When in Rome (or Varazze)...

In the Ligurian region, where Varazze resides and from where we just returned, there is a much different feeling of Italy than in our sleepy town of Toscolano-Moderno. In Varazze, the Italians are louder, the clothing more chic [and less of it], the food deliciously different, and people, in general, more adorned. Varazze is a beach town on the sea, with yatchs, and the tanned, fit and gorgeous people who seem to adorn such ships.

Raising down-to-earth kids in such an enviornment must be a little challenging, and my sister-in-law has managed and more. Our kids were enamored with their cousins [and rightfully so] and with their counsins' town; they studied them and the town's kids' every move.

So, perhaps I should not have been surpised when the girls asked for a new swimsuit. A bikini. An Italian bikini.

Hmmm. Let me say that when I started this parenthood gig I took the Waldorf philosophies of parenting very seriously. And part of that idea--while not explicitly stated, I don't think--is that little pre-pubescent girls should not be wearing bikinis. But here's the thing: in Italy, many women and most of the little kids don't wear TOPS at all at the beach, so having a bikini on here is almost modest by comparison. So I said "yes" to the bikini, with the understanding that the little swimsuit was for Italy [or Europe, to be generous] and home. With big nods, and little Rachie and Nicholas escorted up to the apartment with Dad, the girls and I went shopping for an Italian bikini.

Shopping in Varazze is fantastic. The shop people are more than helpful, pulling out this and that, suggesting one style or another, and all the while smiling and telling you how beautiful you are, with big claps of their hands. In every store where the girls looked for their suits there was an excitement in the air: it felt like the scene in Pretty Women where she finally gets to shop the right way. The girls loved it, too: both of them smiling, and speaking Italian the best they could. Finally, both settled on cute little suits: a Betty Boop number for Allie and a yellow fruit-themed suit for Maddy. Pretty and appropriate, really, for their ages. Both beamed as the sales lady handed them their packages, feeling light and happy as the sales lady laughed and waved.

After the pleasure of shopping for them, I decided to steal an hour and look around by myself. Dropping off all the kids with Michael, I was ready to enjoy my own shopping adventure. What felt like something special for the girls turned out to be similar for me: as I pulled out shirts, pants, and dresses to try on, the shop owners, their helpers, and the Italian shoppers all chimed in their two cents about the clothes I tried on. "That one's beautiful! You're gorgeous! That dress is the one for you..." With enthusiasm and glee, these comments were given to me [and everyone else who was trying on clothes] by the super chic, very glamorous and beautiful women in the store. It was all in good fun, too: not fake or laced with additude -- the opposite of all of that. There was a genuine feeling to all these women complimenting one another, laughing, joking, and enjoying the idea of fashion and new clothes. Not once did I see envious side glances or sighs of discontent. We are all lovely and isn't it great! Seemed to be the feeling, all from women ranging in age from 19 - ?

How fun to feel part of this club of women, if even for a few minutes, and how different than shopping in America for clothing. Who knows how I really look in the silky violet halter dress I picked out; I do know, however, that whenever I put it on I will feel lovely and ready for fun, just as I did the day I bought it. No wonder Italian women can walk down the street with such confidence!

As for the girls, today they begged and pleaded to go to the beach to try out their new suits. All fear subsided as -- even in their cute bikinis -- they played in the sand, made castles, fought with their brother, and swam with other kids at the beach. A normal day. Still, in America, I will ask that they resume wearing their tank swimsuits, and that they tuck their Italian bikinis in a back drawer. "When in Rome..." the expression goes. But why does everything have to be so much more FUN while in Rome?