Will starts school this week, Shiloh is crawling everywhere now and it’s finally occurred to me that, sooner than I may be ready for it, there will come a time when I’m not in a constant exhausted state of childcare, unpacking and settling in…for likely no more than a year before it’s time to pack up and move to a new country, but still. For the first time in nearly four years I can imagine a day in which I spend more time working for a paycheck than changing diapers or kneeling in a pile duplos. I’m terrified. I’m exhilarated. I’m terrified.
I breathe in Shiloh’s babyness and kiss her chubby cheeks a hundred times a day. I scoop Will into hugs as he crosses the room to pour a “pile of Cheerios” for himself. On week days, for now, we are a merry band of three doing everything together from folding laundry to buying paint to exploring the Duomo in the center of town. It’s thrilling, it’s maddening, it’s all-consuming.
It all leaves scant room for wondering what I’ll ultimately do with my life when the kids go off to elementary school, for wondering how or when I’ll go back to work before they get to elementary school, for wondering how I’ll make money, whether anyone will ever hire me or what kind of work I’d even like them to hire me for.
Back in Delhi a few months ago I had a conversation with a good friend who, unlike us, employed a nanny to tag-team her daughter’s care during the day and take her to a few nanny-led playdates every week. The reasons why my friend has a nanny and we didn’t are complicated and myriad I think but I’ll never forget the look of deep love mixed with fear in her eyes the day she said to me “I’m afraid of being with her too much, being too attached. If I am, when she leaves for school, I’ll be left with nothing. She will break my heart.”
I think back on the vulnerability in her words nearly everyday lately. My kids are still so all-consuming, so needy but someday, if I’m doing my job at all right, they won’t be. And I will miss these days of snuggles and struggles, of having my day job and the most important job of my life be one in the same.
I’m thinking too much, brainstorming too little, fruitlessly whiling away minutes and hours of those precious hours after they fall asleep for the night. I want to start a small business, write and photograph. I want to clean my house and throw a kick-ass Halloween party and pretend that I can live without professional fulfillment or a paycheck indefinitely. More than anything I want to bottle up the smell of sleeping Shiloh, peals of Will’s laughter, the scheming looks in their eyes when they play together. Because in a few years they won’t need me hovering around all day, but I will still need them.
Enough thinking for tonight. We took the kids to Bellagio yesterday. We went through multiple wardrobe changes, there was a 12-wipe diaper change on the floor of a men’s restroom, I made Chris bring me the smallest styrofoam cup of espresso I’ve ever seen when Will refused to let us leave the train station for fear of missing the train (not due into the station for over an hour).
Will made out with two lollipops from strangers, the guy at the gelato shop gave our “bella piccolina” a hug and a preciously-decorated cup of gelato. Will got to throw rocks into the lake. Shiloh ate a lot of pizza. The ferry ride was a hit. If you are a retiree looking to add to your scarf and tiny glassware collection in a beautiful place, it is the perfect place for you. As for us, we couldn’t take our eyes off the lake.
We went to Switzerland for a few hours last weekend. We practically collapsed into fits of giggles nearly every time we tried to talk about it nonchalantly. The novelty of living in Europe, of living less than an hour’s drive from a whole other country has not worn off yet.
We’re slowly settling in here. It’s hard to pinpoint that moment when figuring out our bus route stopped feeling like a calculus equation or when ordering an espresso stopped feeling like an anxiety-inducing dance step. But I do know that today was the first time I unconsciously answered a question in Italian without first having to translate my answer from English to Chinese to Italian in my head. For the record, I do not speak Italian–but at least I’m no longer using Chinese pronouns when people ask me questions about my kids.
We are getting used to city living again. Will loves the subway, the tram, the bus, the trains. I forgot how much I enjoy it too. I like the strange mix of proximity and anonymity on public transit. Smushed into a subway car with 65 strangers I feel enveloped in the rhythms of the city in a way I don’t get as we walk through our neighborhood watching fashionable friends meet and greet each other on the sidewalk. It’s nice.
So maybe this is a funny time to mention but we bought a car last week. And a couch. It was a very expensive Thursday.
It’ll likely be 6 weeks before we lay eyes on either our couch or our car (I’m told this is very Italian) but we think they’ll both be a little life-changing—not least for the people who currently have a 6 inch-tall wooden bench to sit on in our living room when they come to visit.
Take a seat
I doubt the car will get as much daily use as the couch but it will increase our range for weekend exploring around this part of the country. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted a car until our trip to Switzerland last weekend. Now I’m dreaming as much as my husband about all of the tiny little hillside towns and hiking trails there are to be found just a bit more easily by car than by bus or train, especially with two little kids in tow.
