More stateside observations....

Yowsa...I can't believe it's been a whole month since my last entry. We're getting into the swing of things, and just when I think I'm getting used to the whole American thing, something crops up that surprises the Italian in me. Here we go with three more Americanisms:

1. We bought a car--on a Sunday. If you're American, you're probably wondering why this is on my list. If you're Italian, you're thinking that the word "Sunday" must be a typo.

In Italy, you'd be hard-pressed to buy a liter of milk on a Sunday. Well, you could, but you'd have to go out of your way to one of the larger grocery store chains, because everything else is closed.

But a car?? That's right. We saw it on the Internet at a car dealer, called Friday night, went to see it on Saturday, liked it, made a deal, returned on Sunday to sign the paperwork and drive our new car home. Just like that. And did I mention it was a Sunday?

2. Walk-in freezer--I've heard of these things, but had never been in one until I went to Shopper's Food Warehouse the other week. I was stuck in the cereal aisle with my indecisive kids (why can't they make up their minds? There are only 246 kinds to choose from...) while my husband went to pick up some beer. He couldn't find it, so we headed off together. We finally found it--in a walk-in freezer the size of a 7-11 store, I swear. My (Italian) husband opened the door, stuck one foot inside, withdrew his foot, closed the door, and said: "I'm not going in there. It's freezing!"

If you're new to this blog, or Italian culture in general, you might not know that Italians don't like cold (or even cool) breezes blowing on them-especially on their neck. Over the door to this freezer was a machine that was spewing Arctic air on anyone who dared enter this beer tundra. So I left my husband standing there with the kids and braved my way through the doors. Before the door shut, I heard my daughter say, "I want to go with Mommy!" I turned back to see my husband grasp her hand and shake his head, then look at me like I was going off to Siberia. I got the beer, then headed back into the slightly less-frigid air-conditioned store. And I didn't even catch pneumonia.

If the Italian government wants to put an end to alcoholism in Italy, all they have to do is install one of these walk-in-freezers wherever alcohol is sold. No one would enter. I'm not kidding.

3. I know I've spoken of waiting-in-line etiquette before, but I was still surprised the other day when I was in line at the grocery store, and a cashier opened up a new line right next to mine. I was third in line, with two people behind me. I was ready for the mad dash, but when I turned to the newly-opened line, no one was there yet.

"Just my luck!" I thought. "No one else heard the cashier say the line was open!"

As I glanced at the person behind me to size up my competition before sprinting away, the lady behind me said: "Please, go right ahead."

All the sprint wooshed out of me. "Are you sure?" I said.

"Of course," she replied. "You're ahead of me." And she was right. I was ahead of her.

In Italy, I would have had my toes run over by the cart-pushers mowing me over from behind.

Here in America, grocery shoppers' toes are safe. Just watch out for those walk-in-freezers.

adjusting

We've been back a whole week now, and it feels more like a month.

More good American things I'd forgotten about:

1. customer service--everyone is so friendly here. I went to the bank to have something notarized, and when I learned that the notary guy wasn't in, the bank lady called a nearby branch to make sure the notary was in, then she Yahoo-ed directions to that branch and printed it out, along with the other branch's phone number. And that's not the only example--I could go on. And on.

Italians are friendly, too, just not in shops (unless they know you). I once went to buy a measly pair of tights for my daughter at a shop in Italy. I had my three kids in tow, the youngest of whom was whiny (to put it mildly). I must have waited 5 minutes (which is more like 10 when you factor in the cranky toddler) while the shop keeper blabbed with her friend. During their conversation, I said things to my toddler like: "I'm sure our turn will be soon, honey" in a loud voice, but to no avail. She never once looked my way, or said anything like: I'll be right with you.

Italians are many wonderful things, but public servants they are not.

2. lines--everyone waits in line here. In orderly lines. Patiently. The lines in Italy aren't linear--they're blob-shaped. Waiting in an Italian line is not for the faint-hearted. You need to be quick. You need to pay attention. You need your elbows at the ready. The worst line cutters are the grandmothers. They look innocent, but I am here to tell you they are not. Their grandmotherly (apparent) innocence is their secret weapon. They pretend not to see you (picture a "Who, me?" expression) and while you're off guard, they shout out their coffee order ahead of you.

In a U.S. line, I could be reading a book, and the guy behind me would say, "Excuse me, but aren't you next?" In Italy, I could read War and Peace from cover to cover and still have the line cutters silently stream around me.

