A Conspiracy of Genes - I Geni Cospiratori

When William was born, John and I were wondering who William mostly looked like. 

Enrica: "He is a frightening super cute little guy" 

John: "He is cuter than all of us!"

Nonna Ada: "He has almond shaped eyes. Who did he get that from?"

John: "Don't know, I don't have almond shaped eyes". 
John (after burping the baby): "He looks like a monkey to me!"

Enrica: "He is a little version of John with curls!"

Husband: "It's not true. Perhaps he has the color of my hair, nonno Dolfy's nose and grandpa Bill's jaw but that's about it. He is his own person!".
Nonni:  "Enrica, he looks so much like you in this picture!"
Enrica: "Really? I don't see it."
Friend: "Enrica, he looks so Italian!"
Enrica: "Where?"

John at around 18 months

William at around 18 month

Enrica at around 12 months

At the end, my husband and I agreed that, as far as cuteness is concerned, William is a collage of bits of all of us Dente Kruse (the bits are not cute, only the end result is cute!).  How about his personality?

In the beginning all I could see was a baby, acting like other babies, except for his motor skills, which were a bit behind. These were the comments I kept hearing about William almost from everyone around me (doctors, nurses, family, friends):

"OMG, he is soo alert!"

"How calm is your baby. You are so lucky!"
"WOW, he is soo laid back!"

"I like the way he is playing, he is soo focused and methodical!

Perfect! He is not an impulsive one (like me) and is not irrational (like my parents) either. He is the opposite: quite, calm, rational, analytical, methodical, basically he is the dream child of a parent. Thank God he has not inherited my family's genes!, I told my husband many times.

Unfortunately this is not the whole story.  Another aspect of William's personality has started to come on the surface, as you will see in the video below. He has started to be obsessed with order. He has to constantly close all the doors and drawers that he finds open, included the toilet lid. As soon as I open a door or a drawer in the kitchen to pick something, I have to quickly pull my hand out of the way before William slams it shut! Then he brings me all the things that he feels are misplaced - shoes, shirts, gloves, socks he finds on our bed etc. And he is obsessed with cleanliness. He refuses to get his hands dirty when he is eating - the tiniest bit of food that go on his little fingers must be removed, otherwise he will start a drama piece and will stop eating. The babysitter even told me that after getting his hands dirty by reaching for a toy under the couch, he once started rubbing his hands against each other with a disgusted look on his face! He really doesn't like to get dirty. She couldn't stop laughing about it.

Now, watch this video and tell me if this is normal behavior for a 21 month old boy.

Do you see any similarities with someone in my family? No?

It was my husband who pointed out few days ago, while looking at William closing doors, that perhaps my mother's compulsion for order and for cleanliness has skipped a generation! Help me!

Fancy P-I-Z-Z-A? - Ci facciamo una P-I-Z-Z-A?

I often try to get my toddler to repeat words.

Me:
"William, try to say Rosso, Ros-so, Ros-so. How about Giallo, Gial-lo, Gial-lo"

William:
"Pikkeba' Putkaba' Tappete'!
Chabaye'? Neshdua'? Bashemna'?
Elle Elle Ashiba' Visha'is Klai Klai Klai
Fashibi' Memnema'!"

No luck. Once or twice, when I asked him to repeat "William", I heard him say Limiam or something like that but I am not so sure he understood I was making him say his name. Most recently, he has started making up his own words. Below are some recent additions to what I have decided to call the Tronk dictionary - for the new blog readers, Tronk is William's nickname:

Tui' Tui' = Ciui' Ciui' = Animals with Wings and Beak (e.g. sparrows, eagles, penguins)

Papa' = Pappa = Food

Olia = Oliva = Olive

Uiva =Uva = Gapes

Soe = Sole = Sun

Mae = Mare = Sea

Chiglia = Conchiglia = Shell

Gluu' = Iglu' = Igloo

Bimbo/a = Child = Big bird

Etta = Words that end in Etta = Anything

My husband often tells me to stop giving meanings to what William says. After all, he is only 20 months. Plus we are teaching him two languages (English and Italian). I was thinking: perhaps my husband is right. Perhaps at this stage, he is just experimenting with sounds!

Wrong. The boy understands more than we think!

After spending Sunday afternoon at the Boston museum of the JFK library (BTW, I was expecting to see piles of boring documents on display but, as usual, the Americans know how to entertain you! There were promotional banners, medals, all sorts of advertising stuff showing the power of the media in making JFK look sexy compared to Nixon, various rooms revealing episodes of his life, including his wife's beautiful clothes and the coconut shell he carved into, which saved his and his boat crew's life when he was stuck on an island in world war II. Worth a visit!). William was running around the various rooms in his blue, red and white outfit, occasionally posing.

William at the Boston museum of the JFK library

Sleeping? We tried putting him in the stroller. In the old days he would have fallen asleep immediately. Good old days! The boy wanted to finish his visit of the museum, so at the end of it he was exhausted. We were thinking of eating outside. Then we went home to get William to nap.

We hadn't had pizza for a while so we decided to go out for a pizza. When we go to restaurants, I usually spoon feed William a healthy meal I bring with me from home as I don't trust the quality of the average restaurant food in the US. I was not worried to bring William with us because in the last week or so William had been such a great eater - he has got back to eating almost anything! - plus I had William's favorite risotto with me so I had nothing to worry about.

This is what happened.

Me:

Sweetie, here is the risotto, the one you love.

William: [WITH DISGUSTED LOOK ON HIS FACE]
No, no! No, no, no, no!

Me:

What? You don't want to eat risotto? What's going on?

Pizza arrives at the table.

William: [GIGGLING]

Pitta! Pitta! Ehe ehe ehe ehe! [LAMB SOUNDS OF EXCITEMENT]
He, he, he, he [MEANING: GIVE IT TO ME, NOW!]

