Getting Ready

“We won’t be eating this in Italy, kids,” I warn three of my children, as I place a heaping bowl of edamame in front of their noses. It seems this week’s theme in our family is, “We won’t be … in Italy, kids.” Every time the words come out, I have a sense of satisfaction that so much of what we do and eat will have to change. Even Rachel, my 10-month-old, was warned that she won’t be eating cheddar-cheese grilled sandwich bits in Italy. And while she seems pleased with the upcoming change in dietary possibilities, my little phrase of comfort of what won’t be happening in Italy has created an increasing apprehension in my older children about what we will be doing and eating in Italy for seven weeks. When they do ask about what our life will be like once there, I suddenly become “carefree Mom” and answer with a shrug and a sing-song voice, “We’ll have to seeee, it will have an ad-venture.” At these times, I annoy everyone, including myself, but I don’t know what else to tell them.

I have traveled to Italy many times, even with very small children. And I have lived in a few countries for much longer than the paltry seven weeks we will be making Europe our home. But I have yet to travel abroad for seven weeks with four children, one of whom is still up at all hours of the night and about to walk. The sheer number and youth of our family give people pause when I walk through the grocery store, so I can imagine the looks our family will garner when we traipse through the security checks, the airplanes, the museums, the restaurants, the little town of Toscolano, en masse. When I think too much about what the six of us will be doing in "everything is smaller and chic-er and harder to navigate Europe," my breaths become short and shallow. So, I am not thinking much about how we will all manage, and this is strangely freeing and strikes me as sort of Italian. I am blending already.