Italian Capers

I quickly pull into the parking lot at the post office. It's not really a parking lot, but rather a small patch of asphalt on the corner. Cars are parked any which way, and no one has any hope of getting out of the lot until so and so pulls out first. It's like a puzzle. I dash for the door- at least what I think is the door. I am harried, as I only have a few minutes before they close for lunch. Glancing to my left, I see a handsome man sitting in a dark-colored SUV. He's so much more collected than I am- or ever will be. Obviously waiting for someone, he smiles in my direction. He has dark hair with silver highlights along his temples and blue eyes. He's the epitome of the "handsome Italian look." He's wearing a stylish black leather jacket, he has a million dollar smile and his mouth is framed by a thin, well-manicured moustache. I grin back at him and continue toward the door. The next time I fly past him, I am hustling to the ATM, digging a...

to pay your bill. One day last week, I casually picked up the phone and tried to make an outgoing phone call. I heard a message in Italian that something was wrong with the line and I could call the phone company to get more information. Of course, I ignored this message and figured it would go away eventually. Of course it did not. The next day, I heard the same message, so I reluctantly called the phone company. Apparently, we owed 91E for our former line and 120E for the new line. We never received a bill. We had always used the automatic deduction method to pay and we have never gotten a receipt from those transactions, so I figured all was well in the world of Telecom Italia. I informed them I would pay it right away. I jaunted off to the bank, and waited ever so patiently in the long line only to be informed that I couldn't pay the bill at the bank because I am not on the account- fair enough. Next, I hauled the kids to the post office, where many people pay all thei...

our little Z is three! Despite the miles between our nuclear family and our extended family-we were together in spirit to celebrate the little one's birthday. Here's what the basement looked like- it was festive! We are lucky to have additional living space downstairs in our new home. We take full advantage of it. There's a section dedicated to toys/playing, a living room with a fireplace, a bathroom, a spare room and a cantina for storage. Thank you to Mimi and Papa for the party decor- it was Diego all the way. (Z has a thing for him- we are in trouble : )Thank you also for all of the cool art supplies, clothes/socks, etc. My Man made pizza for everyone, which was followed by the traditional cake and ice cream. For the "family" celebration, I created a mountain of cupcakes with Diego scaling the side. It was interesting.(Read- giant gooey mess.) So, lesson learned, I stuck to the basics for the party. Here's the dress that made her spin all night- than...

It's one thing to notice cultural difference, but it's another to have them slap (or scratch) your kids in the face..... Here they are, full of hope and excitement, and a fair measure of fear, on the first day of school. We never intended our kids to go full time. We wanted them to be exposed to the language, to other kids and to a different culture. I drop them off at 9:00 and pick them up right after lunch at 1:00 pm. Here's what I think they do most of the day. Play in the dirt. It's not a covered sandbox- which really gives me the creeps from a public health perspective, but I was willing to overlook it as the girls love filling their pockets with dirt. Here's the issue. The teachers don't watch the kids while they are on the playground. I have a hard time with that as Z is only 3. That's very young to be unattended in any situation, let alone with a mixed-age group. I saw a little boy grab her arms and stop her from moving. Poor thing, she just...

to participate in the Democratic process. We'll do anything for chocolate cupcakes! Never mind that they both started singing a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday!