Tronk's Second Birthday - Il Secondo Tronkleanno

A posting on Tronk's second birthday has been in my mind for days. Instead, I have been singing "buon compleanno", I have been drinking Aperol Spritz, eating the remaining aperitive snacks and found ways to finish the left over cakes, including "grande tutu'", the huge Lightning McQueen shaped cake brought over by tata Pina, without giving it to Tronk for dinner.

Tronk: "Mangiano torta cena?" (Are we eating cake for dinner tonight?)
Me: "No, torta no. Pappa per cena, non torta!" (People eat a cooked meal for dinner, not cake!)

So, how was Tronk's second birthday? John said it was a rousing success, mainly because of my idea of creating a playground in our back yard with food, drinks, toys, "tanti tutu'" (and a lot of work on our part!)

John spent five hours grocery shopping (no wonder, purchasing "ham" alone, the kind that you buy in Italy at every grocery store, here takes a special trip to Russo's!). I had to order special cake toppers online to avoid having to pay the bakery store an extra 100 bucks for having a simple car appear on the frosting of the cake, instead of the default light blue flowers. I had to sort out other things that you might think you don't need for a two year old child's birthday but the day before the party you think you do!! (e.g. would you not bother getting citronella bracelets to keep the bugs away from your little guests on your child's special day?). Then there was the preparation of the snacks and a bit of cooking but this is little compared to what John had to do to create Tronk's "PlayLand" (as one of our friends called it). John had to clean everything in the yard with a pressure sprayer, then anchor the play-set onto the ground, build a wooden ladder, replace the nails and other work that only John could explain in details. All I know is that work in the yard did not end until the day of Tronk's birthday (see "to do list" below).

To Do List For Saturday:

• Set gazebo in the yard with table for snacks
• Hang personalized banner
• Finish play-set work, replace the nails on play-set and the wooden pole that is falling down
• Cut chain of swing that is too long
• Pump air into balloons and attach balloons on gate, on play-set and on gazebo  
• Put super glue in joints of fire truck
• Remove stone from Igloo tent  
• Blow air in large pool and put 6 bags of balls in it  
• Remove water from the small pool
• Clean table and chairs and place them in shaded area. Put children's chairs next to them.
• Put cars themed table cloth, plates, glasses, forks, tissues and gifts bags on dinner table  
• Get Ice Bag and put it in the cooler outside
• Bring aperitivo drinks, glasses, and snacks on table under the gazebo  
• Add balloons to the string that holds the play-set as a safety measure  
• Add toys (balls, yoga ball, tent, a tunnel, mini cars they can get into, tricycle, basket ball kit, sand table, cars mat in tent, a couple of big trucks, small cars, drawing table with two white sheets - just in case there are two many artists - and a couple of drawings for older kids to color with crayons)  
• Get extension cable from the basement and attach stereo with children music next to the tent.  
• Prepare a nice collection of Italian and English kids' songs on CD. 
• Bring stereo and CDs bag in the yard
  Bring musical instruments for kids to play with.

This was the last-minute list of things to do and it doesn't include food.
Husband: "No shit, we won't do it again!" 
Me: "Don't worry, if we do this again we'll make things easier on us. I promise!" (to be reviewed next year)

So, John and I are still trying to recover from the work we have done, while Tronk is still trying to recover from his late night partying. Since the day of his birthday,  he has not gone to bed before 9-10 pm, almost every day.  Last night, he was playing in bed for almost half an hour after I put him to bed! What can I do? He tells me that he is two now! You can watch the video here.

He is two indeed. He is growing up lightning fast. Only a year ago he was attached to my breasts, he could not walk and he could only say "mamma" and "dada" (see posting I wrote last year). Now, one year later, not only he can claim the stairs of daddy's play-set, he can also follow me and do other things I ask him to do (but not in the potty), he can run away from me - he did it many times! -, he can eat by himself, go on the big boy swing and, when he has a need for it, he can even challenge your opinions.

Yesterday, at the playground:
"Pizia? No, pizia no. Non e' pizia mamma. Anza! Anza! E' anza!"
Translation:
"Police? No, this is not the police car. This is the ambulance, mom! It's the ambulance, I know!"
The car, which stopped in front of a house not far from the playground, was indeed an ambulance car, not a police car.

Tronk has an obsession for the ambulance car. So I took him closer to the car. He went: "Ni no ni no ni no!", all excited. The driver laughed and Tronk received yet another birthday present (see pictures below).

And today, while we were having lunch: [sound of someone mowing the lawn in the background]
"C'e' uomo? Taglia erba uomo? Taglia erba?? [TRONK'S LOST LOOK FOLLOWED BY SILENCE]
Non mangia uomo?"
Translation: "Is there a man mowing the lawn? Is he really? Is that man NOT having lunch? Is he not hungry at this time?"
Good question, aha. 

Born and raised in the land of kindness - Nato e cresciuto nella terra dei gentlemen

I am thinking of when you'll be older. Not a teenager, more a grown up man, and when they will say to me "Your son William is such a gentleman!". And I will smile, thinking that you could be different if I had raised you in a different country. I have realized that, depending on where you live, the way you deal with others can be very different.