He heard us say the word "pizza" and, as a result, decided to wait for the treat.

Me:
From now on, we should not say "pizza" in front of the boy

Husband:
Ok, from now on we'll say P-I-Z-Z-A. By the way, fancy an I-C-E C-R-E-A-M with C-H-O-C-O-L-A-T-E?

Who says that parenthood does not change us?

Working mom or staying at home mom? - Mamma in carriera o casalinga?

Most famous working woman illustration in America

Working mom or staying at home mom? Have you decided if you are going to sit at home and wish you worked, or if you are going to work and feel bad about babysitting or day care? Are you one of those who leave the kids with the grandparents and talks about not having time for yourself? May I ask you what you would do if your parents were not around? This is what I do.

William getting changed while having fun

I have decided to take care of my child. I spend my week cooking, feeding him, cleaning mess (toilet poop included), singing silly songs, making noises, saying things that don't always make sense just to make him laugh, finding ways of entertaining him without him breaking into pieces against chairs or doors, without him making use of my lipstick to color the wall and without me gluing him onto the TV screen. Last but not least, figuring out ways to keep sane. Taking care of a toddler is tiring, constant, mostly physical and it never stops. I mean, it does stop sometimes but this is what happens when it stops.

When I see him in bed with his Muslin blanket covering half of his nose, the pacifier moving under the blanket like a ghost and his eyes half closed, I know that my free time has started. The clock is ticking. And these are the words that come to my mind: "Go go go! You are on break!". I used to hear these same words at school as a child, when I could leave the classroom and go run in the back courtyard. That feeling of freedom was as exciting as the feeling of being free at home as a little girl when my mom and dad were going to nap. I could go out with friends I was not supposed to see, I could drink soda, later I could smoke on the balcony without being seen. Unfortunately, all that freedom would almost always end in disappointment. As a teenager, how can you feel happy at the end of a break if all you have managed to do during the break is browsing through the pages of your mom's favorite magazine called People (Gente)? At least that was better than the break I was getting in 1996 in England. In 15 minutes all I could do was smoking a cigarette or drinking a cup of coffee outside. Not that exciting.

What happens with my breaks now is not that different. As soon after I have put the boy to nap, I get all excited about working on the cool website I was thinking of when I was in the shower, about writing the posting on food I was meant to write a year ago but never started, about creating a new event for kids at my club and I am confident I will reply to that friend who has emailed me 4 times without me replying. Then what?

Then my eyes are caught by a duck in the floor, by a truck stuck in between the chairs of the dining room, by bits of zucchini and mandarino under the high chair. Then I see a piece of tomato, oh, it's one of William's toys! So I start trying to reach for toys scattered all over the floor, one by one, under the table, under the coach, under the arm chairs and almost always I end up with pieces that don't belong to anything. I use to go crazy to find the missing pieces. I now put the orphan pieces with other orphan pieces in a bucket, fix the broken ones if I can and put them away. Nice, I can now walk into the living room without having to climb mountains. I can go to my computer to design the website.

Nope! Food needs putting back in the fridge, I haven't eaten my lunch, the laundry needs doing. Oops, the boy is widely awake in his room with his sweet voice reaching for my heart: "mamma? mamma?" mamma?". And the more I make him wait, the more I feel bad so I have to go and pick him up. The hour break is over and what have I accomplished?

I have installed Photoshop for the third time.

I have always loved the beginning of a break but hey, how disappointing is the end! The best ones were perhaps the intervalli, the breaks I was getting at the classic lyceum (classic high school). Back then I was praying for the magic bell to ring so that I could get away from an oral examination on Latin or Ancient Greek just started. It was 12:00 pm (if I remember well) and the teacher had already finished asking me the long question I knew nothing about. I was first looking at the clock - it was 5 to 12 - and then at the teacher (she didn't have a stick but you could imagine her holding it), hoping for the magic bell to ring. Then... Driiiiiiiin! "Run run run, as fast as you can!", I was thinking. Nothing could possibly make that break disappointing. The closest breaks to that now are when friends call me and William has just gone to sleep. Awesome breaks!

There are days I feel really good because I manage to get things done and feel proud of it and really enjoy spending time with William, making jokes, watching him giggle, making the cars go up and down his garage ramps (his favorite thing). There are days I feel really crap. I find myself still in PJ at 2 pm, reading non sense on Facebook (e.g. today I am going to lift my soul... what a shitty day!, loads of bullocks, I am sick of the snow, I dislike women in short skirts, I am playing with my new Ipad, caught big fish while scuba diving in Florida) or I am browsing the pages of amazon, looking for I don't know what. The boy is sleeping but I am exhausted and I am no longer able to enjoy my free time. On those days I remind myself that:

1. I don't want to ask someone else to raise my child
   
2. "What? You don't want the scaloppine? I will try giving you this instead. Sorry, not the bread. You've had enough of that. I can't give you that. Eat the spinach! Here, I spoon feed you. No? No? Sorry, I still do. William, you either eat this or you jump off the window! Choose!" Do you think they would make all this effort at daycare?
   No, instead they would train him to eat Cheerios all day long. Sorry moms, but not even I could eat those things for lunch. They taste of cardboard! Nor I would like him to eat peanut butter and jelly - who the hell decided to give the most disgusting possible thing to small children? - and pieces of raw food or cold turkey. Please! And I wouldn't want him to drink tons of milk to make up for the lunch that he hasn't had. I wouldn't want him to snack all day long and, as a result, to miss his dinner, to miss his poop time and the good night sleep that follows.
   
3. I wouldn't want my child to have to take sleep aids so that he falls asleep exactly when the other kids fall sleep in the daycare center
4. I wouldn't want him to sleep with snacks or bottles of milk attached to him under a thin blanket barely covering his feet
5. I don't want to have to beg him and praise him ("Good job William!") for pooping when he is 4 years old!
   
