Bambini

Our four children are a suprise, even here. Italians stop me in the street and in the store -- I have been stopped three times -- telling me that my large family is no longer common in Italy and they all give me their "compliments" [complimenti] on our large brood. I like that they are happy to see so much productivity by my husband and me, and that my children know enough to smile big at these moments. [My kids, after all, are grandchildren of a great salesman and of a great marketer, and do know when to play it when it counts.]

However, it seems the large family does still exist in Italy; at least we met one. Yesterday we were invited to lunch at the home of my husband's colleague, his wife, and four of their eight children. Yes, eight. The house was immaculate. The lunch was served with china, silver, linens, the works...and for all the children, too. The kids [mine included] sat through three hours of food and talk. There was no kids' table. There was no video. No ketchup. There was not even a toy in SIGHT. I was very proud of our kids for making it through, but at the same time, noted that for these Italian kids, this sort of lunch was not so uncommon and their behavior was not met with "oohs and ahs."

At one point in the lunch, the Dad barked at his son, "Play something for us." Now, in my house, such a request at a party would be met with sighs, moans, and then the requisite encouragement by the adults. This kid, though, said "Of course," and off he went and hammered out some Schumann. "Bravo," we applauded, and, quick as he started, the moment was over, and he sat back down at the table. Immediately, we were served coffee, in small cups, black.

Sometimes, Michael and I play a devilish game of "what we would be doing if we didn't have four children with us on this trip." We would have had, by now, many long, delicious lunches; great, long hikes in the mountains; a concert or two; a trip to a few old churches and castles; and a laziness that has disappeared from our lives for nine years. Michael once shared our little "what if" game [I am sure every parent plays it] to an older man next to him on the plane here. "You think that now, " he said, "but all you do is miss them once they are gone."

So,once we are back to our reality here, we know we must tolerate the realities of being abroad with little ones. Rachie needs two naps or she is intollerable. There must be three meals, plus snacks. There must be time to "play" everyday. There is probably a sweet or two, for good measure, if we want them to try new types of food. And on and on.

But what we get in return? A whole lot of memories: Allie, who enters the car and immediately strips down to her underwear and exclaims in a toothless seriousness, "I am so hot. So, so hot, please PLEASE GET THE AIR ON NOW." [It's like 72 degrees here now.] Then, Allie later putting her pizza in an ashtray at the restaurant because she thought it was a fancy plate [she had never seen an ashtray before -- I think America might trump on that one]. Maddy, who is as desperate as I to know Italian, speaking as much as she can at every turn. Also, her golden hair growing longer and preferred skirt getting shorter the longer we are here. Then, Nicholas, whose main goal in life is to eat as much gelato as possible; and he, who misses Montana the most. Still Rachel, who will remember none of this, but is my main pass in making the even the grumpiest Italian happy and ready to help.