Last Wednesday I went to my first playdate in Italy with a few other expats. It was the first time I’d talked to someone unrelated to me by either blood or marriage who wasn’t a store clerk or a language tutor in weeks and weeks. Honestly, even if we had talked about nothing but watching paint dry I’m fairly sure I would have found the conversation stimulating. Luckily though it was far more interesting than that.
And just when I thought I couldn’t get any higher on human contact, I did. Will wanted gelato on our way home from the playdate and at the gelateria there was a man getting gelato with his two young kids. A banker with well-tuned English, he told me where to find the best cheese store and the best butcher in town. His kids ran off before I could ask him the name of the best bakery but he gave me my card and told me that Chris and I should get in touch any time we want to know anything about food or wine in Milan. Which reminds me, I should email him about the bakery question.
I’m learning, very slowly, how to do this Italian thing. I still feel very out of place most days but I can imagine that, with a little more language, we’ll get more comfortable here. I know how to order coffee and pick out vegetables at the market without being completely offensive (I knew before I arrived that it is technically illegal to touch fresh produce with bare hands but it took a language tutor to teach me the polite way to tell a market vendor that I’m done shopping. “Basta cosi” in case you were wondering).
I know how to haul two kids and 3 grocery bags on and off a tram at the same time now without bringing traffic to a standstill. I’ve blow-dried my hair three times in the last two weeks–which is more pomp and circumstance than my head has seen since my wedding day five years ago. I wear lipstick everyday now. I’m still a hot mess compared to three-quarters of the people around me but who knew it was possible for a little bit of red lipstick to make a person feel less conspicuous rather than more so. Through some observation I’ve also found the loophole in Milanese fashion culture: tomboy chic. Boyfriend jeans and t-shirts pulled together with trendy sneakers and great hair. It’s an unsurprisingly popular look among my peers on the playgrounds.
We visited the Navigli Antique/Flea Market for the first time the other weekend. When Chris was out of town two weeks ago, the kids and I took a double-decker tourist bus around town and surprised ourselves to realize we’ve seen more of the city already than we thought we had.
We tried our first Barolo the other night. Not being serious wine people, I can only say that it was by far the best wine I’ve had since a very specific bottle of Tempranillo that we had Thanksgiving weekend in Charlottesville five years ago. But last weekend our friend introduced us to Valpolicella and, at 4-6 euros a bottle, it’s quickly becoming our wine of choice. We won’t dwell here on the night in our first week in town when I accidentally brought home a bottle of fizzy red wine–except to say that it reminded me of a grown up version of something you might find being passed around at a high school house party. And that’s not necessarily a damning description.
Porcini mushrooms are in season right now and they are gorgeous, brown and white and covered in dirt at the market. I learned the hard way that we have to cook them the day we buy them but they are completely worth the effort. Stone fruits are just passing their peak but Shiloh ate peaches and nectarines nearly every day in August. I promise I won’t get too poetic about the tomatoes or the strawberries, but once the last of them finally leave the market in the next few weeks we will dream of them all the way until next summer. I never knew what a tomato was really supposed to smell like until we moved here. Artichokes and pumpkins are everywhere now and today I saw dark green leaves at a few stalls that may be heralding the beginning of chard and kale and winter greens season.
This summer has felt endless. We’ve had six months of summer now across three different countries and I’m so ready for a new season. I am so ready for our first real fall in years, for the chance to make soup and wear sweaters that haven’t seen the light of day since Will was a tiny baby. There’s a tree across the street from our house that’s sporting red and orange in shy little patches across the uppermost branches. I can’t wait to watch the trees change colors. And to maybe start feeling like this place is home, at least for a little while.
Switzerland, yes I did start this post with the intention of writing about our day trip to Lugano. I don’t think I’ve seen bluer skies and greener grass anywhere. We went for our annual Labor Day Hike (albeit two weeks after Labor Day) and I can’t wait to go back, maybe in our own car next time.
P.S. This girl.
She takes my breath away every single day. Especially now that she’s constantly attempting to dive out of my arms. Her hair is long enough for wee little ponytails. Her smiles and giggles make me melt. She eats everything from anchovies to roasted pumpkin soup. She refuses to crawl in a traditional sense but has developed a sort of lunging/scooting version of locomotion that serves her well. She’s fiercely determined in everything she does. Will’s toys are no longer safe but luckily he’s just about the sweetest, kindest big brother that a little sister could ever ask for.
P.P.S. Last week I finally developed the three rolls of film I’d been carrying around in my purse since June. I didn’t ask how much it would cost assuming it would be only slightly more expensive than the price I paid back in Wisconsin. I can tell you now that it’s about three times as expensive as Wisconsin and that things are going to be a leetle more digital up in here for awhile. But, here are a few shots from our summer in the States and a teaser I guess from Italy.