Home on Wednesday!

As homesick as we've been getting in Rome, it's crazy to believe that our time in Italy is actually almost over.  We've had a stream of visitors this last week, giving us a fellowship and a great chance to re-do all the best sites in Rome right before we leave.  It's amazing to see how much we've learned about Rome since moving here.  I remember the first time I came Vatican City with my parents in October and not knowing where anything was, not being sure if this building was the Vatican Museum, not knowing much about the basilicas, or the trains, and now, after living in Rome for seven weeks, I can give a tour virtually without a map.  It's really been quite an experience.  But we're ready to pack up and fly home on Wednesday morning.  We're ready for family.  For friends.  For English.  For big stuff.  For lots of space. For so many small things.  We are ready.  USA, see you soon!

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Cate just adores her older brother. She tries to do everything and anything he does, no matter what it is. He throws a stone, she throws a stone. He spits, she spits. He gives me a kiss, she gives me a kiss. I feel like if we can succeed in making Dominic a respectable, godly child, we will have automatically succeeded with Cate too.

Her copy-cat behavior even extends to clothes and potty training. He goes to the bathroom and she always tries to take her pants off too. Here's her most recent display of "brother-worship".

I bambini (The kids)

Why do their hugs so often look more like attempts to strangle?

"You getting money, Daddy?"  I'm ready to spend it.  In fact, I'm researching my new toys right now! (see previous post)

Why work?

Lest you all be too depressed by my last post, here is a little Dominic anecdote for your amusement.

Since the weather has been so beautiful, the kids and I have frequently been walking Matt to the archives in the morning.  And Dominic has been struggling to understand why Daddy needs to leave everyday and can't stay and play with him.  Also, the archives of the last couple of weeks either close down at 1pm or have a long "break" (quite irritating for him) between, say, 12 and 3ish.  So this creates even more situations where we are all together and Daddy has to leave, see below:
 
Dominic: Where is Daddy going? (asking for the fifth time, at least)
Mommy: To work.
Dominic: Why?
Mommy: To make money.

 (This explanation began especially when Dominic put a few Euro coins in the radiator ($3 worth).  As annoying as it was, we tried to use the moment to explain the value of money.  One way of doing this was to say that Daddy might have to work a little more to make up for the money that Dominic had wasted!  OK...so this actually opened up a whole world for him.  Now, Dominic asks all the time if Daddy is leaving to go make us more money. When we go the ATMs, he thinks we are "getting" or "buying" money.  It must be confusing for him that Matt is gone for so many hours, if it's really that easy to "get" money.  He also likes to go around the house taking up offerings in his Elmo frying pan.  OK...you probably are getting the gist--cash is clearly on his radar screen now!)

So, Mommy has just callously explained for the umpteenth time that Daddy went to work to go get money.  Daddy chimes in to qualify that he is doing much more than making money.  If that's all he were doing, well, things would look rather different.  He seriously engages with Dominic in a collegial way, as he tends to do with our three-year old son: "Well, Dominic, I am also in the pursuit of the truth about the past.  I am trying to correct misconceptions about the history of Christianity." And so on. When Daddy receives a blank stare, he does try a different tactic.  "Well, you know how you learn your letters, well, Daddy goes to work to learn other sorts of things.  It's just that I also get money for this for our family."

When money re-enters the picture, Dominic's attention has again been piqued and his eyes sparkle again. 

Dominic: Why do we need money?  
Matt: This is how we buy food, and how we have an apartment.  Do you know the books that you have?  We get them with money.  I'm going to work so you can have more toys...  

Now Daddy really has grabbed the attention of his son.  He was asking about how this happens and about what kind of toys I was going to get for him.  He didn't entirely get the point.  So, we finally drop Matt off at the archive.  As we walk away, Dominic says, "So Daddy's going to get us money for my toys."  I tried to explain, but it obviously didn't work.  When Matt returned home hours later and gave his little son a hug, the first thing he asked was,

"So...Daddy...where's my toys?" 

(OK, for comic timing, I should probably stop here, but there is another wrinkle.  When Dominic said this, Matt started laughing hysterically.  For some reason, when that happens, Dominic (with a little smirk on his face) still seriously points at his father and says, "No, Daddy. DON'T LAUGH."  We don't know why this upsets him since he's such a comedian.  But he has been told that it is wrong to stick his fingers in his parents' faces and to shout at them.  He has been taught that there are nice, acceptable alternatives.  Well, in this instance, he remembered.  His face entirely changes.  His voice gets softer and calmer.  And, with the sweetest possible intonation, he says, "No thank you, Daddy.  Please don't laugh.") 

