6 Countries, 2 Islands, 12 Months

The United States, Canada, Italy, Germany, France, Spain; Sardegna, Maddelena

One year ago I was in labor. Three days of breathing, burying my face in Lorenzo's shirt, and pushing; resulted in the birth of a healthy, sweet, fun, happy baby boy. And now, my not so little boy is eating solid foods, pooping like an adult, speaking (albeit in a language all his own) and one step away from walking unassisted. His baby passport is already worn out. Six countries, two islands, three road trips, six flights, countless buses, trams, subways, and two ferries in twelve months.

My first year as a parent. The twelve months that most people use to get accustomed to the biggest change of their lives. The year during which most mothers allow their bodies to recover from the trauma that is childbirth by doing very little. The time with which you build a network of mommy friends with which you can organize playmates and share stories of diaper explosions and midnight awakenings. Instead? For better or worse we piled the fairly large additional stress of moving to a new country on top of new parenthood after five months. Strangely, Luca has lived in Italy longer than he lived in America.

As we decide our next move, the better or worse question continually comes up. Did we do the right thing? Are we f-ing crazy? My answers: yes and yes. We had to do it. We had to test ourselves, our relationship, our ability to manage with very little money. We had to remember how to shed the need for things and how to enjoy the moment. We had to learn some lessons. I like to think of the time we've spent here as an extended maternity leave. We have had the opportunity to spend time with Luca that we never would have been able to had we stayed in Portland. I have no regrets. As much as I complain about the bureaucracy, Italians definitely know how to take it easy. After years in a fairly stressful job which consumed a lot of my personal time, it's been good to see that it's possible for work to be second to life.

Luca is a little splendor. We revel in watching him discover new things everyday. We love all of the attention he draws to himself with his constant smiling at strangers and his fake 'look at me' laugh. I am proud of his table manners. The crossing of his little hands while his mouth awaits the next spoonful, wide open. I am enamored with him and with the man Lorenzo has become as a father. It's beautiful to watch them together, laughing, playing, hugging.

Yes, parenting is hard. Relationships take a beating as two people with separate upbringings try to come together to make decisions about raising a new little person. And all of the decisions have to be made between feedings and diaper changes as the time you used to have to discuss the future has all but faded. Any concept of free time is lost, unless your lucky to have a good napper. I never had more than 30 minutes to myself, twice a day for the first 7 months. You forget what it's like to sleep through the night. After 12 months, Luca still wakes up around 1 or 2 for no reason. And I lose patience.

But then Luca walks over to me holding onto the coffee table and puts his head on my thigh and the lost patience is a distant memory. He opens the door, sits down, sees me and says, "Mamma". When he's in Lorenzo's arms and I walk up behind him he smiles big and leans over so that I'll hold him. He stands at the couch and when I reach out my arms he tries his hardest to walk over to me before falling over; then once he reaches me he starts laughing.

Tonight, after his bath, I was reaching for his diaper while he flipped himself onto his stomach and started lowering himself off the side of the bed. He made it to the floor and started peeing. I could have gotten a little irritated, but when he started laughing I started laughing too. Then he tried to walk in his puddle of pee and slipped. He held himself up so he didn't fall but he started laughing even harder. Once he heard me laughing, he could barely stand anymore. Tears were rolling down my face, watching my naked little baby, pee still streaming out of his little peter, trying to walk, while laughing so hard it made him wobble.

It was top ten favorite moments. Until I had to clean up the mess. Honestly, I really love this little kid. And not just because I'm his mom. He's funny. He's actually a pleasure to hang out with. Yes, it gets boring sometimes, watching him put things in a box and take them back out. But if you saw him do it, you'd see how smart he is, how quick and developmentally advanced. Yes that's his mom talking. And I really love being his mom.

A Change of Season

As you may have noticed, there has been a small trace of melancholy to my posts. Nothing tragic, but less excitement than one would expect from a person who just picked up and moved to Europe. It's just so much to get used to. But with the change of weather here in Rome, so too have I a change in attitude. There is something about the sun that makes a city more beautiful. And there is so much more to look forward to: beach excursions, road trips, picnics, strawberry festivals and rosé.

