Friday in 7

1.  

Last night, after a long day of work/mothering/nose-wiping, I was sitting at the 'ol laptop reading the most vile and troll-y comments on some article about something hosted somewhere on the internets and my blood pressure was rising steady, steady, filling up my ears like our stove-top espresso maker and then suddenly, epiphany: why am I reading this shit? My sweet sister Hillary, also a journalist, sagely pointed out that reading comments on any given article is equivalent to sitting in a public restroom and reading all the graffiti on the stall. What. What indeed, have I been doing, and why?

Blogging exempted, the written word is not generally intended to be a correspondence as it is a proclamation, and, therefore, is by its very nature not a 2-way discussion. Mind blown. I knew I had a problem as early as a year or so ago when I was indulging in a very infrequent (perhaps too infrequent) pasttime: reading an actual print newspaper. Probably while waiting in an airport somewhere. And as I finished the piece, my eyes automatically traveled down the page to see what ape_69_mofo thought about what I'd just taken in, in case his sage and worthy opinion might sway my own...what the WHAT.

Occupational hazard up in here, y'all. But I solemnly swear, from this day forward, that I will not - I repeat, NOT - be reading comments on any article that is not my own. And hell, maybe I won't even read those comments, either. Part of the joy of writing, and the mystery of it, is that you're creating something to present to the world, and it's not a collaborative effort that deserves to be shaped by random feedback from strangers. Can you imagine if artists worked that way? Or architects? Or dentists? Imperfect analogies, but do you see what I mean? (And obviously this doesn't apply to blogging, which by its very nature is ordered toward discussion. Different animal.)

2.

 Embracing my new found freedom, I decided to flex my domestic muscles last night and, in a profoundly ironic twist on the plunge into paleo living, I made everything bagels. From scratch. And I've eaten 3 in the past 12 hours. I can't even ... guys they are so good, I almost cried when I bit into the first sample. I told Dave that Einstein Bros was going to call and apologize for ever even attempting what I created in my humble, tiny Roman kitchen last night. Truly life-changing. And, now I totally look pregnant. Probably no correlation there. But this recipe + the addition of dried garlic and onion to the sesame seed topping....carb heaven, I tell you.  

3. 

Joey is owning the potty. We're on the big boy commode now, and his nasty IKEA potty chair is tucked away until little brother wants to jump on this diaperless train. It's a legit miracle, because I was fully expecting to be diapering three little booties come Christmas time, but it's been 2 weeks and I'm calling it 'stuck.' He has had a few accidents, mostly in connection with a nasty cold/ear infection combo which renders him slightly hysterical in the middle of the night, but the last 4 nights have been dry and easy. We'll see what regression the coming months of 12+ hour flights and multiple different sleeping arrangements brings, but for now, I'm rolling in diaper money and he is sporting some of the cheekiest baby man bikini briefs that you have ever seen. I can't put a picture up, because I do actually love him and trust me, this would be a scarring thing, not a 'look-how-funny-and-adorable-thing.' Plus, I want to be invited to his wedding someday. Or his ordination.

4. 

My job is changing just a bit and I'm now going to be creating original content for Heroic News at the new Heroic News blog. Regular topics to include: abortion, contraception, IVF, eugenics, euthanasia, embryonic AND adult stem cell research, gay 'marriage,' and human cloning. Bring your sunblock and your butterfly nets, because, you know...but please do stop by, and please spread the word on the www about HeroicNews.org/blog.

5.

What can anyone recommend for debilitating pregnancy exhaustion, besides the obvious and unattainable? I'm toying with the stupidest of stupid ideas and thinking about giving up my morning espresso(s), figuring that maybe I will crash earlier in the evening and that 10 hours, rather than 8.5, will do the trick? All I know is this morning I was in and out of consciousness for a good 45 minutes during JP's naptime, and I opened my eyes to find a nearly naked toddler crouched on my pillow systematically piling books and clean laundry on my chest.

6. 