The No-Good, Rotten Week

This last week I was caught in the clutches of the Eternal City, chewed up, and spit back out.  I was locked out of the apartment, my e-mail and facebook accounts were infiltrated by a hacker, and my beloved camera was stolen.  It was a no-good, rotten week in the state of Italy.

The first event was simple enough, it could happen to anyone anywhere. In fact, I'm sure it's happened to most of you at some point in your life. But when it happens in city of 2.7 million people and none of them are your friends...well, it moves from "inconvenient" to "crisis."

I loaded up the kids and the stroller for a "quick" trip to the grocery store so we'd be ready for our company that evening (friends from the US!). We were coming back after that so I just took two packs of crackers and a jacket for each instead of the usual assemblage of sippy cup, milk, lunch, snacks, rain cover, toys, books, etc. I also thought it'd be nice to carry a purse with all important items instead of my usual habit of sticking wallet, cell phone, and keys into various pockets on my person or the stroller. I put my purse together, opened the double doors, pushed the stroller and kids out, and shut the door, to realize immediately that I had left that same purse on the shelf and not on the stroller like I thought. Thus I was locked out without money or phone or even a phone number to call, in Rome. I had two kids and a stroller and nothing else save two packs of saltines. Matt wasn't due back until 5:00 pm, just before our company was due to arrive. What was I going to do?

Adrenaline pumping and all dignity aside, I sprinted full speed down our street and rushed down the metro stairs (stroller and kids in tow) to try to catch Matt who had left ten minutes before. We had no other chance. We knew no one save our landlady. I couldn't use an internet cafe without money and a passport. I couldn't call without a phone number to call. I couldn't get back in without the keys. Our only hope was Matt, who was on his way to a new library all the way across town, with a dying cell phone that wouldn't be on until noon, when he was supposed to call me. We made it to the metro landing, only to be thwarted by the fact that we had no tickets or money to pursue onto the metro. Now what?! Dejectedly I made my way back to the apartment, not sure what to do.  I was hoping that maybe there was enough Jack Bauer deep within my soul that I could pick the lock or something. But alas, someone shut the outside door which I, in my ingeniousness, had so carefully left cracked and we were completely locked out. I sighed and sat on the curb. Then in desperation, I started sifting through the crumbs in the stroller basket praying, and hoping against hope, that perhaps there were some coins hidden in there. Miraculously, there was one euro. I thought very carefully about what to do with that one euro. I could buy some food so the kids didn't start screaming in two hours. I could make two phone calls. I could try to find an internet cafe that I could persuade to let me in despite no identification. Or, I could go on that metro and find Matt.

I decided to do just that. Having looked up the directions for him last night, I at least knew approximately where he was going and what it was called, even though I had no map and didn't know the area. We had talked about meeting up for lunch because the place closed from 12-2, so I knew he'd have to exit the place at 12 if I couldn't find him or get in earlier. We took the risk of getting across town and having to walk the 6 km back to a locked apartment, but it was our only chance! Again, we braved the metro with the heavy stroller, relying on the goodness of a few Italians who helped me carry the stroller down the stairs. We exited and wandered for about 45 minutes before we found the right church. Then it was all in vain. We arrived at a beautiful church hidden behind a hill and a road with a locked cloister and a buzzer and no obvious library. I couldn't bring myself to ring--what would I say?-- so I resolved that we would just wait the two hours until Matt should come out. A monk was next to the bars, though, so I approached him and asked if there was a library there. He almost laughed out loud (in a kindly way) at the suggestion. A library? We are a very small monastery with just a tiny library for the monks, but nothing for scholars. Perplexing! Nevertheless, I decided to stay. I'm not sure why. Maybe I just couldn't bring myself to abandon hope. At quarter past noon, however, we still had no sign of Matt. Dominic was getting restless and Cate was beginning to scream. While I wanted to sit down and cry and indulge in my misery, I tried to hold it together for the kids, since we gad a long walk ahead of us without any food. Shoulders slumping forward, I plowed along back down the hill. We reached the foot and were just about to turn and lose sight of the church and piazza where we had been waiting for Matt, I looked one last time, out of desperation rather than hope, when I saw the red backpack. My legs responded with the sprinting power of the former tri-state champion that I was, and I heard my voice screaming his name at the top of my lungs, not caring that everyone on the sidewalk was looking at the lunatic running full blast with a red stroller screaming. Then I was behind him in a second. In my joy, I accosted him from behind, startling him far more than he deserved. I have NEVER been soo happy in my life. My best friend. My one friend in Rome. My friend with the cell phone, passport, and the money.