Now that we live in an apartment, we rotate taking Jackie out for her walk at night. I always dread it. In fact, we both do. But once I get outside, I'm happy to be out. The night air has warmed up quite a bit and now the smell of jasmine and orange blossoms have permeated the air in our neighborhood. It is a smell that reminds me of the stint I spent living in Pasadena. In the Spring the smell of orange blossoms was almost overwhelming. It always made me smile and continues to.

I have been surprised by the number of parks in Rome. Lorenzo knows how much I need to get out of the chaos of the city and so he makes an effort to tour me around the various natural oases. Each and every morning, as part of our dedication to Jackie, we take a 30-40 minute walk around Villa Borghese on my way to work. It's amazing. Every time we walk past the Galleria Borghese, I remember where I am.

Last night I had some time to kill on the way to a friend's house. I decided to stop in Piazza San Pietro since it's on the way. In the evening there are very few people so you can actually take it in. I'm not religious, in fact, quite the opposite, but it's impossible for me to fight the power of this place to move me close to tears. There are days when, lost in the routine of day to day, I keep my head down. When you see something everyday it loses it's luster. But in the middle of St. Peter's it's impossible to keep your head down. While Bernini's square welcomes you, Michelangelo's dome screams at you to look at it. It pulls you in, makes you stop what you're doing and proceeds to drown you in its beauty.

There are truly too many monuments to list here, they are all beautiful in their own way. But I don't spend a lot of time in the center during the day. It's just too hectic and crowded with tourists; getting on the metro with Luca is a challenge that is sometimes too hard to face. I do however spend a lot of time in my neighborhood, Parioli, and the Auditorium is my favorite landmark. Built by Renzo Piano in 2002, it's contains three concert halls, a park with a playground, a bookstore and two cafes. Besides music concerts, they also host lectures and film screenings. Most recently Wes Anderson gave a talk and screened 'The Fantastic Mr. Fox" (for 5 Euros) and I saw Alice Waters from Chez Panisse talk about building school gardens and sustainable food (for free). The concert halls are famous for having the best acoustics in all of Europe. We saw The Swell Season, this weekend we're going to see Wilco and I'm hoping to scrape together the 40 Euros to see Erykah Badu play in their outdoor ampitheater. I adore the architecture. Three big bugs! In a city of ancient ruins, modern buildings stands out.

This is the view of the Auditorium from the bus stop I frequent. One day I had the pleasure of meeting a ninety-one year old man named Signor Lasagna. He told me all about the time he spent in England during World War II. When we boarded the bus he patted the seat next to him. I had a lovely time listening to his stories during my ride to work. When I described this charming old man to Lorenzo he explained that Signor Lasagna was responsible for beautifying our street. People are so disrespectful here it amazes me. They litter, they leave their dog shit on the sidewalks, they leave old car batteries on the side of the road. But Senor Lasagna took it upon himself to clean out the side of the road that was being used as a trash pile and to plant trees and shrubs. Did I mention he's 91? On a good day you can catch him pruning the plants. Unfortunately I didn't catch him there today.

In these last days I've put my tourist glasses back on so that I can see where I am more clearly. And under the sun, it's a beautiful sight.

Nostalgia

I'm having a hard time coming to terms with getting older. I like that I'm through the period of trying to figure out who I am. I don't miss that part of my revolting youth - the struggle, the search, the confusion, the pessimism. I like knowing who I am and what I need. I like being mature and responsible, in theory. And I don't even mind the wrinkles. But I miss the firsts. I miss the open-ended possibilities. I miss wondering what might be...

Lately I've been watching old movies. Not movies that I'm proud of loving like Godard and French new wave or classic Bergman. No, I've been watching John Hughes, Cameron Crowe and Emile Ardolino. Would you know Ardolino if I said, "No one puts Baby in the corner."? Like I said, I'm not proud. But these movies came out when I was on the cusp of being a teenager. When I was right on the edge of my first kiss. When my idea of romantic love wasn't yet ruined by the realities of teenage relationships. Some Kind of Wonderful rocked me at 12 years old. I was so inspired I asked for a drumset for my next birthday. I watched with the anticipation that at some point in my life I would know what it felt like to love without hesitation. To feel the stabbing pain of watching the love of your life chase after someone else. It was something I hadn't yet known. But somehow, at 12, I knew I would be that girl, the girl who would love and be hurt. And I was, many times over.