6. I want to still hear my boy say "ma'mma! - pause - ma'mma! - pause - ma'mma!" the way he says it now and not "mommy, mommy, mommy!". And I want him to ask for "pa'ppa! pa'ppa! pa'ppa! or merenda", Italian word which makes me think of us sat at the table and not "snack", American word which makes me think of me throwing a packet of chips at him
   
7. I hope that by the time William goes to school, he will know that "latte" is not a coffee drink for hipsters but that it simply means "milk" in Italian, that in life there are not always happy endings (the wolf does eat Little Red Riding Hood and her grandma - you'll better watch out for him!), that the Guidos are an American thing and that our world is not confined by the country where we live but by other things, most of which can be found in our roots.
   
   
   
   William and mamma coming out of the zoo

Most important of all, I am used to spending my days holding my boy, hugging him, enjoying the sweet smell in his neck when I kiss him, making him laugh, hearing his AWAa's kiss sounds, hearing his long speeches made of words like ashiba', klaim klaim and fashibi' , pushing him on the swing and hearing him giggle really loud, taking his little hand and let him run in stores, in the street and in restaurants, seducing hundreds of people - he can't help it! and sharing the things I love with him. Now tell me, should I pay someone else to do this?

Dangerous Liaisons - Amore Pericoloso

I have not been blogging much recently because in addition to designing a website (it is live now!), I have been searching for a nice and inexpensive place in Italy where my husband can work online and where the three of us can spend a month without having to hear English or German so that William can learn Italian. What else? I have organized a couple of events for kids, I have played with the three pigs and the bad wolf nearly every day and I have been teaching Italian on Monday night. Isn't this enough to fill someone's life? No, it isn't. In addition to all this, I have had a painful love affair. Yes, don't be shocked, it happens to everyone. You might think I am crazy talking about it here but I feel I have gone crazy and need to tell the world all about it.

Typical! Sweet at the beginning: I was kissing him and he was kissing me back, all day long. 

Then it quickly became...
Intense: I could smell him hours after my last contact with him.
Addictive: I can't be happy when I am not getting kisses. Not so wonderful!
Strong: the feeling has gone through my skin and it has started giving me a stomach ache
Obsessive: I can't stop thinking about him
Cruel: I feel I would give up everything for a kiss, yet he was no longer kissing me. He was kissing a stranger instead!

Deceptive: I was doing whatever he was asking me to do, hoping that I would get his old sweet kisses. No, he continued to reject me!

Threatening: I threatened to leave. He said "NO!", "NO!", "NO!" and went to another room. I even put him upside down, waiting for him to give up and give me a kiss. Nothing.

Stubborn: "NO! NO! NO!", this is all I am getting now.

I am destroyed. I want to cry.

Bad Boy William

I don't know who is more heart broken, whether it is my husband or me, but a week ago, we both heard "AWUA'"!, "AWUA'"!, "AWUA'"!, "AWUA'"!. Guess what? William was kissing the penguin, the stuffed animal I gave him for Christmas! Still no kisses for us. He now kisses the damned penguin every day when he wakes up in the morning. And this is what my husband and I ended up doing out of desperation (by the way, nobody tells you that this is what will happen after having children):

My husband and I started kissing with the loud "AWUA''" sounds that William used to make! And William finally gave us a kiss. So worth it!

We thought we had finally found the secret for getting those special wet kisses only William could give us but the little monster shook his head and went back to saying "NO!", "NO!", "NO!", sharp and loud.

Husband at 1 am: "It's all over, he will not kiss us again"
Me: "What sort of affair did we get into?"
Husband: "Wait, perhaps we put too many blankets on him!"

I thought his hostile reaction was only about giving us kisses then I started seeing a pattern. William was saying "NO!" to almost everything: to the yummy food I was giving him, to the water bottle, to the dirty diaper I was trying to change, to the star shaped lamp that was not switched on - he loves that! -, to me not giving him his shoes to sleep with in bed and yesterday even to me giving him one banana instead of another! I swear, they were exactly the same.

Now tell me, have we been hit by the terrible twos?

William, mi dai un bacio?

Un bacino, per favore! NO? NO? NO? NO?


Mmm, here is your lunch William!
NO!

Apparently, there is a secret for successfully dealing with the cruelty of a two year old child. It is John who found it. It is called: playing! Trust me, it works! This is what John ended up doing out at the end to get hugs and kisses. He started calling William "SALCICCIA" with wide open arms, while waiting for William to go hug him. When John does that, the little cruel guy runs as fast as he can to go hug (and sometimes kiss) his dad. Magic! I have to come up with something similar.

What's the latest fetish? - Qual'e' l'ultimo feticcio?

First there was us. William used to love starring at our face for long periods of time, enchanted.

Then came the people. In restaurants, in stores, at the playground, William loved starring at the faces around him. No need for toys when the people were around. He soon discovered that it would only take him a couple of smiles to get loads of attention. Then the flirting began. Do you remember when you were going out with that friend who couldn't help flirting with every single guy she would come across, no matter if the guy was interested or not? Right, going out with William for a while was kind of like that. The situation improved when my husband and I started to realize that William was becoming selective. Now if she is not young and pretty, he can't be bothered.

mmm, his face is different

Then the object of his adoration became doors. No matter where we were, as soon as a door (small or large door, cupboard door, wardrobe door or bedroom door) would be visible, William would do anything to reach for it and to have fun opening and closing it - over and over.

It's a door, yeah!

Then came cars, often squeezed in his tiny hands like a precious loot. William has been obsessed with cars for months. The wheels of his colorful plastic cars have been going round on all floors, mats, tables, high chairs and couches we have used, in more than one country. More recently, on the ramps of a garage but not for long. The cars are now parked.