Reading and loving this book right now. It's our second literary foray into Duggarland, and color us dorky but we love it, and we love reading about how this family is raising their children and striving for holiness. Do we agree with every single decision they make or belief they proclaim? No, of course not...but I think that's the case for almost anyone else's family who you look at. What they are is a whole lot of inspiring, uplifting, and challenging, especially on the whole parental attitude front. I am often a raging shrew in front of my innocent children, and rarely to I stop to reflect on how damaging mommy's habitual sour puss might be to their little hearts. But the Duggars make me stop and think. And to think, they do it without wine...shudder (like I said, toss the bathwater, not the baby.)

7.

My pretty little baby sister is graduation today. The number 6 whose entrance made our family into a legit 'they-are-definitely-doing-this-on-purpose' public gawking spectacle. The sweetest, most inexhaustibly sanguine and most fashion savvy 18 year old on the planet. And to think, she's already got a semester in Europe under her fabulous leather belt. Tia, I'm so proud of you and I can't wait to see what the coming years bring your way. Wish I were there to see the sixth out of seven Senours walk the blue carpet tarp in Clune Arena at the Air Force Academy tonight. Sniff.

Now if you'll kindly click over to the soon-to-be-published Mrs. Jen Fulwiler, Esq., I'll see you to the door.

When Showering is Hard

Alternately titled: Failing at everything.

No, I don't mean that. I only feel like I mean that. I am fully aware that keeping the kids alive, relatively healthy, and in good spiritual shape is pretty much the summation of my motherly vocation. And I've ticked all those boxes (so far) today. But it's just one of those draaaagging days where late afternoon is upon us and I have relatively little to show for it.

I don't know exactly what I want to say here, it's not a complaint rant, but it's not a silvery-lined breakthrough either. Motherhood is just hard right now. Living here, in a foreign country, being a stay at home mom in a place that very much not home, is far more difficult than I envisioned it would be. And it's not for the obvious reasons. Yes, I miss American food (however terrible the reputation we've garnered, I will go to my death defending our culinary diversity.), but more than that I miss the feeling of doing, of feeling (and of actually being) useful.

Am I useful to my immediate family? Of course. And most essentially so. But I have cooked no meals for newly delivered friends lately. I've swapped toddlers with no one. I've dropped off donations at zero thrift shops. I've not crafted a single attractive piece of decor for my home in 4 + months. And I've had zero ability to procure any type of paint, spray or otherwise, with which I might resurface the dirty peach colored walls throughout our home.

All these things I was so accustomed to doing in order to lift my spirits and give my mommy moral a boost are suddenly simply unavailable. Or unattainable. Without a car, without a mega store in range, without an American-sized budget (and import economy) which guarantees readily-available and quality 'fresh and different' on demand, I'm at a loss. I am unaccustomed to not being able to manipulate my exterior environment to soothe turmoil in my interior environment. I cannot 'nest' here. Or at least, it is challenging and unsatisfying and ultimately, not worth the effort. I cannot buy my way out of a bad day here...especially now that precious baby Bing #3 is on board and the vino train has slowed to a roll.

In short: I'm living very much in reality here. And reality is not entertaining. And it's not uniformly attractive. I was telling my sister recently that I hate Pinterest now, not because it's a huge time suck (Facebook is more my style of kryptonite) but because almost every single thing I see on there is impossible or unrealistic. And not for the normal reasons! Like budget or body type. But because oh my gosh, I can't find coconut flour here, and JCrew doesn't ship to Italy for a reasonable amount of money. And we live in a 900 sq foot apartment that I cannot craft a pirate alcove/wine cave into a corner of and camouflage it with decorative crown molding and latticework.

I don't know if this is entirely a bad thing. I am sure, however, that it is deeply uncomfortable. I've found pregnancy to be especially disturbing to my equilibrium of vaguely pampered comfort: no gym day care, no bathtubs, no grandparents, no drive-through anythings, no ready made meals (besides the obvious and detestable pizza), and no movie theaters. What's that? You say there are theaters, that show movies in English on the 4th Sunday of each month from 1 to 3 pm and are easily accessible by 3 connecting buses and one metro? You must be thinking of someone without toddlers and with a spirit of adventure that public transport has yet to strangle.

