What do you get when you take a couple of toddlers, drag them through customs in 2 different time zones, feed them an exclusive diet of yogurt, Milka bars and cuties, and wear a nursing-inaccessible dress to Sunday sancta missa in Italiano inside the venerable San Pietro itself?
An F-minus. Times two.
Between bouts of crying, kicking, flailing, and almost-displacing of several folding chairs inside St. Peter’s basilica, we managed to say a few of our responses correctly during Mass, and we did make it to Communion. But…still. 3 adults. 2 babies. 1 humiliating spectacle of the failure of American parenting, on display for all the world to see.
Dark and blurry deets:
Blazer: Gap Dress: Banana Republic outlet Boots: Frye Necklace: Lia Sophia (gifted) Diaper bag: Timi and Leslie (won) Hair: shabby-teeny-euro-shower-chic
Little sister and photographer extraordinaire. Making us all look hot, tan, and skinny via some magical editing process.
Slightly better behaved than his naughty brother, but only just.
Living the dream. Last week a high-schooler, this week an unpaid European nanny.
Papa peeked out his apartment window for the Sunday Angelus. Actually, just to say ‘hey’ to us.
Pay no attention to the halo surrounding him; he was a legit hellian.
Longer post forthcoming tomorrow, until then, buon Sunday!