Tricks and Treats

I have things to say about international plane travel with small kids and babies. I have things to share about having an 8 month old in Italy. There are neat festivals in the towns around us, activities at school, and new friends from France and Greece, but I just can't seem to get caught up! From a road trip beginning in the heel of the boot stretching to the northern reaches of this country, and back again, and then sick kids at home, and then top it off with a teething baby, I haven't had a moment to even breathe. My only solution is to do this in small doses... so I will back up... only a smidgen... to Halloween.
Italy doesn't do Halloween like America, but they make an effort. Why ever so, I am not sure. Probably because of the fun portrayed in American films, and I can't complain. It is easy to feel homesick this time of year, and being able to share my childhood memories and traditions with my kids helps a little. In my seven years here I have seen a slow progression in the amount of holiday paraphernalia that stores carry. Mainly witch costumes and some gory masks. Then some jack-o-lantern banners and some black and orange balloons entered the array of holiday decor. And, for their own touch the Italians added sparklers and those "pop" things that you throw at the ground on the 4th of July. Usually the week before Halloween I can find a big American pumpkin running about 11 euros. The candy is their usual mix of fancier chocolates or gummy fruit chews, but no over-sized, mega bags to accommodate the masses that go door-to-door... mainly because I am not sure very many actually go door-to-door, and if they do, they are older elementary schoolers and middle schoolers. There are no "Elmos" or "Buzz Lightyears" totting house-to-house, or I guess that would be, apartment-to-apartment.

However, my kids' preschool celebrated the holiday with a Halloween party at school. Funny, there is no controversy in honoring America's tradition in their Italian public school. If they only knew the line that this festival sometimes draws in the USA! Here, it remains innocent.
Anyhoot, my day had begun, as usual, with buckling the three, a strawberry fairy, a pumpkin fairy, and Buzz Lightyear, in their carseats. Upon arriving at school, I could see that my 2 were the only ones dressed up besides a few kids with witches hats and the teachers in full witch garb... even though the teachers had told them they could wear costumes. I hate having them stand out as "different", but my daughter could have cared less-- she was in a tutu and tiara, and costume would be her daily preference for attire any day. My son, however, was stricken shy, but happy to be out of his grembule, which is a smock that Italian kids wear to school through middle school. It is the style of a doctor's coat (but more feminine for the girls) and the color depends on the school or grade. Usually white, royal blue, black or light pink or blue, or light pink or blue gingham. I digress.

Maestra Rosanna show off the Little Pumpkin Fairy.

The kids sang really cute songs, in Italian of course, about bats and owls and pumpkins. The school even had a glowing jack-o-lantern that was of a greenish pumpkin variety, more commonly found here. Then, as the Italians interpret the tradition of "Trick or Treating", the teachers, dressed as witches, hid inside the school's playhouse and let the kids knock on the door for either a treat, candy (that I supplied from Walmart), or a trick, a spritz of water! I also made Kleenex sucker ghosts with Sharpie drawn eyes and mouth, like my mom did when we were kids, as a little treat for my kids to pass out. I guess our family's tradition will be more along the lines of passing out the candy, instead of receiving it.
Of course when the kids got home I had Halloween treats of pastries and cookies waiting for them that one of the local bakeries had made, but I also had their bags packed as we were rushing out of town for a 7 hour car trip up the Adriatic coast to my in-laws house, and then the following day, another 3 hours north to check on the house we own in the Veneto. It would be a long, hurried weekend (Halloween falling always the same time as All Soul's Day; the Monday after Halloween was a national holiday with everyone out of school and work) and my kids repaid my festive mood my making their own Halloween coriandoli, or confetti, and decorating the living room as I put the finishing touches on their suitcases in my room.


Was I tricked or treated?

They were grounded from scissors for a week, and I am still finding their merrymaking in nooks and crannies of the house, or I'm pulling bits of the paper out of the baby's mouth. 



