All in all, the flights over here went surprisingly well. We were worried because our seats were not together. I was in the bulkhead with the infant cot and the two kids and Matt was behind us, in the middle. At check-in, however, we inquired about this and they upgraded us to economy premium, all together. That was really nice. Did it promise good fortune to come?
Cate had about an hour of irritability from pre-boarding until after takeoff, but calmed down with the aid of Tylenol and then slept like a champ for most of the flight. Dominic was so excited, he just sat in his seat and said, "buckle up!" His little melt-down came upon our arrival in Venice, when he had to get off the airplane. "More plane!" "More sit in airplane". "Please (dramatic whining here)!!" The promise of a shuttle ("bus"..."big bus") ride soon calmed him down, though, and we were off to collect our bags and begin the final leg of our very long journey. We collected all our belongings without too much trouble. The bubble wrap did its job and our very expensive stroller made it safely through all the handling. It's a good thing we did wrap it, though, because the red canvas bag had a big hole in it. That could have been the stroller! The only mishap was a torn handle on one of the smaller bags. I'm sure we will survive.
We found the shuttle just fine and about an hour later we arrived safely in Padova. Here we had a bit of local "fun". Fortunately, we were able to recognize Residenza Galileo from the picture we had seen, so we at least we knew we were at the right place; the signs were miniscule, however, and neither the said office nor the said manager was anywhere to be found. So there we were, four of us and nine bags, standing on the sidewalk in front of the building, unable to get inside and unable to figure out who to call. Unexpectedly finding some courage, when I see three students going inside, I stop one of them and ask, apologizing profusely for my horrible Italian, "manager?" "office?" He tells me, "sei, zero, uno". Matt follows them in and goes up to the sixth floor, hoping this solves all our problems. As our luck would have it, the manager is not in.
A Bangladeshi (Bengali?) family is just going into our building and the woman asks me if we need help. I tell her that I'm looking for the office manager because we need our keys. She tells me she has the number for his office, and asks if I have a "mo-byle," when I tell her that I don't have one, she offers to me that I should follow her in. She knows somebody who has a phone. I follow her in, she knocks on someone's door.
Ellie, a Philippino, answers. A phone? Sure, of course. Come in. You must be tired. Sit down. Would you like something to drink? Really, you must be thirsty. Here, have some water. What's your name. What's your baby's name? Oh, you need to call Ivan, at the University... Here, let me call my friend. We always call him when we need to contact them.
Down Juan Miguel comes. He's just full of questions and help. What is your name? You need your keys? Okay sure, I will call right away. He (another Philippino) comes down to Ellie's room, introduces himself and calls the office. He says he'll come over in a few minutes and meet you in Ellie's room. I ask them if it would be all right for Matt and Dominic to come up too, since he's meeting us there. They apologize profusely for not offering earlier. Do they need help carrying things? Juan Miguel jumps up to go get them and help them with our stuff. Ivan meets us there within the keys and in about 20 minutes we are in our apartment. Very nice people around here! That's a good sign.
Since then, we've been trying to unpack and get settled in. I found the local grocery store and made our first meal. Pasta, prosciutto, zucchini, and pomodoro (tomato). It would have been better if I could have found garlic, salt, and pepper and the grocery store, Billa. Next time.
The apartment is decently equipped. It has a big pot and a sauce pan, 4 sets of plates and cups, and, of course, since we are in Italy, wine glasses and espresso mugs. We have a long list of things we'll need to complete the apartment, especially, the kitchen, but it's better than we thought it would be. It even has a mini dishwasher. I wish it were a microwave, but it's nice to have one, I guess. We're still trying to figure out the best sleeping arrangement with the two kids. They're both exhausted from the trip and totally off their schedules. Matt and I spent most of the night rubbing Dominic's back and keeping him quiet so that Cate could get some more tylenol-induced sleep. We're trading naps for now, but hope that soon we'll settle into a workable arrangement.
Well, more will come later, including some pictures, but I hope that calms any anxiety you may have had and gives you an idea of where we are in our voyage.
Love you all!
