About an hour's drive from our place, there's a butterfly hatching house. The brochure advised wearing bright colors to attract the butterflies. I should have put the girls in black. H wanted one of the butterflies to land on her, so as soon as we walked in, one landed on Z's head, of course. Z was far from amused and began swatting, ducking and the ever-popular evasive tactic- crying. Luckily for the beautiful winged insect, her hand-eye coordination isn't very good. She wanted to leave immediately, so I had to coax her and carry her while I sped through the exhibit. I missed all of the educational signage, but I did get her to stop and look at the Chameleon, and the bat hanging from the ceiling.
There were hundreds of butterflies- I was a little creeped out too, I have to admit. I don't have any pictures of the butterflies themselves- as there were signs posted everywhere warning not to photograph them. The Italians were taking pics centimeters from the bugs....but, I didn't feel comfortable doing so.
Unfortunately, this is where My Man spent some of his time. Yep, even with the admission charged, they didn't spring for a decent, indoor bathroom. My Man seems to think that his system can handle a pizza with piles and piles of prosciutto and heavy cream.
The children really wanted to play in this dilapidated park out front. To the unknowing camera, it looks like H is having fun with this little boy. Mama Mia, was he a brat. He was cute, and he was a blatantly obvious bratty little boy. His parents were close at hand, smiling proudly at his selfish antics, to include pushing his way up the stairs to the slide, climbing up the slide when the kids wanted to go down, taunting and teasing verbally- "I win, I am first," etc. I could go on and on about Italian children and their behavior, but I won't, for now. His father hails from Sicily- I have come to realize that no matter how much my Italian improves, I will never be able to understand Sicilians!
About an hour's drive from our place, there's a butterfly hatching house. The brochure advised wearing bright colors to attract the butterflies. I should have put the girls in black. H wanted one of the butterflies to land on her, so as soon as we walked in, one landed on Z's head, of course. Z was far from amused and began swatting, ducking and the ever-popular evasive tactic- crying. Luckily for the beautiful winged insect, her hand-eye coordination isn't very good. She wanted to leave immediately, so I had to coax her and carry her while I sped through the exhibit. I missed all of the educational signage, but I did get her to stop and look at the Chameleon, and the bat hanging from the ceiling. 
There were hundreds of butterflies- I was a little creeped out too, I have to admit. I don't have any pictures of the butterflies themselves- as there were signs posted everywhere warning not to photograph them. The Italians were taking pics centimeters from the bugs....but, I didn't feel comfortable doing so. 
Unfortunately, this is where My Man spent some of his time. Yep, even with the admission charged, they didn't spring for a decent, indoor bathroom. My Man seems to think that his system can handle a pizza with piles and piles of prosciutto and heavy cream. 
The children really wanted to play in this dilapidated park out front. To the unknowing camera, it looks like H is having fun with this little boy. Mama Mia, was he a brat. He was cute, and he was a blatantly obvious bratty little boy. His parents were close at hand, smiling proudly at his selfish antics, to include pushing his way up the stairs to the slide, climbing up the slide when the kids wanted to go down, taunting and teasing verbally- "I win, I am first," etc. I could go on and on about Italian children and their behavior, but I won't, for now. His father hails from Sicily- I have come to realize that no matter how much my Italian improves, I will never be able to understand Sicilians!
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