He took care of me, immediately taking command of the stroller to relieve my burden. He commanded that we stop for food. When refreshed, he found an internet cafe while I bought a few groceries. We called the landlady. He helped me with the kids in the metro. He ran ahead to meet the lady in time. He watched the kids so I could get dinner ready for company and he helped me tidy before they came. My one friend in Rome is a pretty good one, I have to say.

Video: Villa d'Este!

I thought a short video would help you picture this marvelous place with its astonishing array of sixteenth-century fountains. It even had a hydraulic organ! I think the Villa d'Este in Tivoli might be my favorite outing yet. Enjoy!

The Italian Coin Craze

Remember the coin craze in the US when the Fed started minting special state quarters and only 4 new ones came out each year? There was a mad rush on every bank and endless phone calls for customers desperate to get their newly-minted quarters, desperate to snatch up a roll or two while they were still spankin' new, to fill that lonely CA or TX whole in their coin collection.  I worked in a bank for one of those years and dreaded every time a new quarter was released.

Fortunately, the Italian coin craze is not like that.  There is no mad dash over the euro, no coin collecting, and no urgent bank runs.  And therein lies the real problem: not only no rushing the bank, Italians don't ever (or...very rarely) go to the bank.  Not merely average citizens, but the shops, supermarkets, restaurants, etc, just never go to the bank.  They rely on their customers to have exact change or make change in such a way that they give you the least amount of change. The idea of requiring change from a vendor is seen as an insult of the highest kind, one only perpetrated by tourists.

Let me give you an example.  Just yesterday I was in the supermarket, a large grocery store chain called Billa.  It is always crowded and must have a thousand customers a day.  The kids and I went at 9am to avoid the hoards of crazed Italians staunchly marking out there territory before the deli, in the aisle, and waiting to check out.  You would think that -- this early in the morning -- making change would not be a problem (they open at 8am).  But shops do not make a morning run to the bank to get the change they might require for the day, like they do in the US.  My total rang up to 20.49 euro.  I handed her a twenty and then felt the need to apologize when I also handed her a five.  From experience, I knew this apology was necessary to avoid being shunned.  After all, I was asking that she give me two two-euro coins and a fifty-cent coin and a penny.  That's a lot of change isn't it?  How dare I not carry exact change?!  She looked at the five as if she didn't quite know what to do with it.  She pondered a minute looking at my shopping cart, then she spoke her brilliant scheme.  "You have a cart.  When you return it, bring me the euro." And she returned my five-euro bill and gave me fifty cents instead, expecting me to bring her the euro when I finished returning my cart.  To get a shopping cart, you put a one euro coin in as a deposit.  When you return it, you get the euro back. 

Other times, Matt has tried to buy bus tickets from a tabaccheria and been refused because he didn't have the right change.  He only wanted two, so it should cost 2 euro.  But, as no one else gives change either, he only had a ten.  This would entail giving him a five-euro bill, a two-euro coin, and a one-euro coin.  Outrageous!  Once it was around 9:30AM, and they asked if he would wait for them to grab change at the bank because they had none in their registers.  He just decided to buy enough tickets to prevent that waste of time.  (Once he had to come all the way back from a pizzeria because he only had a twenty-euro bill for a twelve-euro purchase! He needed to come back and grab enough coins... But he would have had to wait for the pizza to bake anyway, I guess.)

Routinely, Italians round up or down by up to 10 cents so that they can give you nothing smaller than a ten-cent piece.  Pennies are forgiven if they ever come up.  I'm not quite sure why they even exist.  And most prices are usually on the euro itself.  1 euro, 2 euro, etc.  The idea of .99, .85, etc is simply anathema to them, as it well should be. Who ever thought of doing things that way, anyway? And tax is already included, so, the listed price is the price you'll pay.  That's convenient.

But, here in Italy, have the right change, or you will be the utmost inconvenience and have scorn heaped upon your head.