Police car parked on a pedestrian crossing in Italy	In Turin City Center: "coglione di merda! ma che cazzo fai? Sto pezzo di merda! Terrone! Figlio di mignotta! Ma vaffanculo, stronzo!" Basically, an interrupted chain of insults to people and to their mothers, which I'd rather not translate.
Total chaos in Central London	In Central London:" Excuse me?? Sorry? Sorry? Sorry? Can I get out please? Yes, I was talking to you! Excuse me? Hello? F*** in hell!" From time to time: "Get out of my way, arsehole! What? No, you f**k off twat! ". A chain of equally strong (but also hilarious) insults in cockney which I'd rather not translate.
Cars making way for ducklings in Boston	In Boston City Center: "Excuse me, are you crossing? Please do! Don't you need to cross? No problems, I'll wait!" Translation: "Welcome to the land of kindness!".

Although it's not always easy to distinguish whether people are being really kind or "false and courteous" (the appellative given to the people living in Piemonte in Italy), which is the same as "politically correct" for the British, if there are two things I highly admire of the American way of life, kindness is certainly the first one and it's not just appearance. I will talk about the second one (honesty) in another posting.


But... when all you know is people shouting, people pushing as hard as they can to get on the bus instead of you, people sneaking in front of you in the queue at the post office, drivers making sudden turns and almost touching you, when the traffic light  still shows that it is your turn to cross - pregnant, not pregnant, doesn't matter! -, when you are used to living in total chaos, in a city where the average person is angry at 8:00 am and his Facebook status says "bugger off!", you feel over excited (or totally suspicious) when someone, all of a sudden, treats you with kindness.

It happened more than once. I was pushing the stroller towards the corner of a side walk crossing a main street and was wondering whether I should cross the street to go on the other side or whether I should just stay on the same side walk and turn onto the main street. Almost every time, before I was even ready to make a decision of whether to turn or cross the street, a driver would stop by, just before the crosswalk, and would ask me politely whether I was planning to cross the street.

The first time this happened I felt the driver was taking the piss. So I said with a fairly annoyed tone:
"Why don't *you* go?? It's *my business* whether I decide to cross or not! Ok?" A little confused and with a slightly gracious tone,  the driver said: "I just care about your safety!"

"Oh... Sorry! It's just that I was living in London and before in Italy. They don't bother stopping there and they could care less about your safety!."
"Aha, welcome to the United States!" Big smile.

I then realized that people here do all kind of nice things to show kindness. 

As soon as they see you with a child, they offer you seats on buses and on trains, they tell you to go to the top of queues in bathrooms and at post offices, they open doors for you even if they don't need to go inside the stores you are going into, they stop to ask you if I you are looking for something when they see you confused, they smile at you (with the wrinkles) and say hello if they see you walking by or past them.

In Italy, I experienced the exact opposite. People kept their seats for themselves on trains and on buses, not even store owners would open doors for me - At the back of their mind... she decided to have kids, now she should pay! - and they try to steal your place in queues. When I bumped into a neighbor there I heard: (1) "Buongiorno!", meaning "I don't know you but I say hello because I have to be polite" (2) "Ciao, che bel bambino!" Ti assomiglia! Scusa, devo andare. Buona giornata!" meaning:  "We used to go to the same school but we never had anything in common. So, get out of my way bitch!".


How can people be so kind here in the US? Could it just be a facade?

A couple of weeks ago, I was riding my bike with William in the child seat in front of me, for the first time.  I did not want to go fast as I was worried to lose the balance, so I was keeping the gears set for an easy ride. Suddenly, I was overtaken by a fast biker and a loud comment hit me: "Listen, you should use the gears!" I immediately replied: "Don't tell me how to ride my bike! You mind your own business!""  With the same loud but helpful tone, she said: "I can show you how to change the gears, if you like. It is safer for your child!" At the end I felt totally "di cacca", as one would say in Italy, unworthy of all that kindness and all I wanted to do afterwards was to find a place where to hide!

Could it just be a facade, purely based on the fact that the Americans follow rules?

Here is an episode that proves the opposite. William and I the other day were at the library re-consignment store. Suddenly, he got into one of those Little Tikes cars that toddlers like to push backward and forward with their feet. That particular car had a fire alarm! William has an obsession for anything with a sound that has a slight resemblance to "ni no ni no ni no" so he immediately decided to take ownership of the car and started fighting the other kids who wanted to try it. Before I was able to get William to abandon the car, he was already driving it out of the library. After purchasing the item for half of the price they were selling it for, which they gave me to avoid having to take the car away from William, a loud rain storm began. I was on foot, with an empty stroller, William in his car, which he could only drive backward and nothing to protect us from the rain. I was about to push his car (and the stroller) in the rain... when a man in his fourties, John, who had just arrived at the library with his wife,  looked at me and said: "do you want a lift home? We have a large SUV with car seat suitable for a 2 year old. We can take you home with all your stuff!"  In Italy, you would immediately think... what does he want?

Here? No, he's just been kind.  Before I accepted the offer, John was gone and two minutes later he was outside the library with the trunk of his SUV car open. Given that my house is only three blocks away from the library and that John's wife was also insisting that I accepted the offer, I said "yes but William and I can wait until you are done at the library".  "No, don't worry, it's all set!", his wife said, and in minutes William and I were home, with his car still making ni no ni no sounds and without catching a single drop of water.