Cars, loads of cars!

So what came next? Animals. Small, large and loud. First came beee, mooo and cra cra (Italian frog sound), i-o (Italian donkey sound), chichirichi' (Italian rooster sound), miao and cr cr (William's pig sound). And the big, bad wolf's uhrrrr, which only Mamma e Dada knows how to make.

Did you hear me? Beeeee!!!

To be completely honest, as a girl from Turin (the city of books) living in MA (where books are given to babies on their first day of life), I was holding onto writing this posting, hoping that William's next obsession would be to carry books around the house but I have decided to stop hoping that this happens. In a way I should think that it is good that books have never been an obsession for him as his obsessions tend to quickly come and go.

I will always love books. Ha, you wish!

Now, going in circles around the house - quite a task in our tiny place! seems to be William's latest fetish. The corridor around our kitchen is the largest walking space in our house, so William takes immense pleasure from walking in circles around me cooking, with the occasional peek-a-boo and with something dangerous or inappropriate (e.g. my underwear) in his hands. I know I should not let him tour the kitchen while I am cutting vegetables next to burning hot pans with oil splattering all over the place but today I have realized that if I don't let him tour the kitchen from time to time, I might end up with a rancorous child. You must see what happens when I raise the lock of the kitchen gate: I see a very sad baby face transforming into the happiest giggler on earth. Priceless!

Touring the house. Yes!

Hopefully, the kitchen tours will keep him occupied until he will fall in love with something else. I noticed that he has already started developing an attraction for the stairs in the entry way.

Noooooooooooooo!

In the last month or so William has been saying the word "no" quite a lot. The "no" started as an occasional playful sound. Then it became louder. He now says it constantly and with a firm tone of voice: at home, in public, no matter where he is, he likes to say "no" pretty loud and he laughs, while looking at the surprised people around him. Then he goes:" ha, ha, ha - ha, ha, ha" and he makes an evil smile. I was so happy William no longer needed the pacifier during the day but there are times when the pacifier is the only thing I can use to stop him from saying his loud "no" to everyone around him. It can be quite embarrassing when you are close to people who want to read, to see something or to simply eat quietly.

Now when he is not happy waiting for me to get something done, he says "dai, dai, dai!", which in Italian means "come on, hurry up!".

What's this all about? Is William changing into one of those rebels bursting into rage from time to time? He is only 18 months.

No, William has not changed. It is just that he has started listening to the Zecchino D'Oro songs (slightly naughty songs from the yearly Italian children's festival).

The incriminated CD

This is what I discovered yesterday when I heard William say "no! " louder than ever. He was listening to this:

Do you have a PC? Noooooooooooooooo! You don't have a PC? Noooooooooooooooo! Then I am the one who can go surfing, while you can't! Ha, ha, ha, ha! Mario is better... Mario who is not a genius in maths, who forgets things, but who loves to do the twist!...

He also gets excited with another song, the bit that goes:

Put your undershirt on

Nooooooooooooooooooooo!

Put your undershirt on

Nooooooooooooooooooooo!

For William, the more nooooooooooooos in a song, the better.

Then, when I put him to bed, as soon after I say "what will the beautiful turtle eat? Two leaves of lettuce, then it will get some rest", William goes:

ha, ha, ha - ha, ha, ha! (which is exactly how the song goes)

Then, as soon as I open the book of uncle Tobia's old farm (Old MacDonald's Farm), William goes "ia-ia!" (meaning ia-io). Then he performs all the animal sounds he knows. He does that with and without the book, at home and outside the house. Last saturday at the Museum of Fine Arts he started a loud "babau" (Italian dog sound) in Richard Avedon's fashion photographs exhibition room. He didn't stop until I put him to sleep with his pacifier in the stroller.

We have more and more of these interactions these days. And now that the Italian nonni (grandparents) sent William a baby MP3 player, we listen to music every day. Cool, eh? Well, our days are not exactly spent listening to Radiohead or De Gregori (an Italian singer I like). No. We spend our days listening to a mix of vintage and new Zecchino D'Oro songs, the ones that all Italians love and hate (e.g., Il Coccodrillo Come Fa). Love when they have children; hate when they don't. And because William is the son of a 38 years old who still remembers word by word cartoon songs from the eighties such as Bia and Belle e Sebastien, his destiny is marked. Honestly, I never thought I would listen to these again, much less sing them.

Ok, so today the inevitable has happened. I was at the local coffee shop and was looking for cocoa powder to put on my cappuccino - something quite common here in Boston - but no, what do I find in the coffee shop? - Remember, this is the American suburb, I calmly said to myself - Everything! Nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, chili powder, even parmesan cheese to put in the coffee. Everything, except for what I was looking for. "Excuse me, do you have cocoa powder by any chance?", I asked the woman making four different types of flavored coffee with three different types of milk and soy in it. The answer was "Sorry, I don't think we have that". "Nooo? You don't have it? Noooooooooo!", I whined. I said it perfectly, just like in the song that William loves. "Noooooooooooooooooooo! Noooooooooooooooooooo!, William loudly repeated after me with a naughty smile. Silence followed by laughter in the background.

Figura di merda! I said to myself once outside the store. Just try not to mooo or meow when we go there next time, can you?

So how do I teach William to say "si" instead of "no"? There isn't a single cool song for children with a "si", at least not an Italian one. Not to worry, William has already learned to say "yeah". I thought he learned it from uncle Sean in Wyoming. Nope, there is a Zecchino D'Oro song that finishes like this:

The secret is the tagliatelle of grandma Pina...
Sensational for lunch, for dinner and, believe me,
They are even good in the morning instead of coffee!

Yeah!

Noooooooooooooooooo!

