Oh Rome, why do you have to make things so hard?

I'm a little disillusioned at present. I like to have faith in people, to think the best of them. I always expect people will be honest with me. It seems my expectations are too high for Rome. And not that I should generalize, but when I tell people about my work situation they don't seem surprised.

I've worked at my current job for three months. I love it and I'm good at it. I teach adults English. No, it wasn't a career move, but after working from home for five years and being somewhat detached from people except by phone, it really suits me to be back interacting with people. The students love me. I'm a really good teacher. But at the school, they don't care about student feedback or teacher feedback. If there are issues with the curriculum, they don't care. I began altering the curriculum to see if students were more successful in understanding the material. It's working. It's rewarding to see their eyes light up when they finally get something they've struggled with for a long time.

Outside of the lessons I teach, I also run conversation classes for large groups. Last week they had to split up the class with two teachers because it was so big. The whole huge group tried to stuff themselves into my class. They begged the administrator to let them stay. They told me my conversation groups were a "breath of fresh air". I was very proud they could use such a phrase. After having been separated from teaching for so long, it's been a good reminder of how much I love it.

However, they haven't paid me. Here in Italy you get paid once a month. They missed March and are quickly approaching a missed payment for April. The Director assured me the payment was coming in a maximum of ten days, which means this Saturday. Do I trust him? As I mentioned, people from Rome don't seemed surprised that I haven't gotten paid. Why? Why do people get away with this kind of thing? How can you knowingly take money away from people, people who are the bread and butter of your business? Without the teachers what do you have? A bunch of Italian administrators who don't speak English.

I'm mad and it kind of makes me hate this place. It shouldn't, there are many other great things about this city. But it's not an easy place to live, everything is harder than it should be. The buses don't come on time, sometimes they don't come at all. People don't wait in line, they push their way to the front. Cars don't part on the street, they park on the sidewalk which makes pushing a stroller next to impossible. Bureaucracy is ridiculous and inefficient. Why can't it be easier? If I do have to leave my job, I won't be leaving quietly. I don't think they should just get away with it.

I'm American, and that's one thing we're definitely not, quiet.

I'm a Mom

It took awhile to feel like a mom. I remember going to the grocery store after Luca was born, alone, seeing kids with their mothers and thinking, "wow, that's me. I'm a mom." But somehow it never really sunk in. I couldn't relate to my new identity. I didn't feel old enough or wise enough. And It wasn't as fun as I had imagined it would be. It felt like work. Luca didn't smile, he didn't play or laugh. He just looked around, pooped, slept and ate. I didn't know how to relate to him.

Almost nine months later and finally he's a kid, a real little man. And I'm good with kids. While he's in the bath I put his little deer towel on my head and dance around the bathroom and he giggles. While I'm feeding him I smear spinach puree on my teeth and he laughs so hard he spits his food out. When I carry him on my back he pats my back so that I'll make gorilla sounds and then he makes them too. We are quite the pair.

I have finally settled into the role of mom. It's not as hard now. I don't just feel like a milk machine. It doesn't only feel like work. The fun part has begun, the part I imagined when I imagined being a mom. I get it now. And I love it.

I'm not Sure it's Enough

Let me try to convey how incredibly comforting it is to receive a health care card in the mail. One for you, one for your husband and one for your child. A card that costs nothing. Health care could be the single reason we don't come back to the States. I struggle with the idea constantly. Thank you Obama for fighting for health care reform. It's blasphemous that we've allowed the system to continue out of control for so long. But I'm afraid it's not enough.

If you are like the millions of Americans who are afraid of "socialized medicine" let me put your fears at ease. It's possible to have both a public option and a private option. Don't want to wait? Go to a private doctor. Period. What is there to be afraid of? Here in Italy, you only pay for the visit at the private doctor. And the costs aren't inflated; it's expensive, but it's feasible. And there are no other fees, nothing to pay per month, just the cost of the visit.

If you think about our system, or you try to explain it to foreigners, it is really ridiculous; and embarrassing. Basically, we or our employers pay a monthly fee to an insurance company; no less than $100 a month. Then you go to the doctor and you pay a co-pay for the visit, anywhere from 10 to 40 dollars. After the visit you get a bill from the doctor. Usually you have to pay some percentage for tests or x-rays, prescriptions, etc. Remind me, why do we pay the monthly fee? It's really hard to explain to people who have their health care paid for by their government. Which, let me remind you, is the case in every "first world" country outside of America. People in the world expect it. Americans have been convinced they don't need it so that the people who make all of the money off of our ignorance, can keep making money.

Obama had to fight for reform but he still didn't get the public option passed. Which means people still have to pay, a lot, for insurance for themselves and their families. The changes he's made: the inability for insurance companies to deny people with pre-existing conditions, the ability for young adults to stay on their parent's insurance longer; I wouldn't really call it reform, it's more like tightening the belt. But I am happy things are changing. I just hope it will start the momentum to actually create public health care in the U.S.