William in his perfectly dry car after the rain storm

"That was very kind of you!"
"No problems. Any time!"

I think I heard these same exact words a week ago or so. Now I remember. Someone knocked on my door to ask me if I had forgotten my handbag (with money, credit cards and everything else) outside, next to the stroller. Can you believe it?

Same reply:
"No problems. Any time!"

I am still searching for the software that makes all this kindness happen here in the Boston area. Do you know what it's called?

Italy has boosted William's vocabulary and self-confidence - In Italia a William e' venuta la lingua lunga

William making a phone call in Diano Marina

Last year, in order to better teach William Italian and about Italian culture, John and I made an important decision. We decided to take William to Italy for one month per year. This may seem like a huge amount of time. In reality, when you spend half of it making plans with your parents and a third of it replacing the stroller that got broken during the trip, four weeks is just a tease! We have come to this decision because I used to spend five to six weeks in France every year as a child - that way I learned French and about French culture more than the kids who were taking French in school. If you learned some French at school, you probably learned to asked a simple question this way: "Est-Ce Que [PAUSE] tu [PAUSE] aimes [PAUSE] manger  [PAUSE] pizza?" and not this way: "t'aimes les pizzas toi?". The latter, is the way French people speak!

During the month we were in Italy, John worked most of the time while I tried to take William to day care every day so that he would have to deal with Italian teachers, Italian kids, language and culture.

William celebrating an Italian kid's birthday. Cake made of focaccia!

William drawing at  at the Mary Poppins center in Turin, Italy

Art work William made at the Mary Poppins center in Turin, Italy

Actually, doing this served well its purpose. I don't know if it was the different physical location, the amount of  TV he watched, the Italian kids he was playing with, all the nicotine and caffeine in the air or the terrible 2s approaching but, while we were there, his vocabulary most probably doubled and his confidence boosted:

 

"vai! dai! dimmi, dammi, mangia, mare, yourt, cane, gatto, cappello, faccia, naso, occhi, lanza (meaning ambulanza), pizi'a, bandane (instead of banana), his first three-syllable word, and also expressions such as dov'e'? (where is it?), guarda palla (look at the ball)!" and so on.

 

Together with an explosion of Italian words, I was hit by a stubborn and pissed off kid which at times I struggled to recognize:

When the bus driver was waiting for the traffic light to change, William would go:
"vai! vai! a vai? a vai?" ("go!, go! just go! just go!") [EVERYONE LAUGHED IN THE BUS]

When I was about to start feeding him but could not find his favorite car, he would scream:
"no, pappa no! pappa no, no, no!" (no, food no! food no, no, no!)

"dammi cento! cento?...
noooooo, dammi cento!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  

(give me the cento car! cento car? you are not giving it to me? give it to me !!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

At times, he was cranky and inconsolable.  He would ask for "pizi'a", the polizia car, which he had previously hidden, say under the bed. Then if only I was trying to offer him another car, he would explode in rage! It had to be that car. 

In Italy, the day care teacher I liked (the one who was not drinking 10 coffee cups per day and who was not threatening the kids to call the police if they were not behaving) found William sweet but also lazy, capricious and a bit too arrogant and independent (hopefully this is a good thing). She said that at times he was wondering off the room to do his own things regardless of the class activities she was running in that moment. On the positive side, in Italy the rebel learned to get on cars and on chairs all by himself, to wait in a queue with other kids in the bathroom to get his diaper changed, to eat and drink by himself and to elegantly sit on an adult chair, while waiting for dinner to be served. On the negative side, my toilet training there went out of the window! We sort of just stop doing it. His fault, my fault, our fault? I don't know but now as soon as I say the word "toilet", William runs away and goes "cacca no, cacca no, no, no!" followed by rage.

In Italy his difficult behavior forced us to go back to using the pacifier all day long, just like when he was two months old, until a week ago, when our old William decided to come back. Luckily, the sweet boy came back but the Italian words stayed! He replaced "bandane" with "banana", "yourt" with "yoghurt" and more expressions flourished:

"Anche mamma pappa?" (mamma is eating too?)

"Viene anche zia?" (is aunt coming too?)

"C'e' tu-tu la'?" (is the car over there?) -  his biggest long-lasting obsession
"Aniamo bimbi oggi?" (are we going to see the kids today?) Aniamo bimbi lena?(are you taking me to the swing where the kids are?)  - his new obsession

"Poi aniamo daddy?" (are we going to see daddy later on?)

"Ba-Bye bimbi!" - when I go to get myself a coffee

"Bene pappa"

"Thank you mamma!"

"Sorry daddy"

Apart from the poop thing, I am happy my old William is back, that he is learning English again, as well as to be polite and respectful towards others and to trust that in everything in life there is bad but also good and that, overall, it is better to expect good. Now when the police car arrives, the children at the playground no longer go "Scappa! Scappa!" (Run! Run!), but "Urra'!" It is nice to be back.

My mom's cooking advice - Segreti di cucina della mia mamma

When you live in a country where the average mom who uses a kitchen of the size of a mansion and a spoon which costs more than my entire kitchen utensil set,  feeds her children hot dog and microwaved vegetables that taste like cardboard, if not pieces of onions or pickles from her turkey sandwich, you wonder what happened to their mothers and to the mothers of their mothers and to the mothers of the mothers of their mothers. Were they all attacked by zombies in the kitchen, fathers included?? Or has their working life sucked all the fun out of their meals? At least the English are constantly joking about how bad is English food and they don't pay a 20% tip at their restaurants. Can someone explain to me why here in the US everyone is happy with the American food?