Unusual New Year's Eve - Capodanno diverso

Dancing behind strangers in a conga line after an expensive 20-course cenone (meal) with the fireworks outside and songs like The final Countdown, Macarena and YMCA!... "Come on, Germany is not far from here. Will you give us a lift in your car?", my friend asked, looking for love... You tell the guy you are dating that you are sick so that you can go out with your mates. What? He's at the front door with a get well card and flowers!... Don't fancy table dancing with strippers this year. Nor I like the idea of having to wear a swim suite in the club with snow outside. "Ok, you are all coming to my house!" (which really means we'll go to my local pub because my studio flat fits two people maximum)... Maybe we could go drinking at Charterhouse and at 26 Smithfield before Zodiac opens. Let's just hope that this year nodody vomits on our dresses...

"Sweetheart, let's simply have a candle lit dinner at my favorite restaurant in Fulham. Then we can look at the fireworks on the river and walk home" "No taxis? Can I wear your shoes?"... "Honey, this year we'll celebrate New Year's eve in Italy." "Cool!" "Sorry but we'll be at my parents' place watching a magic show with old people"...

Well, this year (2010-2011) I have not made plans. Nor I had any hope that we would do something special. I figured that John and I could take William to the Children Museum to tire him out, have the three of us dine early and then, with William nicely asleep in his bedroom, we could terminate the year in front of a Spanish movie (not Italian as they always end up in tragedies). And we could make progress eating the pandoro, still intact in its blue box, while sipping Moscato d'Asti wine.

No, things didn't go as expected. Naima, William's little friend, invited him to a party. My husband and I went along with it. The party started at 3 pm, we opened the Prosecco wine at midnight (midnight in Italy was 6 pm in Boston) and by 8:30 pm it was all over. No hangover. No need to sleep the day after to recover. But we all had a great time, Italians and Americans. Naima's mother planned it well. I felt we were all "party moms and party dads" there, all trying to have a good time while making sure that our children were safe (one of the toddlers got caught with a glass of wine in his hands. Luckily there wasn't much in it). At some point William was ecstatically giggling with Naima and a couple of older kids. Meanwhile the grown ups got to chat and to savor the porchetta with the lentils (the traditional Italian New Years Eve dish I could barely remember, having lived abroad for more than 14 years). Eating that means "Good money and good health for everyone!", reminded me Naima's mother. No doubt, this was a nice start for all of us.

Christmas in Wyoming: William started walking for real! - Natale in Wyoming: William si e' messo a camminare per davvero!

The Kruse Family

So this how we celebrated Christmas this year: we took William to Wyoming for the first time and spent Christmas with the Kruse family. This has been our first American Christmas and William has decided to take his first steps without help. It has happened on the 23th of December at the Logan airport in Boston, while we were waiting to get on our plane going to Denver (Colorado). There, all of a sudden, my little 17 months old boy was no longer trying to grab my hand to support himself. He was instead walking away from me, ready to explore the world!

He first started walking with his arms up (hands up style), in order to keep his balance. Then, each time after that, he tried to lower his arms a bit more until at the end of our trip to Wyoming he decided to keep them at the level of his waist and confidence took over. Yes, it has happened! You can watch this video if you don't believe me.

So it is official: William now walks and goes everywhere! And without my help. Not only. This is what happened this Christmas in Wyoming, if only William could talk (not that my story would be any different. This was also my first Christmas in Wyoming!):

"I walked walked and walked everywhere and had a lot of fun in grandma and grandpa's house. I also played with some old toys they were all fascinated by (apparently, daddy, uncle Sean and aunt Susan used to play with them when they were kids!). The best thing ever was the family of bears in the Christmas outfit and Santa's hat in the entry way of the house. For some reason mama and dada did not want me to play with them. Grandma instead was grabbing the Santa hat from the bear's head to put it on my head.

William with Grandma

During the Christmas eve dinner I walked a lot in aunt Susan's house. There, there was a babau (dog) who kept jumping on me to lick my face. At first I thought he was funny but the babau kept doing it and my face was getting all sticky and smelly. At the end I thought I'd better learn to stand up and walk away from the damned thing.

William escaping from the babau's affection

Mamma and Dada, just before they sat down to have dinner with grandma, grandpa and the rest of the family, they had the bad idea of putting me to bed in a dark room on the floor with daddy's jacket as a blanket. I was not happy with that. After a good deal of crying I finally got to join the Christmas dinner in front of a colorful and shiny tree. Tasty prime American rib and a lady sat next to me who was pulling faces to make me laugh.

William with grandma

On Christmas day, grandma and grandpa gave me a brown bag with my name on it. Inside the bag, there were Santa's gifts for me. Mamma and Dada also had a brown bag with their names on it. They told me that the brown bag is a tradition for the Kruse family that grandma Bonnie started because she could not easily fit her gifts in the traditional American stocking. When mamma was not looking, I grabbed an animal cracker. Under a nicely decorated tree I could not play with (damned!) there were loads of colorful packets. Grandma Bonnie said that we had to open one packet at a time. Inside the packets there were loads of nice things: colorful stuffed animals, a red puppet talking and moving - I wonder where they found that one! -, a cell phone and a few books, one even playing songs!

How many colorful things to look at here!

Grandma and grandpa spent a lot of time playing with me. Grandpa was soo patient always making sure that I was ok and he was playing with me while he was feeding me. Grandma was wearing silly hats and silly t-shirts and was doing weird things to make me laugh. They were all treating me like a prince there!

William with grandpa

The following day they took me to another house. A nice big house for me to explore. There, I did a lot of walking but I also managed to play with a brand new kitchen and with a Christmas tree. And I got to pee like a man! Yes, sort of by myself. Mamma now understands that when I saw "pipi'", I want to pee in the toilet. Isn't that neat? Sorry, there isn't a picture to show you that. A lot of good stuff but nothing compared to the stairs of grandma and grandpa's house. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed going up and down those stairs while mamma and dada were at the movies. Uncle Sean gave up a party with his friends to stay with me that afternoon. I was so thrilled I kept repeating his yeah, yeah! One thing is clear: grandma, grandpa and the rest of the Kruse family in Wyoming adore me! Now tell me, how can Christmas get any better?"