Address:
Residenza Galileo
Nr. 606
9/16 Via A. Magarotto
35136 Padova, ITALY
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Happy Birthday Video
Because we will be in Italy for the next 10 months, Mama and Papa wanted to celebrate Matt's and Cate's birthdays before we leave. Enjoy this special euphonic arrangement of the classic hit, "Happy Birthday."
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The Great Italian Move
For all who are interested, I intend on posting regularly about our travels and trials in Italy. I shall try to post twice a week. I'll let you know what days those will be after we get there and see what the daily routine looks like.
We leave from the Philadelphia airport at 9:00 pm Thursday, September 3, for our overnight flight to arrive in Venice (with a three hour layover in London) at 1:00 pm on September 4. After that, we have train ride to the city of Padova (Padua), whereupon we shall take a taxi or other means of transportation to our apartment on Via Margotto, just outside the historic city center.
We're getting geared up for the big trip. We just received Matt's visa in the mail after an exhausting death march of banal paperwork, horrible bureaucrats, and inane requirements. It turns out that in Italian administrative matters (even more than American), it's not what you know, or what papers you've got, or even how many guidelines you follow, but who you know. After Matt was flat out rejected and humiliated while trying to get a visa the first time, the second time just one simple letter from La Professore on magical Penn letterhead suddenly made the (same) visa lady bend over backwards for him. In fact, the visa arrived in the mail the very next day after she took his paperwork.
I'm now slowing gathering things we'll need for the trip: as much infant tylenol as I can gather (apparently it's not available over there), a watch for Matt since his cell phone won't work and he has a hopeless internal clock, raincoats and and pocket umbrellas since it rains all the time, etc. We're also making our last round of visits with all our dear family and friends. We just returned from helping Stephen and Sarah move into their new house in South Bend, IN, and met up with my parents and younger brother, Anthony, at my brother Eli's house, who also goes to Notre Dame. It was quite a full reunion!
Well, tune in next time for more pictures and stories!
We leave from the Philadelphia airport at 9:00 pm Thursday, September 3, for our overnight flight to arrive in Venice (with a three hour layover in London) at 1:00 pm on September 4. After that, we have train ride to the city of Padova (Padua), whereupon we shall take a taxi or other means of transportation to our apartment on Via Margotto, just outside the historic city center.
We're getting geared up for the big trip. We just received Matt's visa in the mail after an exhausting death march of banal paperwork, horrible bureaucrats, and inane requirements. It turns out that in Italian administrative matters (even more than American), it's not what you know, or what papers you've got, or even how many guidelines you follow, but who you know. After Matt was flat out rejected and humiliated while trying to get a visa the first time, the second time just one simple letter from La Professore on magical Penn letterhead suddenly made the (same) visa lady bend over backwards for him. In fact, the visa arrived in the mail the very next day after she took his paperwork.
I'm now slowing gathering things we'll need for the trip: as much infant tylenol as I can gather (apparently it's not available over there), a watch for Matt since his cell phone won't work and he has a hopeless internal clock, raincoats and and pocket umbrellas since it rains all the time, etc. We're also making our last round of visits with all our dear family and friends. We just returned from helping Stephen and Sarah move into their new house in South Bend, IN, and met up with my parents and younger brother, Anthony, at my brother Eli's house, who also goes to Notre Dame. It was quite a full reunion!
Well, tune in next time for more pictures and stories!
Monday, May 11, 2009
Saturday, May 2, 2009
What Will He Be?
As parents, "what will he be" is one of our pet musings. Anytime Dominic exhibits a knack for something, whether it be identifying crumbs and dirt, obsessively turning pretend screws, wiping his sister's mouth, attentively watching YouTube videos, or running around like a maniac, we are sure to be caught saying, "Maybe he'll be x when he grows up." Yes. Maybe.
Maybe he will be a janitor. Dominic is second to none for his uncanny ability to notice undesirable specks on the floor. After brilliantly identifying them for us as "dirt" or "crumb" or "gaw-bidge," he then masterfully instructs us what needs to be done, "sweep" or "vacuum" or simply "away." Previously we thought he had potential to be a janitor because he desired to sweep and vacuum himself. However, now that he has gotten wiser, he insistently tells us what needs to be done. As a result, we no longer think this is a career for him.