I always thought every other mom (or father, if not the mother) was as good as mine in the kitchen but I was wrong (my previous posting is all about this). The thing is... I never really watched my mother cooking, nor I asked her for advice. For years I took her cooking for granted and went to seek the excitement of ethnic food. Then, unlike my friends who stayed in Italy close to their mothers,  I quickly had to adopt the London "do it quickly" cooking style, which means that you put chilli in almost everything you cook to hide the taste. Now that I live so much farther away from Italy and that I try to reproduce my mother's dishes at home to feed William on a daily basis, I have realized that my mother has passed to me recipes worth gold. But how do I cook her dishes exactly the way she does?

William going to steal secrets in my mother's kitchen

While I was in Italy, I  asked my mother (and carefully observed) what she really does when she is in the kitchen. Below are some of the answers I got from her in this occasion together with the precious knowledge she passed to me via Skype in the last year or so.

Use onions, not garlic, unless you are cooking fish

Use Barilla spaghetti and fresh juicy tomatoes

What ingredients do you need for a simple pasta dish, say for 4 people?

Mom: "Vegetable oil (e.g. better if arachides oil), half an onion medium size, juicy plum tomatoes in can or, even better, juicy fresh tomatoes and spaghetti or other type of pasta. The Barilla and De Cecco brands are good. For a simple pasta sauce I cut the onion very thin, so I don't have to remove the pieces afterwards, and brown it in oil. This is what I call  "soffritto". Garlic? Oh nooo, I don't use garlic for making pasta sauce. Basil? You can add it at the end when the dish is almost ready. It is not necessary though"

So when do you use garlic?

Mom: "I use one or two cloves of garlic when I brown fish or when I saute vegetables such as spinach and zucchini in oil"

Me: "Do you remove the pieces of garlic at the end of the cooking?"

Mom: "Yes, I don't want to keep eating garlic all day long!"

How do you obtain a creamy sugo?

Mom: "I remove the skin and the seeds from the tomatoes (or plums in the can), then I add the resulting sauce (called "passata") to the thin slices of onions browned in oil (called "soffritto") and cook it with the lid on for about 15 minutes"

How do you remove the bits of skin of the tomatoes in the plums that come from the can?

Mom: "I use a fork to get the juice out of the plums and remove the bits that come out while I am doing that before adding the sauce to the soffritto"

How do you eliminate the sour taste of the tomatoes in the sauce?

Mom: "I add few pinches of salt and half a tea spoon of sugar, then I cook the sauce with the lid for at least 15 minutes"

Can you add vegetables, say zucchini, or chicken to the pasta sauce or is it something that only foreigners do?

Mom: "Chicken, certainly not. If you want to add vegetables, carrots and zucchini for instance, you brown them in the soffritto with the thin slices of onions. Then, when you see that the hard vegetables (carrots) are cooked, you add the tomatoes"

What do you do to avoid that the pasta sauce dries up?

Mom: "I add a mestolo (large soup spoon) of salty water from the pasta or from the boiled vegetables. By doing that, the sauce will get creamy"

What do you do to avoid that risotto dries up?

Mom: "I add a mestolo (large soup spoon) of boiled water or vegetable broth, each time I see that it is drying up"

How do you prepare chicken and vegetable broth?

Mom: "To make chicken broth, I boil the chicken in water with an onion, a potato, two carrots, sage, thyme and a pinch of salt. To make vegetable broth, I boil an onion, carrots, zucchini, potatoes (and whatever I want to add ) with sage, thyme and a pinch of salt. Otherwise, I add stock to boiling water in a glass and melt the stock to produce broth by using a fork.". 

How do you decide whether you should add vegetable, chicken or beef stock?

Mom: "I usually add vegetable broth to risottos and to soups. I add beef broth to the other dishes. This is what I do but there are no hard rules. I often use the water from boiled vegetables or from boiled chicken. Enrica, tutto fa brodo! (everything makes broth)!"

In which cases do you keep the lid on the saucepan when you are cooking?

Mom: "What a question! The only time when I don't keep the lid on on a pan is when I have to fry and when I let the wine, water or broth evaporate. Usually, you should keep the lid on when you are cooking!"

At what stage of the cooking do you usually add salt?

Mom: "It depends on what I am cooking but as a general rule I would say... just before I am happy that water is released into the mix but I always make things cook first. If I breadcrumb chicken for instance, I add salt to the chicken at the end, once the chicken is cooked.  Oh nooo, I don't add any salt or other spices during the preparation of the food!"

How many minutes do you leave the veggies in the pressure cooker once you have reached the pressure point?
Mom: "I cook vegetables such as carrots, potatoes and beans for about 5 minutes. If I leave them less than 5 minutes they are not cooked enough"

What's the quickest way for cooking a chicken turkey or pork roll?

Mom: "You can brown the meat in a soffritto with thin slices of onion, add salt, pepper, rosemary and herbs de provence. Then you add white wine - remember to remove the lid to let the wine evaporate - then you add the vegetables (carrots and potatoes or peas - either not both). You cover with the lid and cook the whole thing for half an hour"

How do I make William eat vegetables?