The real treat of the Halloween weekend, however, was taking the kids to see their cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents in Rimini. After cleaning up the living room, we got on the road late and arrived at the Nonni's, or grandparent's, house at 2am. This was the first time for many to meet the baby so we were up way into the wee hours of the morning eating strudle and talking. It didn't make it easy to get up in the morning and drive on to our old stomping ground, but nothing could have taken the joy out of being back in the north of Italy in the golden fall weather.



An American friend with an Italian husband and her 3 Italo-American kids had us all over for lunch which included all the courses-- appetizers, the  primo of gnocchi with gorgonzola and walnuts, and the secondo of cavallo steaks... and for we two American ladies to eat the latter, you know we've lived in Italy long enough to not care! Next were sides of vegetables and a salad, which follows the meal in Italy. Dessert and coffee last. But, the biggest treat was her huge bowl of American Halloween candy that her kids had gotten the night before as a nearby American Army post opened its gates for local kids to trick-or-treat.  I was pleasently pleased to find Reeces and Skittles and candy corns and all sorts of America-only goodies!



Like Easter eggs and the Easter bunny, Santa at the mall, Thanksgiving, football season, 4th of July, and all those other marks on the calander that I have had to give up, Halloween as I knew it is just a distant memory as long as I am here in Italy. It probably isn't a big deal, and my kids wouldn't be any worse for the wear if they never had all the glitz of an American holiday, but it is fun. And who am I to deny them that... but I will supervise the use of scissors from now on, afterall, paper snowflake season is right around the corner.



Trick-or-Treat? Are you awake?



Oh, that little goblin!



A girl went back to Napoli

Rosemary Clooney sang in Mambo Italiano, "A girl went back to Napoli, because she missed the scenery..." It's not exactly why I went back, and if you ask my mother-in-law, the scenery isn't what it used to be. Today Naples, Italy looks as if it is held together by wire and crumbling plaster. Wire clotheslines are strung from balconies as far as the eye can see. Television antennas poke into the skyline from every which way.

Five hours up the road, and our first long car trip crowded with 3 car seats and tre bambini, we made the journey to the American Consulate in Naples for one Report of Consular Birth Abroad, one new passport, and three renewals of passports. Worse than a thousand are-we-there-yets from the backseat, was the speculating on how far we were from "the volcano" and if it would be safe to stay nearby Mount Vesuvius. With that came a thousand questions on what "dormant" really means, as I was happy to lecture on the status of that particular volcano... until I got home and googled it to find, I quote, "Mt. Vesuvius is still active today. It is the only active volcano on the European mainland. Its last eruption happened in 1944. The danger is that over 2 million people live near Vesuvius and may be in danger. I think that the reason that they still live there is fertile soil."

Lemons from Zia's garden

Whoops. Guess I was wrong. Maybe I wouldn't have slept so well knowing that bit of info, but I guess that fertile soil is what makes the fruits and veggies so tasty.

My husband has family in the big city so we were able to plan to stay relatively comfortably for a few nights. Ha, comfortable. We would be staying in an older building. The kind that as soon as you hit the door you are invaded with the oppressive smell of mildew, at least on the ground floor. It is an apartment building that was built by my husbands grandfather, who was a builder like my own father. The building has lots of layers. For instance, a basement that I have never dared venture into, a rooftop terrace spackled with old Christmas decorations, a back garden that you must enter from a kitchen window and then scale down a rickety wooden staircase to the patio.

A few years ago, I would have shuttered at the idea of having to put the family to sleep in the same room... a hot, un-air conditioned room, furnished in the 1960's, worrying over if silly kids would ever settle and sleep. I've learned to adapt and, this trip, I found comfort in hearing all of life's sounds out our open window as we slept together, like emigrants crowded into a ship's cabin. I could hear children playing into the night and families watching the soccer game. In Naples, it seems as though everyone, including pet birds, cats, and dogs, lives outside on their balconies in the summer. I have also noticed that they can grow almost anything in pots and containers to make their own balcony gardens. Plus, I guess it is easy to get kids to fall asleep, after all, if you have an Italian aunt who keeps the kids up until midnight, feeding them lemon sorbet.

