I'm an Immigrant

I'm trying to figure out the routine thing. Luca's got one. He naps at the same time every day, eats at the same time. It's incredibly hard to fit in my own time in between his routine. But now that we've been in Rome for a week (post vacation) it's time to figure out how to split time with Lorenzo. Currently we are doing things at random. A little work here and there, at least one trip each day to some municipal office to put together a piece of the citizenship/residency puzzle, some shopping or a walk; all fit in between feedings and naps of course.

The residency puzzle has been an interesting eye opener to Italian bureaucracy. While in the states we had to complete some paperwork to transfer our marriage to Italy. We completed the packet and sent it off to the consulate in San Francisco. San Francisco then sent it to the municipal office here. We went to the office to check on the status of the paperwork. We stood outside of a door that said, "please for the privacy of others wait outside." But we didn't know if someone was inside. We saw another woman waiting and she told us there was one person inside. Good to know. Once that woman left, we entered the empty office. There was one desk by the door and a table by the window with a messy pile of papers stacked on top. We gave the woman our names. In Italy, since 1975, it has become illegal to take your husband's last name. This makes the name on my official documents a little complicated. They couldn't figure out which was my first name and which was my last.

Once we made it through the correction process the woman got up from the computer. She walked over to the table by the window. My jaw dropped as I saw her begin to dig through the pile of papers. I guess the whole idea of organized filing systems didn't make it to Italy. It will come into fashion just as paper finally makes it's exit in the states and everything becomes electronic. Luckily, since we had sent the paperwork in rather recently, she was able to find it close to the top of the pile. I hate to think about what would have happened if we didn't show up in person.

We are now officially married in Italy. That was just one piece. Now we have to go to the immigration office (an hours drive) and be prepared to wait in line with the other one hundred immigrants, to process the next chunk of paperwork.

I'm an immigrant. The minister of education decided that there are too many immigrant kids in the schools. They want to limit the number of immigrants to 30%. People don't like immigrants. Most have never been one. I wish they knew how isolating it could be. I wish they understood that some people have no choice. I dohave a choice. I can leave whenever I want.

So people, even if they don't speak your language, I implore you to be nice to immigrants. They might be pumping your gas, but that doesn't mean they don't also have a PHD. They might frustrate you when they hold up the grocery line because the cashier asks them a question they don't understand, but they don't like it either.

And after their embarrassment settles, they might even go home and write about it in a blog.

Villa Balestra

A friend asked me what my days are like here. When you don't have a routine or a job, it's hard to say really. I take a lot of walks. Apparently Rome has one of the largest areas of green space amongst European capitals. It's surprising how many parks there are for such a big city. Lorenzo took me to a beautiful little park really close to the house. It has an amazing view of the city. And no park would be complete without a coffee bar. Villa Balestra.

Villa Glori

Running makes everything better. Not that things are bad. But, when our return flight to Portland left without us on Friday, it finally hit me that we're not on vacation anymore. As my friend Jami said, "you have to mourn your old life before you can accept your new life." Yesterday was my day of mourning. My day to miss my friends and to miss going to Powell's on a rainy afternoon. It was my day to be sad that Luca is far away from his uncle Justin and my parents. It was a day to sulk, to stare at the clouds and to wonder where I am. But that was yesterday.

Today I went running in Villa Glori. I ran with Lily Allen. Unlike Portland, I was able to run to a park without getting in a car. I walked down the stairs into the Piazza and aggressively crossed the busy street to the church. I walked past people in their sleeping bag jackets and I smiled. I put up the hood on my sweatshirt and I embraced the fact that I look like an American in my gym shoes, wearing an iPod. I can't fight it and I shouldn't feel self-conscious about it.

I ran past the man working at the flower stand, wondering if tomorrow he'll recognize me and if by Friday we'll be saying buon giorno to one another. I entered the park and the sound of cars and honking faded away. I ran under the canopy of trees to the top of the hill. I had run here often in 2004 but it looked different then. I hadn't noticed the kids' playground or the WWII memorial. At that time I was running with a cast on my hand, focused on the pain and the swelling. I hoped no one would say anything to me for fear of being caught like a deer in headlights unable to understand what they were saying.

Today I ran past the cross and onto a dirt trail. I saw my breathe. I stopped thinking. I laughed at the sign in the middle of the park directing people to the closest coffee cup. I enjoyed the time alone. I felt re-inspired. I came home and I wrote this post.

Deutschland

It's good to see a European city outside of Rome. It's been a long time. Maybe it's not a good time to start a crush on another city before I've begun my marriage to Rome, but in any case, it's nice to know that it's not living in Europe that scares me, but the (beautiful) mess that is Rome.

We are in Darmstadt for the wedding of my sister-in-law. This city/town loves kids. On the bus, train and streetcar, there is a designated place to park your stroller. In the stores there are changing tables, diapers and wipes. Breastfeeding in public is absolutely accepted and there is room in which to do it; no sitting in a dark alleyway, getting honked at by rude Italian men.

My now brother-in-law lives a block from an indoor pool/spa that includes a kids area and across the street from a lake where kids can swim in the summer. Apparently German's don't believe in bathing suits for their bambinos so they all run around naked like they would in a commune in 60's Oregon. Beautiful. Everything is within walking distance from his apartment so it's really convenient with the stroller. Of course it's snowing and cold, but we bundled Luca up with blankets and layers and didn't hesitate to spend all day outside.

Tomorrow we will start our day in the clean, efficient and organized Frankfurt airport and end it in the dirty, disfunctional Fiumicino airport. Here we will wait an hour for our luggage and then cross our fingers that the taxi we arranged by phone will actually show up. Ok, maybe I exaggerate, but when you only understand 70% of what people say, all that's left is up to your imagination.