Mom: "Boil chopped zucchini, carrots, potatoes, squash, tomatoes and pinto beans together with finely chopped onion, garlic and parsley in salty vegetable broth for an hour. Then put the resulting minestrone in a food processor to make a passato di verdura. Most children eat this!

Alternatively, you can cook vegetables like spinach, carrots and mushroom  "in umido" (browned in olive oil and garlic, with added salt, pepper and a trito of parlsely at the end). Otherwise, you can steam them and then add salt and olive oil to them"

How do I make William eat fish?

Mom: "Cod? Boil the whole fish with head and tail in water with lemon and parsley. Then, serve it with olive oil, salt and lemon juice on it .Alternatively, you can steam a sole and add crushed parsley, olive oil, salt and lemon juice to it at the end. If you don't mind the extra fat, you can cook it in butter, then add salt, lemon juice and parsley towards the end of the cooking "

What do I cook when William has an upset stomach?

Mom: "When you were not well, I was always giving you white rice with olive oil, salt and parmesan,  and boiled chicken with veggies as a second course. Can you remember?"

What food can I prepare when I don't have time to cook?

Mom: "the simplest pasta dish takes at least 20-30 minutes cooking time.  

Me: "Can you think of something quicker than that?"

Mom: "Mmm, no. Less than half an hour? All I can think of is an omelette, or something cooked the day before, which only needs heating! Otherwise, you can prepare cold antipasti such as prosciutto e melone or a salad made of tomatoes and mozzarella with salt, olive oil and oregano, which doesn't take long to make".

What do you use the microwave for?

Mom: "I only use it for defrosting and for heating a previously cooked meal. Nothing else."

How about sandwiches?

Mom: "Is this what you are going to give your poor husband? I hope not!"

Me: "But mom, that is what he likes!"

Mom:"I don't believe it. He might be saying that to be nice to you. I will ask him!"

What advice can you give a mom who wants to learn to cook?

Mom:"You don't need to be a chef to cook but someone who likes food. You need to practice with the resources that are available locally and  decide for yourself what needs doing to cook what you like".

Grazie mamma and happy cooking everyone!

What's wrong with the American cooking? - Che cosa e' successo alla cucina americana?

Italian mom cooking a simple pasta dish for lunch

Seriously, what's wrong with the American cuisine? As far as food is concerned, I have never thought of myself as fussy. In the UK, despite I was used to only eating biscotti dipped in caffe latte in the morning, I even managed to eat - and enjoy - black pudding (fried animal blood mixed with a filler) and sheep's pluck (heart, liver and lungs simmered in the sheep's stomach) for breakfast! Ok, ok, perhaps in those good old days I was drunk from the night before but, honestly, in 13 years I traveled and lived outside Italy (India included), I only complained about food once. I was living in Galway, a small town on the west coast of Ireland, fish was overpriced, the alternative, if I remember well, was to eat jacket potatoes and subs topped with mayonnaise. My Irish friend was totally on my side. At times she was driving me around to help me find a place where to eat. At some point I remember she said that our best bet was to go to Subway! Back in England, food was no longer a daily issue for me. There were Pret a Manger restaurants in all towns and having lunch outside the house was never a problem. Yet, here in Boston, I am finding it extremely hard to get used to the local cuisine and I keep bumping into three types of American moms and combinations of the three.

First there are the moms who claim they love cooking. These are people who buy spoons that cost more of their wedding ring and books with everything but simple recipes (e.g. pheasant cooked in champagne with artichokes, wtf!) These are people who decide to order take out food after realizing that they were supposed to boil the artichokes they have already put in the sauce. If I go to their house on a normal day, I end up eating an old piece of turkey or cheese dip for nachos, which was probably in the fridge for a month, as the container was the size of a petrol can! Smile. It could have been worse. They could have put on the table spaghetti from the fridge with peanut butter... I saw this in an American comedy! I can guarantee that not a single person with a sense of humor would laugh at this joke on the Italian TV. The first immediate and only reaction would be: yuck!

Then there are the so called hypster-moms who view cooking as a science fiction thing from Mars (or at least it looks as if they are using ingredients from Mars). These are the people who only buy organic products from local businesses. Ironically, most of the food these people buy consists of processed stuff such as hot dogs (pardon, only white meat!) and chips (only organic, off-course!), pre-chopped vegetables ready to be microwaved in the bag - which already started to go off in the bag when it was in the store! - and everything rigorously whole wheat, pasta included. Whole wheat pasta is almost impossible to cook properly. It either gets overcooked and sticky or undercooked and too hard. In Italy the only people I saw eating it are diabetics. No wonder their children throw everything on the floor.

Then there are the bakers. These moms, most of them with part-time jobs, are working hard and I have deep admiration for them. In my entire life, I have baked two things from scratch: a simple lasagna and a simple apple crumble. These people? In a year, they bake everything you can possibly imagine: bread, quiches, vegetable pies, cupcakes, chocolate cheese cakes, delicious fruit pies - you name it and they will make it for you! Their house smell like a bakery shop and their children, sooner or later, will learn to bake as well. So what's the problem? There are times when these same people, despite their amazing baking skills, when it comes to preparing lunch or dinner, will raise their white flag. They would rather grab a couple of fried chicken pieces from an old bag in the freezer, throw some fries with it and give it to their children than trying to cook something simple but fresh for them. "Signur! Pet food in Italy looks better!", said William's babysitter from Turin.

