Nick's Wishes

Walking on a long cobble-stone road, Allie accidentally bumped into Nick, and his face hit the wall of an old apartment building.
"Why are these walls made with pointy paint?" asked Nicholas with fat tears coming down his face, one tear after another streaking dirt and sliding down the scraped area of his cheek.
"Well, they are old walls and that's what you get in Italy," I said, not knowing the reason.
"I don't like pointy walls, Mom. I like smooth walls, and I want to go HOME. Home Home."

For little Nick, I fear Italy includes too many girls [read: three sisters] and not enough fishing.

Things Nicky likes about Italy:
1. Kinder chocolate eggs. These, I think, are actually German. They are chocolate eggs with a little plastic toy inside and then some sticky candy gunk that looks like egg yolks and a little spoon to scoop it out. He LOVES these, and asks for them everyday. I think he's had them twice. The insides look, for lack of a better discription, very gross.

2. His six-year-old male cousin, Andy.

3. All the boys on Vespas.

The first two are natural affections. The third is a worry. Nicholas, having to walk everywhere and having not much else to look at since he does not yet care about girls, clothes, or bars, has noticed the number of young men on Vespas.
"Oh yeah, Mom, when I get older I am sooo doing that." [Young man speeding past us, way too fast, on blue Vespa.]
"Listen to THAT Mom!" [Obnoxious Vespa, way too loud, speeding past, almost knocking us over, color forgotten.]
"AWESOME!" [Three Vespas, one with girl on back hanging on for her life, speeding past.]

I am trying to be cool Mom here, and support this new Vespa craze, but the truth is, every time a Vespa zooms past, I point to one thing:
"Son, he is not wearing a helmet! How stupid can you get??"

It seems in Italy, Vespa drivers [and most bicyclists] have not gotten the memo about helmets. That same memo was lost with the smoking-is-bad-for-you memo and the tanning-until-you-look-like-burnt-chicken-is-not-a-good-idea memo.

Here are the things Italians ARE worried about:

1. Cold water. Somehow, cold water here is not tolerated. I have yet to have a glass of water served with ice, and even when I ask for it cold, it comes a couple of degrees above room temperature. I am not sure what Italian cold water will do to me, and I don't think I will have the opportunity to find out. Ice cubes are banned, I think.

2. Air conditioning. Until I married a European, I did not know about the dangers of air conditioning. Now, I am aware that if it blows on my face, I might get sick. I never GOT sick from air conditioning before meeting Michael, but I have seen him red faced and sneezing after having air blow on him. Is it European air conditioning? Some strange gene that is bred out of second generation Americans? I don't know, but the Italians will warn you, and turn off the air.

3. Any sun, at all, on your child's head. If Rachel pulls off her hat -- even for a minute-- some well-meaning old lady will warn me that her hat is off, and suggest that I put it back on. If I choose NOT to put a hat on her, I am asked about the hat's location and I can see that my status as Mom has down-graded one notch for not being on top of the hat issue. I have learned to travel with a hat.

Today, we went to a very impressive castle [second biggest in Europe - don't know what the first is] and saw a spectacular church with Roman tile in the basement. Nicholas and the kids had a great time, especially at the castle, and as we walked we talked about the castle's history: the fighting, the wars, the bloodshed right where we walked.

"Cool, right Nick?" I asked, thinking this would surely make his list of fantastic things in Italy.

"Awesome, Mom.... But I would like to live on a plane."

Progess!