The morning we went to the American Consulate, I expected an hour appointment and had been advised online to not bring in too many things, as there would be a security check before we entered. The hour appointment took four hours of waiting and I found myself with nothing to entertain the kiddos. Not a problem. My kids have learned how to make friends fast from their early exposure to Italian preschool and they soon found a boy only a year or two older then themselves to play with. I had also expected to find a waiting room full of American families, but that was not the case. I am guessing that foreigners must apply for a visa before they take an American vacation, so, the boy my kids found to play with was probably from a South American country, I am guessing. The boy must have attended Italian schools because he knew the same sort of kid-games that my kids know, like a game called Uno, Due, Tre Stella! which is like Red-Light, Green-Light. I was happy the kids were playing, although some of the games were getting kinda loud. I ushered the kids away from the waiting people to a corner along the far wall of the stark, office-like room. On the wall I had noticed three nicely framed photos of the President, Vice-President, and Secretary of State. Hmm, I noticed the similarity in my kids' new playmate and the President. Same coloring. Same hair. I could tell he was a smart kid because he kept quizzing my 5 year old on various things. I wasn't surprised, then, when he looked up and asked my daughter if she knew who the guy in the first picture was. I, too, had thought about giving her a social studies lesson and had tried to point out the same thing. She must not have paid attention because her answer was, "your dad." Well, guess if we had been there for a citizenship test, we would have failed. Good thing that in proving I had lived in the US for at least five consecutive years, and I am married to my husband, they just give my kids their citizenship and passports. Well, with that and for about $400 for all we were getting done this particular day.

I'm glad that we got to spend time with the family in Naples. Over the years, most have moved away, as Naples isn't what it used to be. Maybe that is why my great-great grandparents left Naples to immigrate to America. Maybe they foresaw the city changing into a beast of traffic and dirty streets, and guessed there was more land in rural America to grow fresh fruits and veggies, volcanic soil or not. Who knew, I would return someday, and be claiming my kids American in a city that is a complete contrast to what my American life was in the suburbs in Oklahoma. Convenient, predictable, organized, quiet. However, what the city lacks in asthetic appeal, it makes up in character and big-hearted people, I guess that makes it a little like Oklahoma, after all.

The Long Goodbye

Italians can't just say goodbye and go. When you are saying farewell after a meal together, you must first decide if you will partake in an after dinner coffee. The tiny espressos usually take longer to get to the table than the meal did, as the waiters get busy with the diners that arrive at the Italian dinner hour, usually as we are finishing and ready for coffee. We, for the most part, arrive just as the restaurants are opening around 7, or more likely 8 in our neck of the woods. So, over coffee, you prepare to say your parting words. Without a doubt you are at the end of your meal. You stand to say goodbye, but chat a little more. Walk to the door, say your adieus, but prattle on. Again at the car, a ciao, but you collect your final words. Finally, a kiss on both cheeks. I think almost two hours can pass, just saying goodbye the Italian way.  I guess that's why saying our final goodbyes to our neighbors has stretched into a few weeks of nights out, and days at the beach together. We have been so busy I can find my way to blurt on Facebook a few moments, but not to blabber on my blog. One activity has stretched out to meet the next. We grown-ups are as bad as our kids, asking for one more minute. No one ever wants the fun to end.

If you are friend or family, you know that we are a military family. I am quite used to the possibility of the call to move always being around the next cobble stoned corner. I keep an uncluttered life, ready at a moments notice. We, ourselves have moved 4 times in the past 7 years, the last time almost 2 years ago. In the past 2 years here, our kids have grown from tattling toddlers to socially mature preschoolers. Their inner circle of friends quite a thing to behold. Their Italian language skills have blossomed, I realize, as I remember following them around in the beginning as their personal translator. I was worried as they were approaching an age where kids begin to play together and not just next to one another, that they would be left out to play only with each other, speaking English.