An Italian woman I know, who runs a home daycare in the Boston area, is a star to the eyes of the American kids she is taking care of and a devil to the eyes of their mothers, simply because, like the average mom in Italy, she is able to cook a dish of pasta with tomato sauce! Apparently, the kids attending her daycare at some point asked their mom to cook something similar (instead of giving them sandwiches for lunch) but their mother said that they did not know how.


Ok, pasta is an Italian dish. How about the American BBQ? The meat cooked on the BBQ with that smokey 4th July flavor?

Cowboy cooking  a simple meal on the BBQ

Why can't I find this more often at people's houses here in the US? Last week I was late at a party and instead of that lovely piece of meat my taste buds were longing for, I ended up with salad covered with cheese and garlic. The week before I went to another party, I was not late and ended up with bad pizza from the nearby Food Court. The BBQ was there but the host decided not to use it to avoid the hassle.

The truth is I don't have to eat at people's houses. I can always go to a restaurant on my way to their houses. It is not hard to find one. The problem is that at most of these "restaurants" they don't serve restaurant food but overcooked pasta, corn - the food Italians give animals to eat! - and super flavored pieces of burnt meat with extra gluey sauces on top which covers the taste of the meat. Most of the times all this is stuffed into a big chewy piece of bread that if my father ever had to eat, he would leave his denture in it!...

It could be worse. I could get an invitation to an "Italian restaurant" - e "qui si che sono cazzi!" (and here I am really fcked!). Below are some of the dishes that might be in the menu:

1) Pasta in alfredo sauce (with the unforgettable garlic after taste)

2) Spaghetti with meat balls dog style (where does this come from?)

3) Lasagna (made with tortillas)

4) Penne with chicken in wine sauce (great idea, let's add pasta to the chicken!)

5) Pizza without tomato sauce - I swear I saw someone adding tomato ketchup to it!

6) Folded pizza to make it into a calzone

Italian readers, what would you do if you were me? Escape? I bet most Americans readers wouldn't mind ordering one of the dishes above. Sadly, I see more and more people here in the Boston area, Italians included, who have lived here for many years and who have got used to eating food that tastes bad and to even liking it! It makes me wonder if I am the one who is awkward about food here.  Luckily, I am in the land of freedom and I can always say: "No, thank you. I am not hungry" and go to my secret chocolate stash in my handbag.

The power of Tronk's language - Il potere della lingua di Tronk

Tronk (the worst possible baby nickname dad could pick!) was born and from the moment he started looking at me he was communicating.  He then started telling me how happy he was through his "eh-eh-eh-eh" (the lamb's sounds) - now only used when he sees the playground swing!. Then through his "hihi hihi hihi hihi" ("gigetto/panting" sounds) - which now he only makes when dad does something silly to him like stealing his pacifier to put it in his own mouth. Tronk quickly learned how to tell me whether he was just annoyed or in pain (same sound, more decibels).

Now (at 21 month and a half), Tronk has started using words to talk to me but he does it in a strange way. He is constantly trying to imitate what I say,  to point at what he sees, to try to give it a name and to count the things he sees. The end result:

He constantly echoes what I say. At times I feel as *I* am  echoing him!  Yesterday, as soon as he saw the stroller falling down in the park, he said: "oh noooo! oh noooo!" just before I said: "oh noooo! oh noooo!" I swear, I did not mean to blandly repeat what my baby said! I was about to clarify to the woman who was standing next to me.

The other day I heard him repeating "sexy! sexy! sexy!". I wonder who said that to him! I can only think that this has something to do with what happened the day before at the Wholefoods meat counter. Naima, Tronk's little girlfriend, who was sat next to him in the store cart, while the two moms were chatting, repeatedly kissed Tronk on the mouth! Somebody must have said "sexy!". See how fast these kids learn from you?

In his attempts to communicate, there are often missing letters and wrong endings (you can watch a live demo here), a conflict between languages and counting. The end result is the ultimate in cuteness:

Me: "dai, lancia la palla" (meaning: come on, throw the ball)

William: "Mi Pa Mi Pa Pa?" (meaning: la palla e' mia, the ball is mine)

Me: "dai, William!"

William: "daignignial?"

William: "Hi? Hi?" to my Italian parents, who can't speak English

Me: "Not Hi, Ciao nonni!"

William: "Due Nonni!:

Me: "Bravo William!"

Our babysitter - today Tronk started calling her "zia Pina" (aunt Pina)! - I can't tell how happy this made her feel - recently tried to teach him how to count. He has become obsessed with it.  The only problem is that to him, for now, anything which is more than one is "due" (meaning: two). So he ends up calling almost everything he points at "due". He says "due tutu' (meaning: the three cars or trucks under the chair), due brum brum  (meaning: all the cars in the car park)", "due dada' (meaning: mom and dad)", "due acqua" (meaning: I've already had water but I want to mess with you), "du pa'!"  (Meaning:  two balls! I have had enough!). Ok, I confess, he must have heard that from me.

But recently, he started using words to give me orders and I feel I am slowly becoming his loyal servant. No kidding.

