She's already planning her escape

Mina wrote this note to Jim and left it in the mailbox for him to find this moring (without any help from me):

Mom is Varry crase TOday
DaD WD You Help me
P.S. I luv you.

Still no word

I haven't heard back about my "inquiry" about that long lost acquaintance yet.

I'm not stressing about it or anything. I'm just really curious to know if it's really him.

In the interest of full disclosure (because that's, as the kids say, how I roll), this person I am curious about was the first person I had sex with.

Eep.

I know. Am I weirdo? Don't answer that.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that even though it was a sad affair; the whole business of our coupling, it pretty much colored the rest of my carnal history.

I was 15 years old. FIFTEEN.

Granted he was only 16 at the time, but still. When I meet 15 year olds I question whether they are old enough and responsible enough to babysit my kids. I don't like to think that I was their very same age when I 'gave it up'.

And give it up I did.

No fanfare. No professions of undying love. No promises of commitment.

I just wanted to get it over with. And, looking back, that is really really sad.

I know it wasn't just me who wanted to unload the imagined burden of being a virgin. Talking with my friends, it's almost a running theme.

Occasionally I'll meet someone who tells a pseudo-romantic tale of a long-term boyfriend. There's prom or a parents' vacancy. There's trust and teenage love and they actually stay on speaking terms after the big event.

I didn't get any of that.

I wouldn't change much of my growing up years. I had a good time, and most of my experiences made me the person I am today.

But this. This I'd change.

It made me wary of boys and closeness in general. I think I'm allowed to make that assessment now that I am in my 30's.

It's entirely possible that I would have been this way anyway what with all of my natural born tendencies toward the crazypants, but losing my virginity in the way I did probably didn't help matters much.

(cue my paranoia that my Mother or anyone closer than a third cousin is reading this...)

In my perfect world I could sit down for a nice chat and dinner with all of my past conquests, a round table of sorts. Well, it'd have to be more oblong than round...or a banquet hall.

But I digress.

Part of me just wants to know if I was truly as wonky back then as I thought I was. Was it glaringly obvious that I had what bordered on a phobia of getting close to them?

I was a big fan of the 'preemptive strike' with most if not all of them. In my mind, they were going to dump me/cheat on me/talk shit to their friends about me anyway, so why not walk away before they had the chance?

Of course, a lot of them did do some or all of the above, but not all of them. I'm pretty sure I stomped a few hearts during my college tenure.

I think, if this person really is who I think it is (and the resemblance is uncanny from what I can remember from almost 20 years ago), and he really is dead, then I'll just have to make peace with the fact that I'll never know.

I don't think I'd really want to sit down and rehash the sordid details, but I just want to know what kind of person he turned out to be. And, naturally, I'm curious about how he died. I'm not trying to be disrespectful. Wouldn't you want to know?

From what I can tell from the posthumous myspace profile, he was an artist (not surprising) and deeply loved by his friends and family. I'm not being snarky when I say, "Good for him".

I had to change to layout of this thing because it was bothering me that it was so damn ugly. The only thing that sucks is that all those Italy pics (and probably any others I put up) are cut off.



Oh well. I'm a very visual person, and the ugg factor was bothering me.



In other news....



Sometimes, as I think I've probably mentioned before, I like to scour the internets for old acquaintances. Sometimes I get a laugh, sometimes I get to reconnect with a long lost friend and sometimes, like today, I find out they're dead.



At least I think I have the right person (this time).



I thought I had found this particular person some time ago, but after a few emails back and forth, found out that my memory isn't as reliable as I thought it was.



But today I think I actually found the correct individual. And he's dead.



Someone, his wife (girlfriend?) has a posthumous Myspace profile set up for him. I sent her a message to see where this person went to high school. Haven't heard back yet. We'll see.



I don't know why I care. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that knowing someone my own age and who I had some fleeting "history" with is dead kind of bothers me.



I'll let you know how this turns out.

I'll go ahead and apologize first

'Cause someone's bound to get offended. If you happen to be a friend of mine, and you fit or have ever fit the description below, don't think I don't like you. If I didn't like you, I wouldn't hang out with you. And why do you care if I like you anyway?

There. I said it.

A couple of days ago Mina, as she does on an almost daily basis, asked me a hard-to-answer question completely out of left field.

Sometimes she wants to know what would happen if our house caught on fire.

"...but what if you and Daddy were asleep and couldn't save us?"

"...but what if you didn't wake up in time?"

"...but what if all my toys burned up? I like my toys!"

..."but I DON'T WANT NEW ONES!"

Neurosis is hereditary, and her future therapist(s) are going to hate me.

Her latest was, "Mama, what's a hippy?"

I try to keep it clean and, when necessary, clear cut and simple around the kidlets, so I told her it was someone who cared a lot about the Earth.

She thought about it for a moment.

"I care about the Earth! And Jesus."

Always with the Jesus, that one.

Then she wanted to know if Jesus was a hippy, and the more I thought about it the more I felt I could honestly answer in the affirmative.

"Mama, am I a hippy?"

I went through a more extensive checklist in my head:

-cares about the environment: check

-likes to run around naked: check

-doesn't brush hair: check

-listens to crappy music: not when I can help it

-smells like patchouli: negative

-feels superiority over everyone else: sometimes

-follows overrated bands around the country: not that I know of

-sleeps with everyone's boyfriend: presently, no

"No honey, you are not a hippy. And if I have anything to say about it, you won't ever be."

In no time at all, I'll be bitching about the snow

All of a sudden, it feels like the summer is almost over.