And then it all begins. But really, thank god, because this kid needs to get on a schedule.

4am

Adjusting to a new time zone with a baby is truly a challenge. Luca is in our bed and he manages to squeeze me to the very edge with his tiny little body. Sleeping in the crib wasn't working. He's been through so much transition lately that I think it scares him to wake up in a new place again. We've slept at a few houses since we had to be out of ours a week before we left. It seems to make him feel more safe if he wakes up looking at us instead of an unfamiliar wall. He's needed to be breastfed almost every hour. He doesn't eat, he just needs to be calmed. Right now it's 4am. I just fed him and couldn't go back to sleep. It seemed easier to get up than to try to silence my thoughts for another few hours. I wish I could take advantage of him sleeping now. But alas, as soon as I lay down again (which I plan on doing after this post) he will surely wake up hungry.

This is our third night here and it still feels like a vacation. I think it will until the holidays pass and everyone who is visiting will leave. Then the fear, anxiety and claustrophobia will come crashing down. That word came to mind today when I was in the middle of the city center. It's a beautiful cluster of alleys and narrow streets but for a minute, when I had to remember how to get home, I felt it closing in on me.

There are a lot of things I didn't think about when I imagined life in Rome. I forgot about public breastfeeding and diaper changes. Oh Portland, you make life with a baby so easy. Changing tables in every clean bathroom, little signs in areas that are good places to breastfeed (I noticed the breastfeeding symbol most recently at the zoo). I tried to distract Luca today so that I wouldn't have to sit on a dirty curb, being passed by hundreds of people, trying to breastfeed. We managed to get home before the hungry cry started in. I did however change him in the middle of an alley; a truck narrowly passed and honked at me. The fat bald guy inside yelled something and shook his hand at me. Screw you mister, baby trumps fat Italian guys in trucks.

It's different than Portland, but as my sister-in-law wisely said, moving anywhere from there would be an adjustment as it's so comfortable to raise kids in the Rose City. It's also funny to see Luca here and think of him as a little Italian boy, as I think of him as a Portlander. His first word may very well be in Italian.

So even though he's a little criminal at night, trying to adjust, this kid is all smiles during the day. I think he's gonna like it here.

Five Days Out

We are out of the house. This is a good record to keep because I've been telling people it's been a tough couple of weeks. Now based on my last post I can see it's actually been a tough month. No wonder there are knots in my shoulders.

Whilst in the midst of all this it's hard to reflect. But I want to try.

As a new parent I've been talking a lot about fantasy v.s. reality. How the fantasy of "having a baby" is completely different than the reality of being a parent. I've talked about it so much in fact, that I have disconnected myself from all fantasy. Plans, organization and errands have buried my light. Stress sits on me, pushes my face into the carpet, and kicks me while I'm down. I've been getting frustrated and angry; and the bags under my eyes have grown darker. My back aches. I've forgotten everything except that I am a victim to this mess. But I created this mess. I am not victim to it.

I realized tonight, just 24 hours after the smoke cleared, that my soul has been suffocating. And pretending like you don't need to feed your soul is what happens when you become a victim to work and stress and society. It keeps you from your potential when you don't allow yourself to fantasize about what you want out of life anymore. I've been so focused on the reality of moving to Italy that I haven't allowed myself to get caught in the romanticism of it. Painting and literature, music and cinema, photography and poetry; these are the things I want to seek out in this new life, these are the things that make my soul breathe.

This weekend has invigorated me. These two days have helped erase the stress of four weeks. Last night I got to see the entire community of people that make Portland home. People who I love and cherish and will miss dearly. Tonight I had dinner with my favorite boys and played music with my brother. In a matter of 24 hours the light has returned, the bags have faded and I can stand up straight again. Now I am able to see how lucky I am, how privileged we are, how beautiful this life is and will be. Rome doesn't have to be hard. I don't have to be lonely. I can decide that it will be amazing. I can dream about filling my life with writing and music, with poetry and fantasy, movies and beauty. I'm starting over. The pen is bleeding onto a blank page. I am holding it steady, waiting for the right words to start my story.

Preface

The packing has begun. The Rome story is in its preface. My multi-tasking mind hasn’t wrapped itself around what’s really happening yet. Instead it’s bursting with images of boxes, books, baby items, suitcases, airport baggage fees, rental agreements and, of course, Luca. Yes, the idea of living in Europe is romantic and exciting. I am very lucky. But, and there is always a but; how will I make money? We’re spending every red cent on house repairs right now. Ironically everything is breaking; the heater, the kitchen sink, the washing machine, and the fence blew down in the recent storm. My brother told me once that when things break it’s a good sign. It’s some kind of Native American theory that a thing breaking means change is on the horizon. Confirmed. In a way it’s good that it’s happening while we’re here, but where do I find that money tree I've heard so much about? I shouldn’t complain. I’m actually not complaining; I’m worrying. But I can’t worry I have too much to do.

I am also slowly realizing that this little blog is going to become my best friend on this journey. I will confess my fears and then revel in the days when inspiration hits. I will talk to you little blog with my natural voice rather than the second grader voice I have to use in Italian. It’s interesting how I’ve built relationships in that second grader voice. My friend Kara told me once, “It’s too bad Lorenzo doesn’t understand this side of you, the slang-talking, California side.” I’m not sure I know exactly what that means but if you hang out with me after a few drinks, in a dance club with a mirror, I might start slang-talking and choreographing dances. After six years of speaking English, Lorenzo gets it now. I can only hope that after a year or so of speaking Italian, that I will get his Roman-dialect speaking side too. I won’t hold my breath waiting for him to choreograph any dances though.