Interview with a Seven Year Old

August 25th, 2012 § 1 comment § permalink

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Me: What’s today?

7 year old: My birthday.

Me: How do you know it’s your birthday?

7 year old: Because Mommy told me this morning.

Me: Did I actually tell you?

7 year old: You put on a birthday song to wake me up.

Q: Where are you?

7 year old: In Italy.

Me: Where?

7 year old: Venice.

Me: How many seven year olds spend their birthdays in Venice?

7 year old: I don’t know.

Me: Probably all the Venetian ones, huh? How will you be spending your birthday?

7 year old: I’m going to a glass-making place.

Me: What do you like to do these days?

7 year old: Singing and dance.

Me: What kind of dance?

7 year old: Ballet, tap, maybe hip hop

Me: What are your favorite books?

7 year old: American Girl Doll books. The Best Friends series.

Me: What are your favorite things to watch?

7 year old: Shake It Up. Craft Wars. Cupcake Wars. Oh yeah. Project Runway. It’s so hard to remember them when you haven’t watched them in a long time.

Me: What are your goals as a seven year old?

7 year old: To stop chewing my hair. And to grow my hair long without getting much haircuts.

Me: What do you want to be when you grow up?

7 year old: I don’t actually know.

Me: What are you looking forward to in 2nd grade?

7 year old: The Japanese unit.

Me: Any grand pronouncements?

7 year old: No.

Me: Anything else?

7 year old: I think that’s good.

Happy birthday, Pie Pie!

Interview with a Nine Year Old

August 23rd, 2012 § 2 comments § permalink

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Me: What’s today?

9 year old: My birthday.

Me: How does it feel to be a nine year old?

9 year old: I don’t know. I’ve only been awake for three hours.

Me: How do you know it’s your birthday?

9 year old: Because yesterday Mom told me that today is my birthday.

Me: Where are you?

9 year old: Poggibonsi, Tuscany, Italy.

Me: How will you be spending your birthday?

9 year old: Taking a train from Tuscany to Venuce, and then doing things there.

Me: What do you like to do these days?

9 year old: Play Lazer Tag. Um… I don’t know what else.

Dad: Who styles your hair?

Me: Wait, that’s not one of the questions. Okay, answer it.

9 year old: Your butts.

Me: That’s a 9 year old. What are your favorite books?

9 year old: That’s too hard to answer.

Me: What have you been reading lately?

9 year old: Artemis Fowl 2, 3, and 4.

Me: What are your favorite things to watch?

9 year old: Disney and Cartoon Network.

Me: What do you want to be when you grow up?

9 year old: Um, the complete opposite of her [points to Pie].

Pie: I thought you wanted to be a scholar.

9 year old: Yeah, a scholar.

Me: What are you looking forward to in 4th grade?

9 year old: Uh, next summer vacation.

Q: What are your goals as a 9 year old?

9 year old: I don’t know.

Me: What kind of scholar doesn’t have goals?

9 year old: I’m not a scholar yet! I have to go and study and… uh thingys.

Me: Any grand pronouncements?

9 year old: What’s a pronouncement?

Me: And I thought this would be the year I wouldn’t have to explain what a “pronouncement” is.

9 year old: Is a “pronouncement” something you say before an announcement?

Me: Sort of.

9 year old: Then no. I have nothing to say.

Happy birthday, Doodlebug!

Pigs, Pee, and Pecorino

August 19th, 2012 § Comments Off on Pigs, Pee, and Pecorino § permalink

Now that I’ve spent some time in Italy, I come to one major conclusion about the difference between me and the Italians: I pee much slower–or stiller–than they do. The bathrooms have lights that are either on timers or motion detectors, and I have yet to pee in one of them when the lights didn’t shut off mid-pee. Important stuff, I know.

We’ve long left Rome, which means I have no more trite expressions to use (when in Rome, do as the Romans… and leave Rome. Oh, look! I had one left!).

In Florence, one morning at the Mercato Centrale had my boy deciding to become a vegetarian. I’m pretty sure it was the pig testicles that did him in. The brains, didn’t help.