Time has told a different story. We live in military housing now, on top of, and all around our friends, in rows of apartments. We can see them as they come and go. We wave from our balcony as we hang out our wash; airing the dirty laundry not a worry amongst friends. They are my substitute family; home away from home. They have wiped my kids' noses, dried their tears, and received fistfuls of weedy flowers from them as well. They celebrated the announcement of last years pregnancy and saw me through to the delivery. They have  helped out by driving my other kiddos to school, and loving on the new baby, doting on her, passing her around, rocking her to sleep. From birthday parties to holidays, life deep in the boot heel of Italy is a little less like Lost and a little more like a combo of Modern Family and My Big, Fat Greek Wedding, with the good friends that we have.

Leaving is one thing if you have an adventure waiting ahead of you. But, being left behind is lonely. Over the course of this summer, 4 families will leave us to embark on their own new ventures. Tomorrow we will say, "Antio", goodbye in Greek, to our inspirational Greek friends. This is a family with 3 kids, large by Italian standards who usually stop after 1 or 2 kids, that arrived not knowing the language. They bravely enrolled their 2nd grader and preschooler into school within their first weeks being here in Italy. They arrived with a newborn and had to find a pediatrician and schedule vaccines and check-ups, with the help of a Greek-Italian dictionary. I remember how difficult it was in the beginning watching the kids stare blankly at each other and resort to making animal sounds as they played with plastic beach animals. Evi, the mom of the family, and I have a special bond as being the only moms in all of Italy and Greece that don't believe our kids, 6 amongst us, will catch a cold by actually getting cold.

They came, they saw, they conquered, and they did it all with the most brilliantly positive attitude. Even as their tour here in Italy has been cut short by a misadventure, they have remained optimisticly calm. In knowing these friends, we have been given the opportunity to be good neighbors and help them with little challenges along the way. Knowing people like that, even for a little while, is worth the conversation being cut short. Knowing people like that turns the nonsensical chatter of life into an epic novel.

All of our stories will carry on, but instead of chatting over ice cream cones or prattling over a pizza, we will email and Facebook.We have swapped Greek, American, and Italian recipes, over conversations about the etymology of Greek, American, and Italian words.  There are no words in any of the languages for how much they will be missed, but I think my kids' dollhouse that they have emptied of its tiny furniture, with the toy moving-container semi-truck parked in front tells me what they see. In fact, it speaks volumes. They see an empty apartment, and a sea of silence between them and their friends. I hope someday we will meet again, perhaps next time in Greece where we can say our long Italian goodbyes over Greek coffee and Baklava.

And Summer Begins

I was enjoying my weekly attempt to post something on this blog... my reliable hour or two in the evening on the computer because I knew the baby and two big kids would be asleep. But, summer has arrived and there is no preschool to rush out the door to in the morning and, therefore, bedtime is non-existent... not because the kids are refusing, but because life is more enjoyable here when the 90's sink into the mid-70s and the townspeople begin to emerge from their hot little houses. Life begins fresh again at dinner time with my after-dinner espresso, as it did at the breakfast hour with my morning cafe latte. Without air-conditioning, it is too hot to be in a hurry for anything so we don't rush eating, playing, or sleeping.
 Last week was a whirlwind of school activities, air shows, and living the seaside life.
Because last week I could not fit in a single moment to post, I will catch up in photos I took this past week.


Friday
I rushed 2 kids and baby out the door while my husband finished a 24 hour shift at work. He met me at the school later to catch a little of the show and pick up the baby to take her for her first vaccines.

A friend and Rachel get ready for their end-of-school year recital as a caròta e melnzana,

or carrot and eggplant.

There are also tomatoes, lettuce, potatoes, and parsley running around.

Little Samuele is the dark green parsley between the two light green parsley.

Later that day, after we met back at home and napped the kids, we went to watch the Frecce Tricolore practice for an airshow that they would have on Saturday.

The kids asked for earplugs...

but, the baby doesn't need them.

Frecce Tricolori literally translates to tricolored arrows. It is the world's largest military aerobatic team and is regarded by many as being one of the most prestigious. The Frecce Tricolori aerobatics team is made up of ten Aermacchi MB-339-A/PAN aircraft from the Italian air force.