And now for some not-so-great things:
1. The Fuzz--not that I'm a fugitive of the law, or anything, but it's a little disconcerting to see policemen everywhere. I don't know about you, but whenever I see a police car while I'm driving, I automatically hit the brakes, even if I'm obeying the speed limit. The other day I was driving during morning rush hour, and there was a cop by the side of the road pointing a big 'ol radar gun my way, his feet planted shoulder-width apart, looking like the sheriff of his own little median strip.

Sure, I used to see Italian policemen, but I've never seen an Italian speed trap. Probably because the policemen are afraid they'd trap their own mothers, since everyone speeds in Italy.

2. Lockdowns--Have you ever heard of those? If you aren't a kid in this post 9-11 era, you probably haven't heard this term in regards to an elementary school. I'm a teacher who will be teaching in a year-round school that starts soon. (I know, it's not even August yet. Tell me about it). We had our first staff meeting the other day, and the principal was going over safety procedures. So we cover fire drills. Fine. Then tornado drills. Okay. Then we cover the procedures to follow if:
a.) there's a threat outside the school (if someone has robbed a home in the neighborhood and is on the loose),
b.) if there's a bio-chemical hazard outside the school, and finally
c.) the lockdown, if there's a threat in the school building. If this happens, we have to lock our classroom doors, draw the blinds, tape paper over the window in the door that leads from the classroom to the hallway, and have the class huddle in the corner furthest from the door.

I don't even know what to say to this. Maybe all of this is necessary in Italy, too, but they don't know it yet? I hate to think of my daughters practicing these drills come September, and asking "Why?".

Suddenly, those Italian grandmothers in the blob-shaped lines don't seem so bad...

Ye Olde Pig's Foot

Close your eyes. Now picture your holiday table laden with a scrumptious feast. What do you see? Turkey? Ham? Latkes? Your great aunt's marshmallow yam casserole? Okay, now feast your eyes on this:

Look closely. Yes, nestled on a bed of lentils is...a pig's foot. Complete with manicured toenails, it appears. Zampone is typical fare during the holiday season in Italy, and it's most common on New Year's Eve. The lentils are thought to bring luck. Not to the pig, apparently.

I've tasted this, and actually it's quite good. But it's only good if you're not staring at the actual pig's foot while you eat. I know, I'm a hypocritical carnivore--I love eating meat, I just don't want to be reminded what it looked like before it came to my plate. If you'd like to surprise your family this holiday season, click here for cooking instructions. Although you might want to have them taste it first before you reveal what it is.

Buon Appetito!

Water Fountain Drinking 101

During our visit to the States this past summer, I realized my daughters weren't up to speed on American kid culture--when their cousins talked about things like Hannah Montana and American Girl dolls, my girls had no idea what they were talking about. I could have predicted that--after all, we don't get American television stations and commercials here.

But there were other things they didn't know that I never would have predicted.

One day, my 8-year-old daughter stopped to get a drink from a water fountain while we were shopping at the mall. She finished, and I saw that her shirt was wet. Not just damp, mind you--she had water splashed all down the front.

Me: Honey, what happened to your shirt?
Daughter: Nothing. I was just getting a drink.
Me: Is the fountain broken? Did the water squirt out too fast?
Daugher, eyebrow raised: Noooo. Why?
Me (wondering how in the world she got her shirt that wet from a water fountain): Can you show me how you took that drink?

So my daughter pressed the button, and up came the stream of water. She stuck out her tongue and started lapping up the water, getting her shirt even wetter.

Me: Honey, what are you doing?
Daughter (now exasperated): Getting a drink! (The "What does it look like I'm doing??" was implied).

And then I remembered, and I had to laugh.

When Americans go to Italy, one of the things they notice is the lack of drinking fountains. But Italy has water fountains, they're just disguised. Here's one in the photo below:

It look more like a bird bath, or a place where the village washerwoman rinses out the clothes, doesn't it? Not many people drink from these fountains--mostly joggers and kids. When you do, the water comes rushing out in a turbo gush, and you have no choice but to try and lap it up as best you can. So that was my daughter's drinking fountain point of reference. When I did an American drinking fountain demo for her, she laughed, tried it again, and drank like a pro.

When in America...

We're leavin' on a jet plane...

Note: I meant to post this before we left, but it didn't post, for some reason. The trip went well, and I'll post again soon (after my jet-lagged brain recovers).

Our summer stateside vacation is finally over, and we leave for Italy later tonight. Aside from family and friends, here are the top three things I'll miss most about the U.S.:

1. the clothes dryer, and all the warm, soft, fluffy clothes that it produces. Sigh.