Instead, maybe he'll be a mechanic, engineer, or some sort of contractor. After all, the wooden toolbox set he got for Christmas was a huge success. He's clearly genius since he figured out how to operate the play screws, twisting several "nuts" onto the "bolt." He constantly tries to "fix" things with them and has also used his toy screwdrivers and play knife to try to jimmy open a lock. I guess he saw me do this once. So, not only does he clearly have aptitude with screwdrivers, but he can hammer! You should listen to him, boy can he really hammer. We need a mechanic. I think I'd like that. He can be just like Popper.
So while that's still a live possibility, I also entertain the notion that he'll be a caregiver of some sort. Really, for a rambunctious two-year-old, he has been unbelievably sweet to Cate. He is gentle, kind, and surprisingly helpful. The moment, though, that I thought he might have it in him to be a doctor or something, was when he wiped up her spit up, unprompted. We were all sitting at the table after supper, and Dominic was playing with his toys while Cate jumped in the doorway. Cate had spit up in her tray and, although we had noticed, we were still sitting there, enjoying the fullness of supper. But while we sat, Dominic, without any prompting, took the burp cloth out of the basket, walked over to her, wiped up the mess, turned it over, gently dabbed her mouth, and then tried to figure out where to put it, now that it was dirty. So, will he just be a great big brother? Or a doctor, like his Papa?
But if that doesn't pan out, maybe he'll be a cellist. He shows real potential. We've been manipulating his young mind by showing him YouTube videos of different instruments. We showed him the cello, violin, trumpet, and french horn so far. After the cello he said, "more, more" when he ended. But after violin, trumpet, and french horn, he said, "Cello, more." While this alone was convincing to us young parents, for you skeptics, more solid proof of his future career came when we were reviewing letters at breakfast one morning. The game is, I show him a letter, and he tells me its name. Recently, I've started saying a word that starts with that particular letter after he identifies it. "R," he says, "R says Red," I say. Then we get to "Y". "Y" he says. I say, "Y says yo-yo." Our smarty Dominic protests, "No," and he shakes his head. "YoYo Ma," he insists. Thinking this was just a fluke. I question him, "And what does YoYo Ma play?" When he correctly answered, "cello" without any hesitation, I secretly gloated and rejoiced that he may be a cellist yet. It's a secret dream of mine. Ah, the power of suggestion; his little desires seem to be falling in line with our plan rather nicely.
So what'll it be? I guess we'll have to wait and see.
Maybe he will be a janitor. Dominic is second to none for his uncanny ability to notice undesirable specks on the floor. After brilliantly identifying them for us as "dirt" or "crumb" or "gaw-bidge," he then masterfully instructs us what needs to be done, "sweep" or "vacuum" or simply "away." Previously we thought he had potential to be a janitor because he desired to sweep and vacuum himself. However, now that he has gotten wiser, he insistently tells us what needs to be done. As a result, we no longer think this is a career for him.
Instead, maybe he'll be a mechanic, engineer, or some sort of contractor. After all, the wooden toolbox set he got for Christmas was a huge success. He's clearly genius since he figured out how to operate the play screws, twisting several "nuts" onto the "bolt." He constantly tries to "fix" things with them and has also used his toy screwdrivers and play knife to try to jimmy open a lock. I guess he saw me do this once. So, not only does he clearly have aptitude with screwdrivers, but he can hammer! You should listen to him, boy can he really hammer. We need a mechanic. I think I'd like that. He can be just like Popper.
So while that's still a live possibility, I also entertain the notion that he'll be a caregiver of some sort. Really, for a rambunctious two-year-old, he has been unbelievably sweet to Cate. He is gentle, kind, and surprisingly helpful. The moment, though, that I thought he might have it in him to be a doctor or something, was when he wiped up her spit up, unprompted. We were all sitting at the table after supper, and Dominic was playing with his toys while Cate jumped in the doorway. Cate had spit up in her tray and, although we had noticed, we were still sitting there, enjoying the fullness of supper. But while we sat, Dominic, without any prompting, took the burp cloth out of the basket, walked over to her, wiped up the mess, turned it over, gently dabbed her mouth, and then tried to figure out where to put it, now that it was dirty. So, will he just be a great big brother? Or a doctor, like his Papa?
