Linking up with Jen‘s usual raucous crowd via Grace, who is living up to her moniker by hosting for our out-of-commission new mama. Praying for little Joseph to exit hotel NICU swiftly and start sleeping through the night promptly.
1. Speaking of sleeping through the night, (don’t say it outloud, you idiot, don’t say it.you’re cursing yourself.) John Paul is doing it. And one week shy of his first birthday. After 5 consecutive days of DOUBLE naps and peaceful 12 hour nighttime stretches…I’m calling it: the kid can sleep.
1. Praise God in Heaven, because this little monster was shaping up to be the permanent baby of the family. I don’t know that my dark circles will ever disappear fully, and I am sure that part of my brain came unhinged sometime over the past year from so many repeated shootings out of bed at 2 am to the tune of bloodcurdling song from the room adjacent…but he sleeps now. And all is well with my soul.
2. Jillian Michaels and I have been on again off again for 2.5 years. Joey is 2.5 years old. You do the math. Anyway, I’ve finally reconciled the nemeses and they now join forces to whip me into shape every morning. And while I don’t look any better, I feel more in control of Rome, since maybe the buses don’t come on time and maybe I can’t find what I’m looking for at the grocery store, but at least I can always count on Jillian for a few good chest flys in my life. And Joey is my workout buddy. You might say they have come to a grudging acceptance of one another.
Jenny: “Show me your muscles buddy.”
Adolescence should be a blast.
3. There is a construction site directly across the street from our building, so as the weather has warmed up we’ve spent hours sitting on our balcony watching ‘the diggers,’ and in fact, JP recently uttered his first sentence, in perfect Itanglish: “Ecco, diggers!”
4. I found oatmeal at our local Todis, a discount Italian grocery store kind of like Aldi. Except maybe a tiny bit less ghetto. But OATMEAL! After more than 3 months of scrambled eggs and an unfortunate foray into gluten-full cornflakes. (What?? Why??) It sounds like a weird thing to be so excited about, but trust me on this one, pastries and yogurt for breakfast every morning gets old. And fat. And with it, the consumer. Even/especially when Nutella is involved.
5. I am an amazing cook. With the abundance of organic (everything here is ‘organic,’ because they have stricter laws about pesticides and GMO stuff here) and readily available quality ingredients quite literally on my doorstep, I have zero excuses not to whip up truly amazing and simple meals for the fam. I was an okay cook before our migration, but I relied heavily (okay, exclusively) on canned beans and maybe the not-so-occasional rotisserie chicken. No judgement here! If those bad boys were readily available, I’d be all over them. 3-4 times a week. But they’re not, and so I’ve had to branch out, aka learn how to cook. And it turns out when you have practically no friends, no car to drive places, and very few distractions, cooking can be a very worthy time-filler in the late afternoons/early evenings. I’m sure my husband is thanking his luckiest stellae that I’ve finally jumped on-board the domestic culinary wagon, and our bank account is also blessedly (or maybe sorrowfully?) free from 3-8 weekly charges labelled ‘Chipotle.’ No comment.
6. Sleep. Glorious sleep. So much sleep I did our taxes yesterday. 4 whole days early. and in less than an hour. with both kids crawling on me. And it was fine. (Shut up now, Jenny. Anyone who is still reading by this point already hates you, and JP is guaranteed to regress in the most dramatic fashion if you utter one more word.)
7. Blogger friends become real-life friends. I’ve already creepily mentioned the Tierneys a million times, but in addition to Kendra I’ve also made friends with a group of mamas in Rome via a sweet reader who tracked me down and invited me to her beautiful apartment for a coffee date/mommy meet up session. Which I’m hosting at mi casa next week. Amazing, the internets. Plus, another lovely reader from Malta (yes, the Catholic island-nation south of Italy) is mailing me color-catching fabric protectors for my sad, sick laundry situation. Glory, glory alleluia. Will wonders never cease?
Off to the Camp with you now, and may your minds be edified with more stirring stuff than this. Me? I’ve got a double date with a toddler and an angry woman in sweatcapris.