Dirty Dancing offered the idea that if you were in the right place at the right time, you too could become a professional dancer. And at 12, after a few years of ballet, tap and jazz with Louis McKay, there was nothing I wanted more. A friend asked me recently, "Was Patrick Swayze really a sex symbol? Since when was dancing like that considered masculine?" I have to admit, I still think Patrick Swayze is hot in those dance scenes. It's super sexy to watch men who can dance, dance. But more than that, I was inspired that maybe, someday, someone would see my hidden talents and want to bring them to light.

And Say Anything. I'm still waiting for someone to stand outside of my bedroom with a ghetto blaster. That's real love. But instead of Peter Gabriel they might play me a little Marvin Gaye.

The point is, I'm not the person I was when I first watched these movies. I'm not an awkward 12 year old (thank god). I'm not hoping to become a professional dancer, I didn't kiss my best guy-friend in junior high because he didn't like me like that, and considering it could be tough to even find a ghetto blaster in 2010, I don't think I will hear Peter Gabriel wafting through my bedroom window anytime soon. There will never be another first kiss, first crush or first love. Knowing that makes watching these movies hard for me. It creates this odd nostalgia for all of those things. It reminds me of what I wanted at 12, of what I thought I might be. I remember that feeling of endless possibilities.

I'm not complaining. I love my love story. It's better than all of those movies. But I can't wrap my head around this weird nostalgia. Maybe it's because I'm not looking forward in the same way that I did at 12, I'm not anticipating things that have never happened. I'm still hopeful and excited about what's to come, but most likely, it's not going to be something I haven't experienced before. This is a new feeling, I've never been on this side of life. I've never been old before. When the fashions you grew up with become retro, when 'rad' comes back for the second time, when you think back to the time when you rushed home to see if there was a message on your answering machine, when people wrote letters with a pen and paper, when I wondered what that first kiss would be like; there's something I miss about all of that. And it's only going to get stranger as I watch my little boy grow up in the 21st century; as I become a part of the old school and less relevant.

I have to embrace the wisdom that comes with old age. I have to remember that I can still revel in inspiring moments no matter how old I am. I have to brag about being a child of the seventies because I got to experience all the awful, I mean awesome, things about the eighties. Now it's time to look forward to seeing Luca experience all of his firsts with stars in his eyes. It's a new phase and I guess the truth is, it really is another first.

So Many Beautiful Cities

My parents visited in April and I had the fortunate opportunity to go to Spain with them. Lorenzo was kind enough to stay with Luca for the two days while we were gone. In the first few hours it was a lot harder to be away from Luca than I thought it would be. And then once we landed in Barcelona, inspiration replaced homesickness and I was reminded of why I love to travel.

Even though I was only in Barcelona for a short time, it made me realize, being in Europe is f-ing awesome. I love Europe. I'm just not a big city person. But a small city, on the beach, with young people, people on bikes, casual dress, people who smile, hearing the comforting sound of Spanish (which makes me nostalgic for California), the sun and afternoon drinks at outdoor bars; yea, Barcelona was my pace.

Being there made me realize what I want, and that's the first step to getting it right? So here it is. I want to live in Portland with my friends. But I don't want it to rain there anymore. I want a clear transition to each season without the dreary sunless days that drag on for months. After the weather, I want Portland to be on the beach. A nice beach where you can swim in the water. I want a bike path that you can access from downtown that follows the top of the cliffs. And I want Portland to have a MOMA. I would also like to invite people of all different races and ethnicities to move to Portland to color it up a bit. And socialized health care.

That's all Portland needs to be the perfect city. If Portland had all of those things (and all of the things that it already has that make it beautiful), well then I could stop traveling to different cities, getting crushes on them, and figuring out how to move there. I would be content to visit and then to go back home to my perfect little city, with it's Farmer's Markets, it's strong sense of civic pride, with community events, pedestrian friendly streets, Powell's and Stumptown, rivers, parks, clean air and restaurants with dog menus. I do miss you.

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.