But if that doesn't pan out, maybe he'll be a cellist. He shows real potential. We've been manipulating his young mind by showing him YouTube videos of different instruments. We showed him the cello, violin, trumpet, and french horn so far. After the cello he said, "more, more" when he ended. But after violin, trumpet, and french horn, he said, "Cello, more." While this alone was convincing to us young parents, for you skeptics, more solid proof of his future career came when we were reviewing letters at breakfast one morning. The game is, I show him a letter, and he tells me its name. Recently, I've started saying a word that starts with that particular letter after he identifies it. "R," he says, "R says Red," I say. Then we get to "Y". "Y" he says. I say, "Y says yo-yo." Our smarty Dominic protests, "No," and he shakes his head. "YoYo Ma," he insists. Thinking this was just a fluke. I question him, "And what does YoYo Ma play?" When he correctly answered, "cello" without any hesitation, I secretly gloated and rejoiced that he may be a cellist yet. It's a secret dream of mine. Ah, the power of suggestion; his little desires seem to be falling in line with our plan rather nicely.
So what'll it be? I guess we'll have to wait and see.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
A Feeding Frenzy
Dominic is pretending to feed his friends (Doggy, Tigger, Pooh, and Elmo). After putting yummy things in Doggy, Tigger, and Pooh's mouths, Dominic feeds Elmo's eyeballs. Curious about this, we ask Dominic, "Why are you feeding his eyeballs?" Instead of answering, he just repeats, "EYEBALLS" then continues with a little litany..."Eyeballs, Jesus, Shh, Quiet, Listen".
What? Exactly what we thought.
Well, apparently, "Eyeball" sounds a lot like "Bible" to a two-year-old. And Jesus is in the Bible. And we learn about Jesus in Church. In Church we say, "shh," "quiet," you need to "listen." So, Eyeballs, Jesus, shh, quiet, listen.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Help! The Hose is Broken
My little "helper" was out with me again. This time, I had promised him that he could help me wash the car. It was a beautiful day, and our van was filthy from winter's salt. After chasing him around and clothing his enthusiasm in a bathing suit, we scamper outside. Then I hook up the hose and cross my fingers that the outside water is turned on because I have no idea where the lever is.
After an hour and a half of Dominic watering the driveway, dirt beds, and an occasional plant, I finish rubbing compound into the last scratch on my now sparkling silver bullet. Our Odyssey is ready to journey in style now. So as to not be the bad guy, I sneak over to the spiget while Dominic is making a big mud puddle and shut off the water, dashing to the van, away from the scene of the crime, before he can catch me.
To my relief, my plan works. He is distraught that the water has stopped, but doesn't suspect me. Through unalloyed sadness and tears, with the cutest pout you've ever seen, he holds the hose up to eye level and stares down the barrel of it. "Stuuckk!" he wails. "Broookenn, " he sniffs very loudly. Then, while still staring into it, he tries to fix it. With both of his chubby hands on the hose he determinedly announces, "Squeeeeze." When that fails, however, he holds the hose rather disinterestedly in one hand and says, rather conclusively, "battery." That is, quite obviously, it needs a new battery. After all, it's broken.
NB: According to Dominic, burnt out light bulbs are "broken" and need "battery".
After an hour and a half of Dominic watering the driveway, dirt beds, and an occasional plant, I finish rubbing compound into the last scratch on my now sparkling silver bullet. Our Odyssey is ready to journey in style now. So as to not be the bad guy, I sneak over to the spiget while Dominic is making a big mud puddle and shut off the water, dashing to the van, away from the scene of the crime, before he can catch me.
To my relief, my plan works. He is distraught that the water has stopped, but doesn't suspect me. Through unalloyed sadness and tears, with the cutest pout you've ever seen, he holds the hose up to eye level and stares down the barrel of it. "Stuuckk!" he wails. "Broookenn, " he sniffs very loudly. Then, while still staring into it, he tries to fix it. With both of his chubby hands on the hose he determinedly announces, "Squeeeeze." When that fails, however, he holds the hose rather disinterestedly in one hand and says, rather conclusively, "battery." That is, quite obviously, it needs a new battery. After all, it's broken.
NB: According to Dominic, burnt out light bulbs are "broken" and need "battery".
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