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When his sister pointed out that he hates veggies, and would therefore be a breadatarian, he relented and decided he’d merely go kosher. I asked him to wait till as got home, as he’s living on salami and bread here. “That’s not beef?” he asked with incredulity. No, my friend, it is not. He agreed to wait till we returned home.

In the meantime, we’ve left my parents and sister to fend for themselves and we are now eating–I mean, touring–through Tuscany on our own. Today, we had an amazing lunch at an agritourismo, where we had an exquisite fried pecorino cheese and a lovely sampling of three local wines. I will be dreaming of that cheese…

What else have we done? Been to the Uffizi, the Academia, the Bargello.

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Learned to make pasta.

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Visited a monastery.

And eaten. Did I mention I’ve eaten a bit?

Okay, back to the tough life. Let’s see if, for once, I can beat the light timer! Ciao!

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Oh Dear Lord

August 15th, 2012 § Comments Off on Oh Dear Lord § permalink

Why did you people let me eat so much?

All Roads Lead to Lunch

August 13th, 2012 § 1 comment § permalink

Headed back from dinner, just me and Adam as my folks and the Tweedle Twirp were staying with the kids, we were pleasantly surprised by an operatic concert at the Spanish Steps. A calming end to a day of two whiny, tired kids.

At lunch, Pie was flagging. It’s hot, and to be honest, we had just walked approximately two miles, with pit stops only to see a few Caravaggios in a church. She was beat.

“I can take you back to the apartment,” I told her.

“I’m so tired. I can’t walk any more,” she replied.

“That’s fine,” I said. “We can save our shopping for Florence.”

“Shopping?” she said. “Oh, I think I can shop!”

Gee, thanks. Sure enough, she rallied. Luckily she’s happy with window shopping as we didn’t actually buy anything.

Pie, Tweeds, and I wandered as an exhausted Doodles vegged in the apartment. I can’t keep my daughter and my sister straight. Their names are as different as, well, as different as Pie and Tweeds. But I’ve given up. Now when I call out a name, I just append it. “Pie!” I yell before I realize I’m calling out the wrong name. “I mean Big Pie!” Sometimes I end up with Little Tweeds.

Tweeds (the big one), Adam, and I went to the Bone Church, which is one of the oddest, coolest sights in town. It may have been my favorite place in Rome, though I may not be the best judge, considering that I’m not a huge fan of ancient art. I know. I’m in the wrong town.

But you don’t care about that. You want to know the important stuff. Like what I ate. So today was: yogurt, caffe latte, deep fried zucchini and anchovies, mixed bruschetta, spaghetti carbonara, red wine, ginger cinnamon gelato, basil gelato, glass of red wine, mixed antipasto plate, rigatoni all’amatriciana, half a bottle of red wine, strawberries with whipped cream, and limocello.

Roly Poly is off to bed. Tomorrow, we take on Florence. Hope Florence has prepped the chefs! I’m still eating!

Rome Wasn’t Toured in a Day

August 12th, 2012 § 1 comment § permalink

I’ve wanted to blog. Really I have. But blogging means putting down my fork, and I can’t quite seem to loosen my grip long enough to type. If I were going to sum up the trip so far, it would have to be Roly Poly Roma.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m here with my kids, my husband, my parents, and my sister. We’ve managed to do a bit. We’ve visited a few famous places, like the Trevi Fountain.

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Toured the Colosseum.

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Visited Ostia Antica.

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Saw the Vatican.

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And miscellaneous other things, like checked out the Borghese Gallery, the Jewish museum, the Castle of St. Angelo, the Parthenon, and so on.

But it all pales in comparison to the eating. The gelato. The fried artichokes. The pizza.The wine. The pasta. The pasta. The pasta. Did I mention the pasta?

Ah. Roly Poly Roma. Happy. Happy. Just don’t expect me to put down the fork.

(Note: All travel posts are typed on the iPhone, so typos may abound.)

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    I read, I write, I occasionally look to make sure my kids aren't playing with matches.

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