In Italy, everyone can receive health care. Even if you are poor, even if you are an immigrant; you will not be denied health care, on any level. Just think, immigrants with the swine flu don't wander the streets getting everyone sick. They get well and they don't spread epidemics. Go to the doctor and get yourself better. You are indeed a human being above all. In my experience, and from talking with people, the care at the public hospitals and the private care is the same. Just because doctors work in the public hospital doesn't mean that they don't work just as hard as the doctors in the private ones. Doctors care about people, not about money. And they still make a really good living in both cases.

So what is the problem? What are people afraid of? Higher taxes? If only my tax money went to health care instead of the military. If we didn't spend billions everyday in the wars, we could take care of the people who have hundreds in debt because of health care, retirees who can't retire because they have to pay for their prescriptions and the children who are dying because the parents can't pay for their needed surgeries.

If you're not on board, you're not a compassionate human being. It's not complicated.

Escaping the Rat Race

I'm working as an English teacher. Ok so it's not a career move in the forward direction, but I'm in Italy and jobs are not easy to come by here. To be honest, I actually really like this job. I've always loved teaching. My classes usually consist of one or two people so I get a chance to talk to and learn about people from all walks of life. Everyone has a different story.

Yesterday, my students were from Ecuador and Moldova. I'm always curious what brings people here, so they began to talk about their experiences as immigrants in Rome. The woman from Ecuador came here illegally in the 90's to escape the political situation there. She lived for three years without papers, going from job to job, working under the table. She had to move around a lot because she often couldn't afford the rent. The Moldavian woman moved here to pursue academics, she completed her University degree in her early 30's while working at a pizzeria. Years later, here they are, learning their third language, in the hopes that by knowing English, they will increase their chances for finding better jobs.

And then there's me. The Moldavian woman remarked that normally people immigrate to a new country to improve their economic situation, not the opposite. Here in Italy most people with degrees can't find work; the unemployment rate was at 6.7% in 2009. It's an epidemic. People with a Master's or PHD typically move abroad, and often to the U.S. So why did I leave my comfortable job to move here and make a third of what I used to earn? This wasn't a career move, that's for sure. It was an escape.

There is a universal quest by all people not born into rich families, to somehow find a way to win or make a substantial amount of money so that they don't have to work. Not working allows them the time to do what they want to do. That might include traveling, pursuing hobbies, turning hobbies into a profession without having to worry about money, or spending more time with family. If you don't win this substantial amount of money, then you are left to try and earn it. And by working to earn enough money to both live day to day and take the occasional trip, you have to find a job where you work many hours for a good rate of pay. When you work many hours, you have less time for the things you enjoy. You save up enough for a trip and your job only allows you two weeks vacation. So instead of going on vacation you decide it's better to spend the saved money on a new car to get you to work and back. Now you spend an hour in the car, you spend eight hours at work and you spend one hour each evening with your newborn son, giving him a bath before he goes to bed.

That was Lorenzo's life. For my life, replace the car drive with a plane ride, then insert 'spend the summer away from home' and 'never turn off your phone'. At some point in your adult life, you have to admit to yourself that this abundance of money will most likely not be won, and since no one in your family is rich, it will not be inherited. Which leaves you with one option, to get inside the wheel and run as fast as you can because it won't stop turning to let you off. And it's not really a race because if you run faster than the other little rodents, there's no prize to be won. You're only left with high blood pressure, insomnia and very little time for much else.

For us, Italy (and Lorenzo's mom) has provided us with the opportunity to live as if we had a lot of money because we can live without spending a lot of money. We are lucky to have the opportunity. We are lucky that Lorenzo was able to keep his American job. We are lucky that I'm American (Romans are ridiculously racist and anti-immigrant, but they accept Americans and offer them jobs). We are lucky that we have a house, family and friends. We are extremely lucky. And I'm not bragging, I'm appreciating. When I hear my student's stories, I commend them and their strength. It's not easy to start a new life in a new country. But they wanted something better and they weren't about to let their home country stop them from getting what they knew they deserved.

Well, America, I've stepped away from your race. The race to keep people from receiving free health care, the race to keep the military fighting, the race to keep everything private so that the rich can stay rich, the race to keep your borders closed to people from third world countries, the race to keep people who love each other but happen to share a gender, from getting married, the race to keep our kids ignorant by increasing classroom sizes without hiring new teachers or raising pay.

I've decided to see what happens if the wheel spins without me. I've stopped running; for now.

Weaning

Solid foods, quantities, breast milk, time between meals...I'm confused. Just like every stage, I can collect information, read and research, but ultimately I have to follow my instincts.

We waited until Luca was six months old before introducing solid foods. We managed not to succumb to the pressure that was being placed on us by various people, to introduce it sooner. The result? A kid who eats everything. He never pushed food out of his mouth because he didn't know how to eat, he never refuses a vegetable, he grabs the spoon out of my hand and feeds himself. The introduction of solid foods has been a smooth process.