The very smallest things, materially speaking, have both frustrated me and piqued my gratitude lately. The store had 1 avocado left for only $4 (equivalent) US dollars? Amazing! Buy it, who cares if it's half brown! All the cleaning sprays I've tried in this country smell like suffocating, biohazardous death? Misery! Nightmare! Cue extensive fantasy about Target's Method brand tangerine-scented everything.

In short: I think I may have been parenting - and living - a bit on the surface, in my former life. And here below the surface, where I'm trying not to drown, life is not comfortable and it is not serene. And we were made for greatness, not for comfort, it's true...but oh my gosh it's painful to have that reality imposed on you. I have been wondering for months now what I'm doing here in Italy. I don't wonder what we're doing here, because obviously my kids are massively blessed and my husband loves his job and it was the right choice for us, et cetera et cetera...but what am I doing here?

Learning how to stop 'doing' and getting a crash course in 'being,' I suppose. And it is painful. And boring. And frustrating. And it's so much harder than measuring a day by productivity and accomplishment. There is nothing to measure. It's just a collection of moments, of choices, of little sacrifices or angry 'non-serviums' that sum up to a grand total of exhaustion by 10 pm. And I have no way of seeing the fruit of it now, because at the end of a day, of  every day here, it looks like I've done nothing.

I can only presume (and hope) that it's because He is the one doing all the work.

p.s. so many amazing comments lately. And if I haven't responded, I promise it's only because your email isn't linked to your name, and not because I didn't read and love what you wrote. Links please!

A Clerical Sort of Saturday

Today was, all things considered, one of the most fun we've had in Rome so far. Today was also the day that Dave's best friend (and the best man in our wedding) was ordained to the priesthood for the Archdiocese of Denver. So even though our hearts were far away at altitude today, we still managed to ring in Father John Ignatius' big day with a grand ghetto celebration abroad.

The man himself, toasting us on our big day.

While waiting for the livestream coverage of the Mass of Holy Orders, (which we nerded out to for 2.5 solid hours. How many theology degrees up in here?) we took the boys up to the super picturesque nearby soccer field to watch the team of seminarians from the North American College (the NAC) dominate the somewhat more melodramatic Latin American team to clinch the coveted "Clericus Cup" for a second year straight.

Also it's kiiiiind of a cool view.

Joey was mucho impressed with the game and the fields, which I'm going to attribute almost entirely to the fact that we let him try to pee on a tree. John Paul put a lot of weird things in his mouth, so he had a really great time, too.

The real highlight of our pre-Ordination celebration was, however, finding the world's most ridiculous looking BBQ at our teeny local grocery store and dragging it home to perch on our balcony.

Those holes aren't going to poke themselves, mother.

Summer has officially begun in the Eternal City.

While it would have been infinitely sweeter to be there in person to witness to Father John's (and Father Paul Kostka's!) transformation into 'priests forever, in the order of Malchizidek,' I'm thanking God for the internet, a little bag of charcoal, and a husband who is still in the kitchen scrubbing down the aftermath of a whole day spent in domestic neglect.

"It's happening, mom!"

Father John, Father Paul, we couldn't be prouder...and we are eagerly awaiting your visit later this month with 3+ months worth of pent up Confessions. Kidding. Okay only a little bit. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to find an English-speaking priest? Or how lazy I am?)

Buona Dominica, tutti.

Party of Five

Because I just ate half a baguette dipped in olive oil and called it dinner, Imma let you in on a little secret.

Perhaps I've Been Overthinking This...

Joey is potty trained. Like, 7 months of dabbling and coaching and coaxing and then boom, yesterday, he went 24 hours sans diaper because I was feeling, oh, I don't know, lazy? Stupid? Adventurous? And he surprised me. Blew my expectations out of the water. And speaking of water...not a single accident. Not one!