"Mamma? Acqua! Acqua! (meaning: mom, give me water)". Problem:  he asks me the same thing over and over again. I show him a missing piece of one of his puzzles after he has been drinking enough water to turn him into a camel and he goes:  "Acqua! Acqua!".  I give him the lion from his farm zoo play-set and while he is playing with it he says: "Acqua? Acqua?". He says the same thing if I put him in the bath tub while I am dripping water on his belly! Each time, the same thing happens: I pass the water bottle to him. He says "Yeah!, then he throws the bottle in the floor. No ma dico little guy, are you taking the piss?

"Mani! Mani! (meaning: I want to wash my hands!)", another Tronk like request. He asks me to wash his hands over and over again. Not when I am changing him in the bathroom but when I am in the middle of cleaning the fish that needs putting in the pan before the olive oil turns into bad fumes. How can I say no? How can I say no to: "Ciuccio? Ciuccio?", when he is looking for it in bed? And what should I say when he says "Uiva? Uiva? (meaning: give me olives) at 7:00 in the morning?

Then there is "pitta". Everything that has a "slight pizza look", in Tronk's world is  called "pitta" and it is the only food he would eat in one big bite. Don't you dare telling him a different name when you are feeding him something that looks like "pitta". If it's called "pitta", he will be done with it in minutes!

Seriously, I am glad he is finally learning to communicate. Despite the problem of having to deal with his difficult and sometimes strange requests, and my discovery that as a parent I cannot always tell the truth, unless I am prepared to give him a whole loaf of bread for lunch, I have begun to see my baby become a little person, with his own likes, his own personality. And I love it.

The other day we were at the playspace at the children's museum. Tronk was happy playing with the tiny wooden train wagons at the trains tracks. Then he saw a shopping cart. He literally jumped on the girl who was about to play with it and stole it from her. That girl, who was way older than Tronk, was NOT happy. I could tell. Few minutes later she took her revenge. I did not see exactly what happened as Tronk had just got into the room next to the one we were in. Luckily, nobody got hurt. All I know is that, all of a sudden, Tronk was crying furiously. I went to pick him up and asked him what happened. He pointed at that one girl, who was not far from him, and screamed as clearly as he could: "Bimba! Bimba!" (meaning: that bitch!).

So I have started to think that when it comes to communicating, Tronk has got the power!

When you see your child with blood all over his face - Quando vedi tuo figlio con la faccia piena di sangue

Photo of William in bed with his 5 stitches

What happened?

I was adding the last spoon of parmigiano cheese on the eggplant parmigiana I had just finished preparing for dinner that evening when William, all of a sudden, fell (long jump style), while he was running in a circle in the kitchen, causing himself a deep cut in his forehead and blood all over his face. He had hit his forehead against the lovely wooden trims of our New England house that look so much like edges of a knife and that none of us has ever noticed before!

I was so scared, especially when I saw the blood coming out of the wound. For few seconds I felt I could not move, nor scream to ask for help, like in the nightmares I used to have as a teenager. Then I was able to call John but that's about it. I don't think I was able to make any sense of what I was trying to say to him. All I remember is my desperate crying. Luckily, he was not far from home and in less than 10 minutes he was at home. As soon as I saw him I gave William to him and burst into all of the tears that I had tried to hide from William. John was able to assess the situation in 2 seconds and immediately pushed me in the car with William already in his car seat, with his face still covered in blood. We forgot to take the parmigiana out of the oven - we had to go back to take it out - and left the house open, in search of the  nearest hospital with an emergency room.

At the hospital, I was crying, while William was smiling, despite the blood still in on his face! He was just a bit upset during the stitching but mostly because of all the people around him, trying to keep him still. As soon as he was free to move, his smile was back. Everyone keeps telling me that these sort of things are not uncommon in little children but for some reason, according to my parents, nobody in our family ever got injured as toddlers. So, I  am still trying to come to terms with this accident.

When I saw my child in pain, crying inconsolably out of fear, I suddenly understood millions of women who have tried to describe this kind of pain to me in the past with little success. You cannot understand it until you feel it.

He is now back on his feet, with his five stitches on his wound, giggling and trying to run faster than ever before. And no matter what I do to slow him down, his desire is to run, run, run. Yesterday I found myself touring the neighborhood in circles to avoid having to take him home and see him run in a circle in the kitchen again!

Today, I have taped all of the colored foam sheets I have - which I originally bought for art and crafts projects - on  the dangerous corners of the kitchen and John has put the annoying gate back in between the kitchen area and the dining room. From now on he will have to be granted special access to the kitchen.

When and where is he going to fall next?

Italian versus English. What's the score? - L'italiano contro l'inglese. Chi vince?

I always seem to find myself in some sort of  competition between countries. Fifteen years ago I used to wish that the English would win against the Italian. I mean, not the English soccer team (that will only win if the final price is a life supply of beer, e poi ancora). I mean, the English language versus the Italian language. I used to wish that my Italian words, hopefully at some point, would seamlessly transform into English and that the English words would become so natural to me that people would stop asking that same old question with crappy comment at the end: "Enrica? Where are you from? Oh Italy? Mamma mia!".