But breastmilk? I would like to breastfeed until Luca is a year old. He needs milk and if I'm able, I would rather be the one to provide it than to give him formula. But there is a lot of confusion about what that means. Does "breastfeeding" mean every meal or can it mean just once or twice a day. I can't provide every meal anymore as my milk doesn't flow in the quantities that it once did. It's clear that more often than not, he's just pacifying himself rather than getting a proper meal out of me.

So I tried to take it slow, I replaced one breastfeeding with one solid food meal one at a time. Over the course of six weeks he went from all milk meals to two per day. Things seemed to be going smoothly until I crashed. My hormones took a nose dive. I cried. I laid in bed. I tried to fight the guilt.

I was simultaneously getting pressure from one side to give up breastfeeding altogether, and from the other side that I wasn't breastfeeding enough. That I wasn't practicing attachment parenting unless I breastfed him for at least two years and more than twice a day. During this stage I've realized more than ever before how much of parenting is ignoring the comments that can saturate you from the outside and dull your own instincts. Everyone has an opinion about how other people should raise their kids. But I have to do what I feel is right, what is right for Luca and what is right for all of us as a family. Because this is my family.

I do enjoy having more time. I remember how trapped I felt sitting on the couch those first few weeks feeding Luca, what seemed like, around the clock. I couldn't leave the house for fear that in moments Luca would start screaming to eat again. I didn't feel like there was much to life anymore except being a milk machine. Now I like that we can go on an adventure without me having to find a comfortable place to whip out the boob. We can sit down and have a playful meal, getting food all over ourselves, no matter where we are.

I am pretty happy with where we're at now. Luca is breastfed in the morning and at night, with healthy, organic meals and snacks in between. I still fight the guilt and sometimes I still get sad. And unfortunately, this is something that my husband can't empathize with. He won't ever know what it's like to go from being the center of your newborn's universe, to being just one of many stars.

Carnivale

Henry James wrote, "And yet do what you will you can't really elude the Carnival." That was in the late 1800's. Now it's hard to find any remnants of Carnivale. You have to search it out, and when you do, the events are primarily for kids. Being a person who loves this sort of thing, I went looking. Where to start? Just follow the kids in costume.

For two weeks you see kids dressed up all around Rome. When I asked Lorenzo where they were going, he said, "Nowhere, they just walk around like this." No trick or treating, no definitive destination, but at the ready to throw confetti at one another or engage in a silly string fight. Unlike Mardi Gras in New Orleans, there are no beads, no hangovers and no regrets. Here you'll only find marionettes, clowns and horses. The celebrations don't seem to have much to do with getting in that last taste of your vice before giving it up for lent. Back in James' day the confetti was thrown by women to attract the attention of their male counterparts. Although little girls may still throw confetti, the motivations are not the same.

I find it interesting that the Romans have toned down their Carnevale celebrations while the Americans have adopted them. James wrote, "An unsophisticated American is wonderstruck at the number of persons, of every age and various conditions, whom it costs nothing in the nature of an ingenuous blush to walk up and down the streets in the costume of a theatrical supernumerary....Our vices are certainly different; it takes those of the innocent sort to be so ridiculous." I don't know if it's innocence that encourages the crazy, out of handedness that takes place at Mardi Gras, but their is surely a lapse in self-consciousness. At least for the night, until the sun comes up again.

Sleep!

Sleep deprivation really takes a toll. It's incredible. Luca, just started sleeping through the night. The accumulation of seven months of sleep deprivation can make anyone moody. It's amazing how this little man can be a perfect angel during the day, not making as much as a single tear, while at night becoming a true Italian criminal. Sleep deprivation zaps your immune system, destroys any chance for creative thought, increases stress and sensitivity and can sometimes make one react with anger to things.

But then you get a good night's sleep and the world's possibilities open up to you. You remember who you are and the things you enjoy. You remember that those things still exist; that they didn't actually get sucked away into the black hole of parenthood. You remember that you love being a mom, that you love to play and make your little boy laugh. Because laughing makes everything better.

Yes, some days are hard, but some days are truly fun and inspiring. Last week I ventured out to meet some Americans for a wine tasting. I walked through Rome at night, all lit up, a bit of magic behind every corner. Rome's beauty is illuminated tenfold at night. I was alone, making my way through the narrow streets. I passed a group of American college students lugging backpacks to the nearest hostel, I dodged the lit cigarettes of old men talking passionately with their hands, I inched past a couple looking at a map. I walked past them all, remembering the streets to turn onto, recognizing the little restaurant that leads into Campo de Fiori, remembering that I live here.

No, I'm no longer the young, free traveler experiencing Italy for the first time. Stars in my eyes, waiting for traveler's kharma to lead me to some new place or new person or some crazy coincidental run-in that would make the whole trip worthwhile. But this life is still an adventure and this city still has a lot to teach me. And that night, at the wine tasting, the girl hosting it went to UC Santa Cruz, interesting coincidence...