We Wish You a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! - Vi auguriamo Buon Natale e Buon Anno!

Today, in Harvard Square, I saw a box of English mince pies in the front window of a shop that sells food imported from Europe. I was so excited I went inside and bought one. While there, I couldn't help talking to an English person who was also buying mince pies. That red box brought me back to Christmas in London.

We wish you a Merry Christmas
We wish you a Merry Christmas
We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Good tidings we bring to you and your kin;
Good tidings for Christmas and a Happy New Year!

This song was always accompanied by mulled wine, hot chocolate, Christmas puddings and mince pies. The Oxford Street lights, the West End skating Santas and the Gospel singers in Trafalgar Square. Christmas carols in Covent Garden, ice skating around historical palaces and loads of drinks. This was my Christmas in London. I wanted to tell a story about it. You'll find it at the bottom of this posting, in case you are keen to read it. I hope William will read it one day.

This year in the US I have been so bad at keeping in touch, or sending cards and gifts to my friends for Christmas. Below is the card I should have sent everyone this year. It is John's Christmas card for me this year. I found it on John's computer by pure chance because my mother called me from Italy to ask me to send her a couple of photos of William in digital format. So I searched for pictures on John's machines and John's secret Christmas card for me immediately caught my eyes.

What did I do for Christmas this year? I managed to put very simple lights on the patio (yes because here in the US decorating your house is the number one top priority at Christmas and in the street where we live it's like being at Dysneyland!). I also managed to find the Christmas gifts for William (that are age 3+ but are not potential chocking hazards, that don't look like stacking cups and that don't fall apart in millions of pieces I have to go find under the coach - not easy). I got him presents. I completely forgot everyone else.

Only a couple of days ago John and I started discussing what we wanted for Christmas. It might be because we haven't had the Boston snow yet. That usually tells me that Christmas is coming here. Also, when William is with his tata (babysitter) I can hardly find the time to go shopping for myself. By shopping I mean buying stuff like a couple of white socks for William, prosciutto cotto, make up removal lotion and the conditioner that doesn't burn my hair. Honestly, I can't be bothered to go shopping for fancier Christmas stuff here. I don't know if this is because I have become a boring stay at home mom or if it is because here in the US there is no need nor visible appreciation for fancier stuff. When did I last go dressed up to a party? Opps, I forgot, I am actually going to a party today. It is a baby party. One of those parties where the babies dress up and the moms come in something slightly better than their PJs. I am wearing a red sweater, the only pair of clean jeans I have and I am bringing the minced pies. I hope they will not ask me if there is meat inside.

What else? This year I have been busy taking photos and videos of my two happy men. This is priceless but very simple compared to my London life. I wanted to take William to one of those Christmas Villages they have here in the US with colorful candles, lights and candies but our weekends have been pretty full. We have been busy buying a house, moving in and making the new house feel like a home. Not a small thing. Now what I really want this Christmas is to have fun with my two happy men and with the rest of the Kruse family. It will be William's first Christmas in Wyoming. Most probably the first of many others. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow! (but only after we have landed in Denver! :))

My Christmas in London

Three days before Christmas. I am on the train on my way to work. A commuter is setting next to (and cheerfully chatting with) a homeless guy who is complaining about something. "It is Christmas mate! I can offer you a pie, if you want!" "I don't need a fucking pie!" Everyone laughs.

I am getting off the train at Victoria station in Central London. For breakie (i.e., breakfast) I receive a couple of Christmas treats as part of a promotional offer. Sweet I don't have to buy breakfast. I am 10 minutes late, but then I get a call from my boss saying that it is ok to be late to work today. He doesn't sound sober. Last night we all went home pretty late from the company Christmas party. Last Christmas he got so drunk at the company party that he took his clothes off and then suddenly disappeared in his underwear. The next time I saw him the following Monday morning, he was in his office briefing a few of us on a new project.

I slowly make my way to the tube through the secret entry way at the back of the bus station bypassing the massive crowd stuck outside the main entry. Going down the long escalator to get on the Victoria line, the one that makes you feel like your are descending Everest, there is the saxophonist who is playing Winter Wonderland. Every year, the same guy in that same location.

At work everyone is eating Christmas pudding and mince pies. My hung over work mates are wandering around the office like zombies, trying to find people to chat with, hoping that it will soon be lunchtime and that we can all go to the local pub for more drinks. After lunch, some of us make our back way to the office, trying to be professional. Others are off for the day. 4 pm is the unofficial time for the people still in the office to start drinking again. They start wandering around each other desks with glasses of sparkling wine in their hands. You ask them what wine they are drinking. They don't know. "It's Christmas mate! Have a drink!", this way they persuade the ones still working to stop. Many empty bottles appear on various desks but I am probably the only one paying attention to that. I can't stand more drinks so I am off for the day.

It's Friday, late afternoon. I am waiting outside a Gothic church in Kensington in my long black coat. It is all frosty outside and many people of all ages are waiting outside the Church to go to see the traditional candlelight concert inside. They are all British except for few foreigners like me who have heard about the concert from the locals. Inside the Church, a beautiful chorus starts singing the traditional carols. There are candles lit all around the packed Church. There are people standing everywhere, downstairs and upstairs, some in uncomfortable positions. Nobody is moving, neither during the songs, nor during the silence of the pauses. They all look like statues. I am filled with emotions and wonder whether it is appropriate or not to look at the people around me. They are all still nailed down in the same positions they took when the concert started. I try hard to imitate them, but I move and drop few tears here and there. Still, I don't make any noise.