In job interviews I was always straggling to sound English. "Yes because, because... No, I should say cause",  I used to tell myself, hoping to find the magic formula to stop sounding so Italian! But no, I couldn't help speaking English with my lovely staccato and emphasis on the vowels, which was a bit like having "Italian" written on my forehead! "The advertising campaign will be shot in Nothing Hill", I ended up writing in an advertising document once. Nothing? Nothing?" Can you imagine the face of the Head of Account Management at the top Ad Agency in London when he read that word with my spelling mistake at our monthly meeting?

How could I possibly learn English to stop sounding so Italian? I got myself an English boyfriend - but I am keen to specify that this wasn't planned-, I ended up spending my evenings listening to audio CDs in English, watching TV programs on the BBC channel, going to see English movies and trying hard to chat with anyone who sounded remotely English. Italian friends were removed from the contacts list on my cell phone. So were my Spanish, French and Greek friends. I was no longer interested in a house if there were no English native living in it and all my energies were directed onto trying to meet English people, with the queen's accent, hopefully from Oxford. You think this should be easy in the capital of the United Kingdom? It is not. The chances of meeting English people in London are probably 40 against 60 of meeting a bloody foreigner (yes, like myself).

There were moments, at work and in social occasions when I really wished the English could overtake the Italian in my sentences. But no, my repertoire of cutie Italian phrases was always there, lurking, waiting for the first opportunity to make a display:  "I am sooo keen!" "how aaare youuuu?" (instead of how're you doing?) "you must read my CV because because because". I couldn't help it. And the Brits were not making it any easier: "Buongiorno signorina! See? I can speak Italian! I wish my Italian was as good as your English!" Crap.

I only started to feel better about this whole thing in Italy, when I discovered that my English was gaining advantage. Suddenly, I had a spontaneous " yeah", "cheers", "sure" and "please" instead of  "bello", "grazie", "chiaro" and "dai" in the middle of my sentences. And my Italian was no longer the D'Azzeglio classic high school type. It had become some sort of  English, Irish, Australian, Italian hybrid!  The cool thing is that the number of English words entering my Italian sentences was increasing each time. And I was thinking in English! Yeahi! I started to feel like one of those English hooligans wearing the union jack in Italy after drinking beer all day long! Later on, a girl with a strong cockney accent said to me in a party in south of London : "you sound from here. Are you?". On that day, I decided that the competition between languages was over and that the English had won, at last! What I did not realize at the time was that she was drunk.

Now the Italian has come back to compete against the English (English American, to be specific) but in a different way and I am now supporting the opposite team. Go Italian, score!

My deep almost religious support for the Italian started when William uttered his first few words: "Mamma", then "nanna", then "pappa", then "daddy", opps it's an English word! Aha, it's ok. Then came "Yeah!, "Hi!" and "Ba-Bye!". The ba-bye  is cute, I will give you that but why can't he say ciao?

William saying "hi" instead of "ciao"

At the baby class: "William, don't listen to that woman. She is wrong. That is *not* a cow. That is a "mucca, muc-ca, MUCCA!" William said: "Mooooo!".  I settled with that.

Recently, William started playing with his favorite car Gigia in the English mode and no matter how hard I try to switch it back to Italian, I have to accept that Gigia now speaks English! Suddenly, I have been hit by a freaky scenario: me talking to William in Italian with him answering back in English.

Child: "Mom, where are my shoes?"

Mother: "Mamma, not mom! Sono nell'ingresso William. Vai a prenderle."

Child: "I can't understand. Mom? Where are my shoes? Mom?"

Mother: "Sono mamma. Ho detto nell'ingresso, nell'ingresso"

Child: "You mean in the lounge mom?"

Mother: "Cosa? Non capisco"

Mother: "William, we have to go. They are in the lounge for God's sake!"

As a mother raising a bilingual child in a foreign country you basically have to turn into a words beggar (and later a whore) to get your child to speak in your native language. Got the idea? It is scary stuff . So I've started to keep scores of the number of Italian words that come out of William's mouth versus the number of English ones, hoping that at some point the Italian language will win. Fingers crossed.

ITALIAN	ENGLISH
Mamma	Daddy!
Nanna (meaning: nap)	Yeah!
Pappa (meaning: child meal but not fast food)	Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!
Cacca (meaning: poop)	Ba Bye! Ba Bye!
Soe (meaning: sole, sun)	This? This? This?
Acqua! (meaning: water)	Yesterday: John? John? while pointing at dad. Dad wasn't thrilled
Nonno! Nonni! while pointing at the PC (meaning: Grandpa! Grandparents!)	I kno (or anno') (meaning: I know!) with a British accent
Pa to ask me for a ball (meaning: palla, ball)	OK! OK!
Emme (now meaning: letter M)	Now! Now!
Uiva! Uiva! (meaning: Olive! Olive!)- this is William's cutest word! He says it constantly!
Due (meaning: number 2)
E' Qui! (meaning: it's here!)
Bimba! Bimbo! Bimbi! (meaning: Little girl! Little boy! and Children!), he says almost every day, while pointing at every single child he sees outside the house.

Few minutes ago William woke up from his nap and started calling me. I was busy washing dishes. I didn't go to pick him up. I then received a call from a friend and said ciao. William suddenly said it. He said it loud: "shao! shao! shao!". I immediately went to pick him up. He was laughing. I can't tell you how happy I am. We have a say in Italy: "If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart." For now, advantage for the Italian! Stay tuned.