Saturday

We began the day with errands into the center of Lecce which usually lands us at McDonald's, a rare treat since this is the only Mc D's in the area, and is not a short drive, nor is it easy to find parking. Next, grocery shopping, home for naps, and a mad dash to get ready for a trip to the beach. On the way out to the car, a neighbor stopped us and asked us to come up rooftop instead to watch the airshow again, Saturday's version using the colored smoke. He had bought ice-cream for everyone and so as not to disappoint the kids already dressed in swimming suits, we hauled up buckets of water and a kiddie pool.

Cars line the roads in the surrounding fields.

At bedtime, little brother comforts big sister as she loses her first tooth!

Sunday

My husband hits the water at 5:30am for some spear-fishing and when he gets home we head out for a day on the beach.

The baby falls asleep after her first swim before I can even put a diaper back on her!

Then we head over to a seaside resturant where a man grills and fishes at the same time.

The food is amazing, but the kids like the bread.

Our Greek friends enjoy the pasta too.

The best Italian food comes on plastic plates while you sit in plastic deck chairs.

You know this if you have spent any time here.

Octopus meatballs

And so, in all the chaos of the weekend, we forgot to buy toilet paper. We'll fit that in Monday before we head outside to watch the Italy soccer game and cook out with friends. 

How to Dress an Italian Baby

Once I was given some hand-me-down clothes from an Italian friend.  My favorite sets of little linen pants and tiny tees, frilly dresses, and fancy frocks, were by a brand called Il Gufo. They were beautifully made with definite European flair, but it didn't dawn on me until I was looking through Cookie Magaizine that what I had been given out-cost most of what was hanging in my own closet. Who would have known? These items had been handed over the same way all cast off clothes are passed around... in old shopping bags.  It made me think of the new shopping bags that I saw hanging on stroller handles, paraded through town by high-heeled, high-fashion mamas.  Were there ensembles by D&G Junior? Gucci? Diesel Kids? Missoni?  Perhaps, but my time in Italy has taught me, that while what the kid is wearing might make a bella figura, or first impression, it isn't what you wear that counts, but how much of it.

Layers. From the day my kids arrived in this world, I have been told to layer them, bundle them, and cover them up. Italians fear the smallest of drafts or the slightest drop in temperature, especially for kids and babies. Before I had Rachel, my first-born, I was given a list from the hospital of items that she would require. Among the articles of clothing were things that even my Italian husband was unsure of.  When we asked in a baby store we learned what some of the items were. I learned that there are two types of cotton onesies, one heavier for winter, and a lighter weighted cotton for summer. I have found that the terry cloth diaper covers come in handy to stop diaper leaks, but I have not found the use for the camicine della fortuna, or little "lucky" shirts.  They are dainty as a handkerchief, sleeveless, and open backed.  The fabric of choice for sleepers is chenille, and everything has a handmade or embroidered feel to it.  Many pieces of the babies' layettes are hand crafted by the babies' little old grannies or aunties.

     Before I went to the hospital this past February, I carefully planned and divided Maddalena's outfits into neat stacks and put them into ziplock bags (something I always have my mom bring me from America since it is very difficult to find them here in Italy). I had made sure that each set contained at least  a one piece body, as the Italians call it, the terry cloth diaper cover, and warm socks, plus an outfit. I left out the camicine della fortuna, but included baby hats knitted by my mother-in-law. On each day of my hospital stay, each bag would be sent to the nursery with the baby for the nurses to change and care for the newborns while the moms would get an hour or two to rest a few times a day and then for about 5 or 6 hours during the night. After the baby was born, when the nurses were ready to take her to the nursery to clean her, warm her and dress her, I instructed my husband to take the baggie on top. We had already planned that her first outfit, after her birthday suit, should be the Carter's baby gowns that my mom had brought be from the States. The baby nurses in the hospital in the Veneto where I had had my first two kids had loved how the soft cotton gowns had blanketed the baby and how the little sleeves flipped over to cover the newborns tiny hands and prevent the baby from scratching her face. There was nothing like this here in Italy, they told me. Plus, like little girls dressing dolls, the cute patterns and matching hats had not gone unnoticed by the nurses. However, the novelty of the gowns was overlooked by the nurses of southern Italy.

