It was a good trip. It was tiring, mostly for me. I don't recommend travelling across the Atlantic with 3 kids alone on a regular basis. The worst part was standing in the passport control line at Dulles Airport in D.C. for an hour at what was around 11 p.m. Italian time. But it was still a great vacation.

I have to say that I was a little disenchanted by one thing when we got home...the holes in the kitchen wall (see Chris' blog "Crack Spackle"). I had just gotten used to the lack of holes in the ceiling before we left for the States, only to come home to holes in the wall. I guess I should be thankful that the leak was not our fault. I would hate for the people below us to think it was us, which they already were doing. I am also disappointed that I missed the crack...well, maybe not.

Katie has found a new interest - golf. She took part in golf summer camp with the Johnson County Parks and Rec while we were there and liked it enough that she wants to continue here. It is a sport that we are really encouraging her in. I know she loves horses, but clubs are cheaper than feeding and taking care of a horse, and a little safer. She is anxious to start school, has lost her 8th tooth, and is riding her bike without training wheels now. She was very reluctant to do so until this week. Not afraid to get on a giant horse, but scared of a bike without training wheels. :)

Maddie is also looking forward to school. She will be going for 2 half days a week this fall. We will probably have her go more often in the spring, but I think this is good for now. She got some ridiculous pink boots while we were back in the States and it will probably take an act of Congress to keep her from wearing them to school - where they would not fit the dress code.

Jameson gets bigger and sweeter daily. He is almost 18 months old and still reluctant to talk. He will make animal sounds, he would say "Pampaw" for my dad, he says "thank you,"and he will surprise me now and again with words, but he is still slow to talk. I figure he doesn't see the need since the girls always talk for him and he has no problems getting what he wants or needs. He really is a lovely little boy.

I will be starting my language lessons again soon. I am looking forward to it, especially since I stumbled through my trip to the grocery store today. Amazing how quickly it will leave you. We are also anticipating visits from family and friends this fall.

As nice as the summer was, and as great a time as the kids had, we were all glad to be back here at our temporary home. We may not be Italians, and this place will always be somewhat foreign to us, but it is our home. Because it is where we are together. We were missing a big part of our family this summer, with Chris staying in Europe. And we all felt it. While our normal is now in a different language, it is still our normal. Family is the most important.

Buon ferragosto!

Crack Spackle

I think we may have discussed this in previous blogs, but some things are universal. Across the globe, there are different things that we all have in common. Mean people, waiting in line at the bank, and traffic. Today I have found another universal thing that shows just how similar humans are. . .

As some of you may know, Marsha and the kids are back in Kansas with her parents. While they were away, I went on a golfing trip to Ireland. I arrived a week ago Thursday, got off the plane about 1pm, picked up the rental car, checked into the hotel and went straight to the golf course in what would be the first 18 holes of 204 holes in 5 days of play. I was on the 6^th hole at Howth Golf Club just outside of Dublin, when I happened to check my work cell phone. I noticed that I had missed two calls, unknown number, and had a text message. The text read something like this: “Yo, Fitz, you have a leak in your apt.” That was it. Thinking that it was a joke, I didn’t respond and finished my 18 holes, shot 86 by the way.

I had some dinner and then decided to give my co-worker hell for playing a “prank” on me. . . “No, there actually is a leak in your apartment and they need the keys” he said. I made some calls and found out that the leak was actually in the apartment beneath ours. Long story short, the landlady sent out a plumber, saying it was our fault because we had a drain that was clogged and it was backing up into the apartment below. The maintenance guys from work came out and said, no it was the condo’s interior pipes that had a leak. So today, a week and a day after the initial leak was discovered, they came to find the leak and fix it.

Now initially the condo’s plumber alleged that because we caused a drain to clog and thus caused the leak. . . the housing unit said no, it was the condo’s main drain that was clogged, not our responsibility. Come to find out it was a corroded pipe that had been leaking for quite some time.

I know this has been a long way around the barn, but here is why we are all similar. As the plumbers were trying to find the leak I noticed something. . . did I notice the leaky pipe? Yes. Did I see the wetness inside the wall? Yes. Did I see the enormous butt crack of the plumber? Yeah, I saw it. And, although this sounds very awkward, it made me happy to see the “humanity” in the world. . . If by “humanity” I mean a disturbing plumber’s crack, that is.

It Feels a Little Dirty, and a Little Voyeuristic, but...

I finally buckled to the pressure. I had dug my heels in for quite some time. I had resisted the pressure to live what I felt was the existence of the everyday teenager of 2009. I guess I was wrong, but it still feels a little strange.

Yeah, I am talking about Facebook. I had turned down multiple offers in the past to join this online network. I really believed that it was the domain of the teenager and college student. Then I realized that sundry friends and family members were no longer in contact with me. I knew that they had not fallen off the proverbial "face of the earth," and I figured that it was fairly impossible that I had upset them enough that they no longer wanted to talk with me - seeing as I am now thousands of miles away. Then I came to the assumption that they had been wooed by the voodoo that is Facebook and that, if I wanted to be in regular contact with them, I would have to surrender my soul to this sinister web of indulgence and addiction. I am now on facebook. I can be found under "Marsha Peterson Fitzpatrick," because, as much as I would have liked to, I did not use a pseudonym when I signed up.