Then the magic begins. I am no longer thinking about the movements of my body. I am feeling lighter than ever and I am staring at the soloist while trying to capture the subtleties of the pauses. My heart is filled with joy and I don't need to smile to share the magic of that moment with the strangers around me. I am hooked. Jingle Bells is the last carol and the concert is over. We leave the Church one by one, in silence. Some are smiling, others are trying to hide their emotions but you can see that they are trying. I belong to this second category.

I go to the nearby Cafe' in the Crypt through the entrance that is not obvious. I pick the one table still free at the back against the stone wall and start writing by a weakly flickering candle. I am taking a few bites of a friable scone with clotted cream while sipping white tea from a hot terracotta cup. Next to me, there is someone reading a Jane Austin novel. One table over, there's a woman writing Christmas cards. Then there is a bloke who looks like a professor, probably correcting the work of a student. Beyond him, a homeless guy having a soup. We are all sitting there, occasionally glancing at each other with some Medieval Christmas tunes playing in the background.

The next day, it is late Saturday morning. I still am a bit hungover. Christmas is in two days. Is that possible? I need to find gifts for my parents! Where? I have a couple of places in mind, one in Notting Hill and one in Carnaby Street, but on a Saturday afternoon the tube will be crowded and if I catch the bus I will not get to either shop in time before they shut. I jump on the first bus coming to my door step and get off at Trafalgar Square in Central London. Hari, hari, hari, hari... I am waiting for the Hari Krishna people to go by.

I make my way to Hamley's, a toy store where I often go in to warm up and daydream on cold rainy days. The Christian fanatic is still screaming outside - I bet he is there right now - "Hey you, yes I am talking to you, have you heard of Jesus? Do you know who Jesus is? Yes, I am talking to you young woman!". "Ok, ok, I've heard you but I have to buy a gift for my dad!", I quickly say and enter the store.

Voila', here it is. This is the perfect gift for my father: a playmobile toy with a little magician inside. It says age 4+. Perfect, my dad will love it! (he is an eccentric architect with many hobbies, including magic tricks). "Going to Italy for Christmas? Oh, that is lovely! Have a nice Christmas and see you in the new year!", says the magician at the till with his Santa hat. He doesn't know me, but I recognize him as I worked there my second Christmas in London doing the classic cups and balls trick.

For my mom's Christmas gift, I am heading to Fortnum & Mason across the street from Hamley's. There, the luxurious aromatic teas, the Christmas puddings and colorful cakes you only see in adverts catch my attention. "It is Christmas, you MUST treat yourself!", I hear my friends say in the back of my head. "Ok, ok, all right then." At the end instead of looking for my mom's gift I end up sipping hot chocolate and eating pudding.

One day to Christmas. Still haven't found my mom's gift. Londoners often say that everything that exists on earth can be found in London. The problem is to know what you are looking for. I am on the phone with my friend Kristin. She says "Why don't you go to John Lewis (it is THE PLACE to go to for buying gifts in London)". "Thanks Kristin!" Hold on a minute, it was in that store that I ended up fighting with a woman last year over a pair of gloves. Ok, I am not going there. Instead, I take the bus to Trafalgar Square, then the short-cut to Leicester Square. There at the funfair with the old fashioned carousel, there are a couple of drunken fat slags wearing short skirts with no tights, singing a mixture of Christmas carols and cheerful tunes like "Don't worry, be happy. Tu, tu, tu, tu, tu, tu, tu, tu, tu, tu, tu, tu, tu, tu, tu... Don't you worry, be happy! It's Christmas, come on, smile!". I smile and continue walking past the guy who is playing Jingle Bells with the road traffic cone at the corner of Shaftesbury Avenue in Piccadilly Circus. From there I spot one of the sex shops in the red light district that carries all kinds of wacky things. There! I head straight in without a second thought. I knew I should have come here. I'll get this naked baby pissing. Can't get more original than this. My mom will love it!

The best gifts I could possibly give my parents.

William saved by the fire marshal - William salvato dal maresciallo dei pompieri

Yesterday (Thursday 9th December) William and I were ready to go shopping when something unforgettable happened. I accidentally locked William in the house with me freezing my ass outside (temperature below zero C). I had no keys, no cell phone, and both the front and back doors were shut.

In the previous houses where we lived in the Boston area, we used to have a combination lock, which made our life easier. Then we moved into this old charming New England house. "Honey don't worry, this old door forces you to use the keys to close it so you won't risk locking yourself out", said my husband with a smile. Ultime parole famose (famous last words). Yesterday I was indeed locked out of the house with William crying inside and me crying (believe me, crying) outside the house. And my husband? He was in Seattle teaching a 5 days long class.

An hour before I was chatting with my mother in law about me not being used to living in a house all by myself - in London I always shared an apartment with flatmates. The only time when I didn't a burglar came to visit me and stole all of my belongings, dirty clothes included - no kidding. In each of the houses where I lived in London I did lock myself out a few times. Usually, all I had to do to solve the problem was to go to meet a friend for a drink (which in England means a few, many), and by the time we were done with drinks, one of my flatmate was at home, ready to open the door for me. Sweet. Although a couple of times I had to break into the house. It is pretty common for a Brit to do that.

Now imagine me being stuck outside the house in the American suburb, where all you can see is rows of houses and not even a hint of a pay phone. I was screwed. Even if one of my neighbors had been at home, what would I say, "Excuse me, oh, ehem, I am sorry... I am the idiot next door who locked herself out with a baby stuck in the house. Can you please help me smash the door?"