Babies at the Lecce hospital were taken from nido, or nursery, to their mama's room on a padded cart, completely covered by a sheet and heavy blanket. Completely covered, head to toe, lined up in a row with their first peers. Bundled and layered together. All for fear of catching cold. When the nurse brought Maddalena to my room for the first time, that cold February morning, she also brought stern words that my cotton ensemble was too light, not heavy enough for winter. The hat was unnecessary, and did I have an extra pair of socks? All I could do, as I always do, was to reply with a complacent "OK", meanwhile thinking, "mama knows best," hoping I had something heavier packed in my bag.

It wasn't the first time I had been scolded for not dressing my kids appropriately, and it won't be the last. Italians love to give advice and as an independent-thinking American, life here in the beginning was difficult enough without being told what to do by a common passerby.  It was hard to not get defensive and realize that when strangers give advice they are reliving their own experiences. The lady at the fruit stand wants to know if the other siblings are jealous, and concludes if they are, that it is normal. Old grandpa-type men stop and ask me if I am breastfeeding, and counsel me that that is what is best for the baby. The flock of ladies drinking their coffee at the bar on the corner suggest a trip to the sea to clear up that cold. The mountain air will do wonders. Don't swim after eating. He needs a scarf. She must cover her head from the sun. Eat your pasta. --Everyone has their two cents' worth to pass on, and when they do they are repeating words they gave to their own kids or grandkids, or what their family told them. Lives here are entwined; nobody's business blanketed in good intentions. And I don't blame them. As Maddalena turns 3 months old and outgrows the hand-me-down clothes from her big sister Rachel, I will pack them away for the last time and I know that unless for nostalgia, I won't have a reason to pull the tiny clothes out again. As time goes on, I will probably find myself stopping to ooh and aah over a baby and pass on my own words of experience.  Displaced and not having family nearby, I reflect and realize that I will always be younger than someone who will know more than me. I think I will let them adopt me as a daughter or granddaughter for a moment. I will share my children with my Italian countrymen and I will consider their counsel, but I will continue to dress my kids in an American fashion, a little laid back and less worried about the weather than my Italian compatriots. As Italian kids are layered in wool and cotton, my life here in Italy is layered in love, showered in words of advice.

Made in Italy (Part 1, Intro)

Winging It
I suppose almost every young girl has dreams of a big custom-detailed wedding, but I can honestly say I never sat around day-dreaming the perfect colors, flowers, or dress. A lot of my big day was planned around convenience, knowing that a week after the wedding I would be jet-setting off to a new life abroad.

Hec, you didn't even hear a grumble from me when I found out that the guys here in Italy don't save three months salary for an engagement ring. My mom and I winged everything and it turned out beautifully. It was charming and full of personality and a great farewell to friends and family. And, it was just the beginning. If anything has come as a big surprise it is child-rearing in Italy that caught me the most off-guard. Don't as little girls we all assume we will play house just as our mothers did?
So, what better way to christen this blog than to begin with a birth story. Maddalena, the third edition to our family, was a surprise pregnancy and like all unplanned events a little ad-libbing would be called for. Being my third baby here in Italy some of the shock in differences has worn off... sort of. There are things you will never really get used to. Things such as the lack of gown that they should give you at your prenatal appointments or the long lines of socialized health care to get monthly blood work. But, because a baby is going to be born no matter what you are wearing or how many lines you were held up in, like with my other pregnancies, with the support of my pilot husband, what else could I do but wing it. The news of a new baby, 3 1/2 years after the last, would need a little improvising: throw together a corner of my firstborn's room into a nursery, make do with borrowed items since we had gotten rid of baby gear, and stand-by for the incoming bambina.