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!

The Soundtrack of My Life

Sometimes I feel that the best part of a movie is the soundtrack. It is that little slice of memory that is triggered by a song that is sometimes the most powerful. Who can't whistle along with the tune from "The Bridge on the River Kwai," feel the anticipation and excitement of the Harry Potter music, or sense the impending dread of the two notes that signal "Jaws?" I often think that I only like a movie because of how the music makes me feel.
Which makes one ponder what the soundtrack to their own life might be. Would it be pensive and inspirational, like "Chariots of Fire?" Would it be fast and heavy handed like something from an action film? Would it be similar to the swells of music that accompany a biopic about an historical figure.
As much as I would like for my soundtrack to include great artists, I think that it would run more along the lines of popular kids' artists. I mean, all I hear in the car anymore is High School Musical, Beethoven's Wig, collections of kids' songs, or the sountrack from Spirit (horse movie - imagine that!) Ahhhhh, such is parenthood.
Bingo was his name oh!

"Mama Mia"

Maddie's friend Allie came over today to play. I always welcome the opportunity for Maddie to be with other kids her age because it helps her to learn how to share and play appropriately - something that she will need to learn how to do better before she starts school next year. I'm not saying she's bossy, she just likes things her way...well, I guess she may be a little bossy.

Anyhow, Maddie, Allie, Jameson and I were all playing in Maddie's room. Allie was playing the part of the chef and Maddie was the diner in her restaurant. As they were acting this out, I realized that they were speaking a mixture of bad Italian, English, and some made up language. It was a little bit of "Mama Mia, ciao grazie prego cooke (not a real Italian word) some pizza." I think that would translate to roughly, "Mama mia, hi thank you you're welcome cook some pizza." It was hilarious. To top it off, the two of them were wearing dress up shoes and clomping around the room. It seems that this pair of three year olds is picking up pieces of the language - and sometimes using it appropriately.

A Boy and his Ball

Well, I think there is something to be said for the nature side of "Nature vs. Nurture." Our home is full of toys traditionally considered for girls. We have princesses, dresses, sparkly shoes, a kitchen, a toy stroller, TONS of horses, etc. It is predominantly pink, glitter and fabulous - as Maddie would say. There are some blocks, a Thomas set, and a few balls. And what does Jameson always want to play with?...a ball. Once he finds one he crawls or walks around the room, throwing the ball several feet in front of him and retrieving it. He could do this for hours. But it is never a princess or a sparkly shoe he tosses...it is always a ball. And in this case, he didn't even let go when he napped.

More Mother's Day

Nothing quite compares to the gifts that children give. The artwork is precious, the kisses are wet, the laughs are genuine, and the jewelry is always something that they would like to wear. :) But it is always given with love.

Katie's school had a Mother's Day celebration this last week. The first grade sang songs and wrote poems for their moms, using the letters of each mother's name as the first letter in each line of poetry. Katie's to me is beautiful...

Mommy I love you!
A big kiss and hug
Roses or beautiful like you
Sweet kiss I give you
Horse are sweet like you
A big kiss is a wish

I know that there is love in this poem because she compares me to horses and Katie's love doesn't run much deeper. It is priceless.

Maddie behaved in true Maddie fashion - listening most of the time (with her thumb in her mouth) and claiming starvation the rest of the time. She did take a minute to pose for the camera, though.

It was a great afternoon.