My friend Mary suggested a 100% all-or-nothing potty training blitz which, truthfully, sounded terrifying and fraught with puddles of urine. Or perhaps public displays of soggy cheeks. Her point was this: if diapers are still around some of the time, then the kid isn't going to 'get' it fully. Or at least, there will be confusion and laziness because half the day it's okay to pee in your pants, and the other half of the day it's not.

Made perfect sense to me. Also sounded completely ridiculous because this kid still wakes up with a soggy diaper in the a.m. (probably due in no small part to the gallons of acqua frizzante he begs at bedtime), and who wants to be laundering sheets all day without a dryer? Who, I ask you?

But, partly because I have nothing better to do (read: no car to worry about getting peed in, no pressing appointments to angst over being soiled, no social life for 6 out of 7 days in the week...) we went for it. And he stepped up big time. Seriously I feel like I have a little man now instead of a toddler. And I'm so proud of him I could burst. It's an amazing thing to have your kids surprise you with their competence. Parenting: we're doing it.

Here's how it broke down:

Month 1-7: picked out big boy undies, dolled out chocolate for successful performances, occassionally busted out the undies at home, but always reverted to a diaper for leaving the house/naps/bedtime/whenever mommy felt like it. Basically I felt like Joey in undies was a loaded gun. And I'm guessing that didn't inspire a huge amount of confidence on his part.

This week we decided to get serious. I don't really know why, except that I'm eating carbs again so my brain fog is dissipating, and I couldn't find his size of store brand diapers on Monday, so I pulled the trigger.

Day 1: undies for long periods of the day, treats or money (we're shameless) whenever he had a successful performance.

Day 2: Screw it. Took off the diaper in the morning and never looked back.

-Undies all day, frequent offerings of milk and water, and even 2 trips out of the house sans diaper where he informed me he had to go and then did so, in an unfamiliar and slightly disgusting Euro bathroom, no less. (Granted, I dangled his buns over the toilet and didn't let him touch a thing...but it was still traumatic for me. Not for him. He acted like he's been doing it for ages.)

-Undies at naptime. Now this was scary. I relish the heck out of those 2 hours of peaceful afternoon respite, but he was feeling SO confidant from his successful morning that it really didn't make any sense to undo that confidence with a diaper. And I really felt like it would have done just that. So, we had a very serious discussion about the 'just-in-case-big-boy-pee-towel which I doubled over his sheet, and he used the potty twice before naptime. And then I held my breath. At the two hour mark, he yelled for me "I'm peeing Mommy!" which I guess translates to "I've gotta go!" because he was still dry and wanting an escort to the bathroom. I couldn't believe how much he had held in that little bladder of his when we got him in there!

-Undies all the rest of the day. And a trip to the store to pick out anything he wanted, because honestly, I would have bought him a pony. He settled on a 1 lb. bag of faux peanut M&Ms. Get after it, son.

- Bedtime. This was the part I'd been dreading. Per Mary's instructions, I'd cut off liquids at 6pm and he had gone at least 3 times between then and 8pm, when he finally went down. Deep breath, explanation of how he could call for help if he needed to go, and ... lights out.

- 10 pm dream pee (I don't know what else to call this): It was also recommended that I lift him out of bed for one final bathroom trip about an hour into his nighttime sleep, which we acted on after much debate. This kid is not the world's greatest sleeper, so the thought of waking him on purpose was...not pleasant. But he didn't really fully wake up. He just kind of drunkenly giggled and watched me through slitted eyes while he performed yet another stunning potty session, and then he went right back to sleep when I lied him down. Damn, this is too good to be true.

- Morning time. I'm not gonna lie, I had a fitfull, restless night of sleep filled with dreams about urine. It was bizarre. And I woke up numerous times to listen for him and imagined he would be floating on his mattress by morning. But... 7:30 came, Dave went in at the sounds of restless natives, and there we found a dry, happy 2.5 year old waiting to be escorted to potty town.

Amazed, encouraged, enthusiastic about possibly teaching him how to read by the week's end, etc.

And there you have it. My kid is a dry genius with a serious M&M habit. And I couldn't be more proud.