I must say that this site has been wonderful in that it has put me in contact with at least one very good friend from high school, and facilitated regular contact with friends from college and adulthood. Those same friends who would never return regular emails or - GASP - write an actual letter!!! As good as all that is, I now find myself writing short (by short, I mean one or two lines) about things like the fez that Chris bought while he was in Morocco. WHO CARES - really? I also find myself reading about people's everyday comings and goings - eating dinner, watching TV, doing laundry, etc. It is almost like on line reality TV. It feels a little dirty and a little voyeuristic, but it has reconnected me with important people from my past. Ahhhhhhh technology.

That being said, it was a big week in our house. Katie finished first grade this week. She had been fighting off some kind of illness, but antibiotics enabled her to be there on her last day, Thursday. She had a great day and came home sad. She is really going to miss her friends and is already anticipating second grade in September. While I was sad that she was crying, I was so happy that she has made such good friends here and loves her school that much. I just can't believe that she is almost 7 and a second grader, to boot.
Many of you know that Chris is not making the trip back to the U.S. with us this summer. He cannot get away from work long enough to justify the cost of the trip and the time it takes to traverse the Atlantic. He is, however, going to meet up with some friends in Ireland for several days and have a short golf vacation. I am thinking that he can't wait for the day when Jameson can join him. What do you think?

Adopt a Highway?

WARNING: Not for the those with weak constitutions
I think all Americans understand the concept of highway beautification. “Adopt a Highway” is a common sign along interstate and state roads. In Italy, they don’t have that program. In fact, they don’t have any signs other than town, distance and rest stop signs. As a family we decided to drive down to Naples to prepare for the final few weeks that Marsha and the kids are here before their trip back to the US. We ensured that all of the kids had either peed or had their diaper changed prior to departure. Unfortunately, empty bladders only lasted about 45 minutes. From the backseat, Maddie called out that she needed to pee. One difference in Italy is that motorists more freely express themselves. And when I mean express themselves, I mean urinate on the side of the road. Marsha and I’ve seen them. Always men, usually travelling alone, stand on the side of the road, letting it fly, throwing caution, and urine, to the wind.
Well, Maddie said she needed to go pee, so I decided, not having a rest stop in the foreseeable future, pull off to the side of the road and do as the Romans. I stopped the car at a small pull-off, off of the A-1 Autostrada. The Autostrada has many of these safety pull-offs for stranded motorists, this specific pull-off was an S.O.S. pull off, it had a phone for emergency assistance. Good thing for us it was there. I stepped out of the car and luckily, the passing cars were speeding by, insuring that the air was not stagnant. I unbuckled Maddie and, carefully holding her hand, walked her around the rear of the car. As I came around the corner of the car I didn’t really notice anything. Maddie actually pointed it out, “Daddy, look at all the dog poop!” Yeah, Italians don’t have dogs that big. In the S.O.S. pull-off, I smelled and saw piles and piles of human feces. Some with newspaper next to it, some with tissues, but all had the look of “I need to stop NOW!”. Marsha sensed something was amiss from the passenger seat and opened the door, only to be rewarded with the odor of a 25 year old outhouse. “Don’t let Maddie step in any poop,” Marsha warned. I informed her: “Hell with the crap, don’t step in the maggots!” Think back to the movie “Poltergeist”, when the paranormal investigator is looking in the refrigerator for something to eat and sees the T-bone steak, and it immediately turns into a pile of white maggots. Think that, just instead of steak, steak after about 18 hours of digestion and several festering days alongside the highway.
It was an experience I will never forget. . . those sights and smells will be with me forever! So the next time you see and “Adopt a Highway” sign on the interstate, think about Italy and the program that I think it should create: “Adopt a Portion of Your Country-man’s Colon”
Happy Travels!

Look Out Vidal Sassoon

I guess that Chris and I had kind of come to grips with the fact that Katie just might want to ride horses, well, forever. It seems, perhaps, that that assumption might have been incorrect.
I will admit that the email I received yesterday afternoon, while detailing the reasons my eldest daughter was sent to see Sister Paulita (never a good thing for an elementary school student at Marymount), also made me laugh. I was not happy that she had to be reprimanded and miss a recess, but I was glad that the reasons for such a reprimand were such that I was not upset with her or disappointed in her.
I guess that while sitting at the arts table yesterday at school, while her teacher was reading with some other students, Katie decided to cut a little of her hair. She cut about 1.5 inches off (which she also taped to a piece of blue construction paper with about 20 pieces of Scotch tape). This prompted a boy in her class to tell her that he would not be her friend unless she also cut his hair. So she did. My understanding is that she gave his bangs a trim. His mom said later that she did a pretty good job and Katie, herself, told me that he looked better - but what is that worth????? Needless to say, her teacher spotted the chopped hair and both kids were sent to Sister Paulita's. Katie was devastated, but she is over it now.
And I have a really nice, really well preserved piece of her 6 year old hair, as her teacher sent home the evidence.
Buona giornata!