2. caramel frappucinos

3. ample parking

Here are the top three things I'm looking forward to when we return:

1. The clinking sound of real cups and saucers when I go into a bar for coffee. Since Italians never get coffee to go, there are no paper/Styrofoam cups with lids in Italy. The clinking comes from people setting their cups onto saucers, baristi clearing the cups and saucers from the bar and then stacking them in the sink to await washing. It's funny--I never paid much attention to the clinking until I got here and noticed it was missing.

2. pizza--As much as I love American pizza, I've missed the Italian version. It's not that one is necessarily better than the other. Like chocolate chip cookies and peanut butter cookies--both are good. But different.

3. sagras--These are outdoor cookouts with live music held all over the city and its outskirts. The menu's usually the same--grilled meats, french fries, sauerkraut, Nutella-filled crepes--yanno, food that's bad for you. Can't wait!

The Big 4-0

Today's my 40th (eek!) birthday.

If I were in Italy today, my Italian friends would not have taken me out for lunch or a celebratory birthday drink. Nope. I would have been expected to take them out and buy them a round of drinks for my b-day. That's right. As the birthday girl, I would also be the one to bring my own cake. At least I wouldn't be expected to buy my own gifts, though. There's always that.

The Italian translation of "Happy Birthday" is Buon Compleanno, but Italians usually don't say this to you on your birthday. Instead, they say Tanti Auguri, which means "Many Good Wishes." Come to think of it, Tanti Auguri is probably best tranlated as: "I wish you happiness, health, and above all, prosperity, so you can take me out and buy me a drink on your birthday."

Tanti auguri to you all!

We speak English. Sort of.

At home, we often speak in an Italian-English mix. With our Italian relatives and friends, we stick to straight Italian (or dialect, in my husband's case). My kids speak Italian as if they were born and raised there-- in fact, people are often surprised when they discover that my children also speak English.

When we came to the U.S. this summer, I knew my kids would need help with some English words initially, but then I assumed they'd sound like native English speakers in no time. In the past month, surprisingly, they've only asked for help with a few words--usually for things that don't exist in Italy (like Rice Krispy bars and Heelys--those shoes with wheels).

However.

They don't sound like native English speakers. A speech therapist friend told me that it's not their accent, per se; it's the cadence and inflections that give my kids away. I've also noticed a few constructions and wordings that American kids would never use. Here are some examples:

1. My daughters saw a baby rabbit hop into some bushes. An American kid would say something like: "Oh, how cute!" My 5-year-old said: "The bunny--it is so beautiful!"

2. My 8-year-old told us that one of her cousins had a Popsicle, and wanted to know if she could have one, too. When I asked which cousin had the Popsicle, my daughter pointed and answered: "She."

3. In Italian, the words for bride, groom and to marry are similar: sposa, sposo, and sposarsi. We went to see The Little Mermaid play, and in the scene where the hypnotized prince is about to unknowingly marry the evil witch instead of Ariel, my 5-year-old yelled out: "No! Don't bride her!"

I'm torn when I hear my children speaking this way. Things that make adults go "Awww," can make kids go "Huh?" and I don't want my children's classmates to make fun of them when we move back to the U.S. next summer. But I know these linguistic gems will fade within a few months, never to return. My older daughter has already added cool and wha'sup? to her vocabulary, and I've even heard her call her father Daddy a few times, instead of Papa.

When my daughters were toddlers, I recorded some of the cute things they said in a notebook, but I haven't made any new entries in years. I think it's time to pick up my pen once again.

Kiddie Culture Shock

When I was in elementary school, my family lived in Germany on a U.S. Air Force base where my dad was stationed. In those pre-internet days, I had no idea what my peers were up to back in the U.S. We had one television channel on base that mostly played reruns, which meant my friends and I mostly played outside, climbing trees and building forts. Sounds idyllic, right? It was.

Until we moved back to the states.

I'd seen the changing of the guard outside of Buckingham Palace, touched the Berlin Wall, and sailed past Norwegian fjords. But I'd never heard of the new hit TV show Laverne and Shirley, and some blockbuster movie showing coast to coast called Star Wars. Kids at school asked what my favorite bands were and which radio station I listened to. Huh? The only time I ever listened to the radio was when my parents had it on in the car. Needless to say, I wasn't exactly the coolest kid on the block.

I know my own kids will go through some of this culture shock/cluelessness when we move back to the U.S. next summer. I thought I'd take advantage of the time we have here this summer and help them catch up on some good 'ol American culture. Here's how it's going so far:

1. My 8-year-old knows the value of the European coins, so I decided to teach her about American coins. I explained which presidents were on each coin, and how much the coins were worth. The next day I was watching The Today Show, and Willard Scott came on. My daughter asked, "Is that George Washington?"