Nope. Instead, I tried to smash the door myself, as I used to do in London in the same circumstances, but apparently American doors are built better. I kicked as hard as I could at both front and back doors, but nothing. From past experience, I was expecting the doorknob to fall off, or maybe a shower of broken wood. Nope. I was not getting a single hint of progress. The door was not getting damaged. My foot was. So I started crying. My baby inside the house was crying louder than ever before and I was freezing my ass off.

It turned out that the first stranger passing by started running towards me to my rescue. No kidding. Like in the American movies. And this is the cool bit. Instead of helping me smash the door, which is what I expected, he smiles and calmly makes a phone call to the fire brigade. "Fire brigade? There is no fire in my house. I am just locked out". When I was 9 I had caused my father to call the Fire brigade with a false alarm, and that led to me being without chocolate for 6 months. How could I let this happen again?

Too late. If you call a fire truck in the US, it comes inside of 3 minutes (I checked my watch). And seconds later I saw the fire marshal coming out of the front door of my house with William giggling in his arms. Just like in Virgola's story (an abandoned dog locked in an apartment who is saved by a fire marshal). No smashed door, no broken window, not even a broken lock to show my husband at the end. That day I had accidentally left the front patio door open after placing the Christmas lights on the balcony. Solito culo! (usual ass, meaning usual luck)

Just when I was hoping that everyone would leave and forget the idiot who locked herself in, a couple of neighbors magically appeared - they were looking at the big red fire truck from their decks. Then the marshal asked a colleague to take my name and various details. At that point I was worried that he would offer sending social services to my house to help me overcome the trauma of the incident (They often suggest things like that here in the US!). Great: they are making it official, I am the idiot of the neighborhood! Instead, he handed me William with a heroic smile, he said that he was safe and that it was a fairly easy job. He then left with that heroic smile still on his face. Like in the American movies. They must like these calls where they don't have to risk their lives and they get to be heros. Now, I just wish I had taken a photo of that moment. I hope William forgives me.

William's walking journey - Il cammino di William

If I hadn't had a child I would have never known that walking is a journey and that in between you moving the arms to pick up a toy hanging on top of your head and you going from the couch to the table in the dining room there is a long physically and emotionally exhausting journey. Being short in words but overwhelmed with joy, I've asked William to walk you through his journey (see video below). Merry Christmas everyone!



We say in Italy, "don't say it too fast" because then the opposite will happen. Well, I guess William has decided to scoot and to hold onto things a little bit more. He will walk when he decides to do so. No more pushes, I promise.

William's little girlfr... oops, I mean friend - la fidanz... no, amichetta, ehem, amica, compagna (di giochi) di William

"I swear that if I have children I will NOT be like my mother! I will not tell them what to do. I will not tell them who they should go out with, I will not read their diary and I will have nothing to do with their sentimental matters, I will not call the first good boy (or good girl) that comes to our house "boyfriend" or "girlfriend" without their permission and, above all, I will not arrange marriages for them! " I used to loudly say to my mother after being introduced by yet another one of my marriage candidates. Usually a bold Italian guy wearing a large pair of Harry Potter like glasses (when nobody knew who Harry Potter was and how cool were his glasses) and which would have suited my grandma better. "But he is a doctor and his father has an established business!" my mom would say in excitement. "Ma mamma, questo obiettivamente fa cagare!", I would reply to her in disgust. Few days later, another atrocious looking guy (perhaps a lawyer or a big brother of the Fiat people living up the hills of Turin) would appear at our doorstep, ready to be humiliated by my evil actions (e.g addition of vinegar to ossobuco). Still, my mother WOULD NOT get it.

On the day I got married, my mother said to me on the phone five minutes before the beginning of the ceremony: "Are you sure you want to get married? You can still back out if you want!". She couldn't trust my decision (and probably thought she could make a better suggestion herself at that point) until she met and got to know the man I married, and gave me her approval, which luckily didn't take long.

Now look at me as a mother. As soon as I make an Italian friend with a smart and cute baby girl close to William in age... that's it. I immediately find myself making jokes on our two kids dating, often with the thought at the back of my mind that William will have a nice and smart Italian girlfriend, that one day he will marry a nice and smart Italian woman and that he will have nice and smart Italian children (hopefully with the same woman). OH MY GOD!

When I catch myself thinking like this (like my mother) even out of jokes, I almost immediately feel the need of making clear to William, the little girl and to everybody else involved that I am not the one who decides such things and that William's friends are all welcome in our house until William decides that one is more welcome than the others. Very good intentions but it only takes one phone call to bring the "little girlfriend" back into my words. Do you want an example? "Ciao Gaia, come sta l'amichetta di William?" Unfortunately, in the Italian language, as soon as you talk about the "amichetta" (the little friend) - I know, you don't do that with the ugly looking girl you bump into at the playground -, as soon as you refer to her as the "amichetta" everyone's thoughts go straight to "girlfriend" and it doesn't take much before you start calling her "fidanzatina" (little fiance'). If you call her "compagna" instead to avoid this, you have the associations of the couples living together without marriage. So you go back to calling her "amica", hoping that the term is not too close to "girlfriend".

Then if you allow kisses and romantic dinners (which by the way William had a week ago), you have lost all of your good intentions. If the girl is not Italian, you will think: "Hey, this girl is not Italian. Your roots William, don't forget your roots!" At least, this sounds better than "Wives and bulls from your own country!", which is what my parents' used to say to me with little success - in fact I took both the man and the bulls not from Italy but from Wyoming. If the girl is Italian, you will then be thinking that perhaps she is not attractive enough or that she is too short or too demanding or too good looking or too old for him, the list being endless. And you will soon turn into that type of mother you were desperately trying NOT to be: jealous, noisy, deus ex machina and with the highest possible standards, hoping that your child will stay with you for the longest possible.

But look at the pictures below and tell me if these two are not cute together. What? Ok, ok, I'll shut up.



William having fun with his friend Naima at the Italian Christmas party