2. Today we went to a water park called "Water Country USA." I've been working with my 8-year-old this summer on reading in English, and she read the sign, pronouncing USA as OO-zah (the way it would be pronounced if it were an Italian word). I told her it was U.S.A., and asked if she knew what the letters stood for. She had no idea.

My problem is I don't know exactly what my kids know and don't know about America. I'll assume they know what something is--like a bagel or a fire hydrant--only to find out that they don't know. I've definitely got my work cut out for me.

Impressions of America

Once again, I must apologize for not posting in awhile. I think I'll blame it on the American keyboard, which is slightly different from Italian keyboards...just enough to throw me off and cut my typing speed in half.

Here are three random things I love about America that I'd forgotten about:

1. shopping carts: They're gigantic. Almost twice as wide as Italian carts, and longer. If I were pushing one of these bad boys down an Italian supermarket aisle, it'd have to sport one of those neon yellow "wide load" signs on the side. There's enough room in there for...I don't know...at least a week's worth of groceries.

2. grocery baggers: I love these people. I'm trying to work out the logistics of luring one of them into my suitcase for my trip back to Italy.

3. seedless grapes: Call them genetically altered, if you want. But their seedy Italian cousins just don't measure up.

And here are the three coolest things about America, according to my daughters (8 and 5):

1. squirrels: My 8-year-old daughter came racing into the house the first day we were here, screaming, "Come quick! No, come NOW!" I fully expected to see my 5-year-old in a sobbing heap on the driveway, nursing a scraped knee or two. But no. My daughters had sighted five squirrels frolicking in the front yard. Yup. Squirrels. Who knew? Not my daughters.

2. toast: I've never seen a toaster in an Italian home, although I have seen them in stores. In Italian bars, you can get toasted ham and cheese sandwiches (called, conveniently enough, toast). And Italians buy packages of fette biscottate, which are pre-toasted pieces of bread about the size of a playing card. So Italians do eat toast-- they just don't make it.

When I whipped out the toaster this morning, my 8-year-old wanted to toast her own bread. No problem. But instead of waiting for the bread to pop up, she tried to lift the lever after the bread had been in there all of 5 seconds. She didn't know that the bread automatically popped up when it was done. Now I'm thinking I need to come up with some kind of American reintegration program for my kids...

3. sprinklers: Since Italians aren't big on lawn care, you don't see sprinklers much, if ever. My kids ran through the sprinkler with their cousins, and now my girls want to pack a sprinkler in their suitcase to take home. I told them it'll depend on how much space the grocery bagger takes up...

We've arrived!

This will be a short post--I wanted to thank everyone for your good wishes/karma/thoughts...they must have worked, because the trip went fairly well.

I have, indeed, re-qualified for living saint status once again. My saint name shall now be Our-Lady-of-Airports-Who-Must-Literally-Run-With-Three-Children-in-Tow-in-Order-to-Make-Her-Connecting-Flight. It's a bit of a mouthful, and might be difficult to engrave on the back of a medallion bearing my likeness, but there you have it.

More details later, once jet lag has worn off...

Volare...Oooooh oh!

Sorry I haven't posted in awhile--we're leaving for the U.S. (yay!) tomorrow, so getting ready has been a little crazy. We leave for Venice this afternoon, and we'll spend the night there and then fly out early Thursday morning.

I'm supposed to be packing right now...shhhhh! Here's my not-very-packed suitcase...But I did want to quickly post here to say that I'll still be blogging about life in Italy while I'm with my family this summer. We haven't been back to the U.S. in almost 3 years (!) so I'm sure I'll also blog about American things that I wasn't expecting, too. And I'll definitely post a photo of me hugging my mom's and/or sister's clothes dryer. Fluffy towels, here I come!

A request: Please send good thoughts/karma/chocolate my way, as I'll be traveling alone with my three kids (does it make sense to say "alone" and "with three kids"? Anyway, you know what I mean...). My husband can't take 2 months off of work (poor thing) so he'll join us next month, then we'll all fly back together in August.

I've done this trip before when my daughters were 2 1/2 and 5 1/2...now they're 5 and 8, and my son is 18-months--the age where you can't say: "Honey, you have to stay buckled up because we're taking off now," or "No, we can't run up and down the aisles because the food cart is coming." I could say these things, of course...but I doubt my son will hear me over the howling tantrum.

After my last trip, I bumped myself up to sainthood status. I called myself: Our Lady of the Skies-Who-Flies-Alone-With-Two-Kids-One-of-Whom-Doesn't-Sit-Still-for-Longer-Than-Two-Minutes. I'll let you know my new, super-duper saint name once I arrive in the U.S....