Strange.

June was filled with Italy and recovery. July is filled with our 4th gathering, birthday parties every weekend (my friends and I apparently all decided to give birth in July), and catching up on bills from June. August is our family trip to Orlando, then it's school supplies and another start to the school year.

Tuition is due at the end of July for my fall class, and I start on the 19th of August. I'm beyond excited about it.

This school year is going to be super busy between my class, the girls' activities (Mina starts soccer soon), being the class rep. for Audrey's class and the room parent for Mina's, and all the other 4 million things that inevitably come up in day to day life.

Throw in the freelance hair I'm still doing on the side and upcoming (hopefully) house projects and I don't think I'm going to be sitting around anytime soon.

Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.

I get antsy when there is nothing on the agenda. I end up wearing my pajamas all day and forgetting to make lunch.

I don't know how to be lazy.

Scratch that. I'm actually quite accomplished at being lazy.

I just don't like it.

So, what are you doing for the rest of the summer?

Thistle

As a parent, the things you will do for your children makes for a very long list.

It begins with the whole letting another human being take up residence is what was once a firm taut belly and ends somewhere around...well, it doesn't ever truly end.

I've wiped heinous poop explosions off of many surfaces (including the wall, my shirt and underneath my fingernails). I've caught puke in my bare hands. And I even had to put a fever-reducing suppository into my wee baby's butt.

But there is one thing I cannot bear (aside from watching Dora): loose teeth.

Mina is at an age where she is losing them faster than a meth addict on a bender.

The squick factor is high, not helped by the fact that she wants me to actually wiggle the hanging on by a thread fuckers myself.

Excuse me. I had to stop to retch for a moment.

The only saving grace of the whole experiment is that she looks even cuter with missing teeth. More like a goofy little imp than a hillbilly.

Her adult teeth are starting to come in around the remaining baby teeth and I can already tell that she is going to have my teeth.

Mine may look fine now, but as a kid I had truly awful teeth. The first time I got braces put on was in third grade if that tells you anything.

At least she doesn't have the horrid overbite I did. I'll go ahead and thank Jim's bucky-balancing genes for that.

Jim is out of town, so I need to figure out how to get something from the tooth fairy on the DL. Our tooth fairy has brought small gifts for each tooth so far. Might be time for her to start making with the cash money.

A few weeks ago, while visiting the inlaws for Father's Day, my father-in-law mentioned that they would be happy to help with the cost of braces for the girls when the time came.

Small miracles, people. Small miracles.

Vacation Review-Days Five and Six: ROME

Rome was the highlight of my trip--of my life really. Gawd, that sounds so cliche, doesn't it?

I don't care.

Rome is a place like no other. Being there was about as close to a religious experience as I'll ever have.

The only thing that sucked was that I was alone. It wasn't just me being worn out or skittish about finding my way around (that was all put to rest once I arrived). I just really wanted someone to share this with.

Also, Rome at night is SO romantic (really all of Italy was, but especially Rome), and seeing all the happy couples strolling about made me miss my husbitch even more. I couldn't even call him because I would have been too stressed out the cost.

Anyway...

Almost half of the nearly 600 pictures I took were of Rome. I couldn't get enough of this place.

I arrived at Termini train station and followed the directions the hotel staff had given me via email before I left the states. The Metro in Rome is super easy, so that didn't hurt.

Before boarding, you have to buy your ticket and there are self-serve machines in the station. Luckily there is an option to do it in English, but once I did it the first time, I didn't need to push all those extra buttons as it was pretty clear cut.

So, you buy your ticket from one of those machines, slide it through the validation machine at the turnstile and you're on your way.

I'll stop here for a moment to discuss the ticket validation thing. Even on the bigger, intercity trains, you MUST validate your ticket before boarding. There are timestamp machines in front of every train, and if you forget, there is a hefty fine (something like 35 euro).

Suprisingly, I never forgot to validate my ticket.

So, I took the Metro the two stops from Termini towards Basttini, and got off at Barberinni. Still with me?

My hotel was located just a short half block walk from the station. And I was very thankful for that. My suitcase weighed A LOT by the time I got to Rome. Not only did I have what I brought with me originally, but also 4 bottles of wine from that vineyard. And there weren't always handydandy escalators everywhere I needed to go.

Several times a kind soul would help me up or down the stairs when they noticed I was ready to keel over from dragging my ginormous suitcase by myself. Would that happen in Chicago or New York? Maybe. But I was thankful that there always seemed to be someone around when I didn't think I was going to make it, and I know I uttered, "Grazie mille" or some version of that about a thousand times.

My hotel was swank! And I needed a cushy place to lay my head at this point.

















Hot, stinky and tired, but SO happy to have super air conditioning:





I was there way before my room was ready, but the man who checked me in gave me a map (and a cell phone to use during my stay) and kindly ignored the fact that I was stinkin' up the place. It was only about 10 am, but it was already in the 90's outside.

I had purchased a ticket good for 48 hours for a hop on/hop off bus tour of Rome. It was a cool open air top, and they hit all the big spots. One of the stops was just up the street from my hotel (hooray!), so I hopped my ass on and I was on my way.

It was a nice way to get the lay of the land from up high, and get a sneak peek at what I would explore further later that day and the next.

Most of the cars on the road around us were Smart cars, Vespas, small motorcycles or other tour busses. And everyone drives like they own the damn road. Things like "right of way", merging, and even stop lights are merely suggestions here.

There were a few times I and the German tourists sitting behind me collectively cringed and gasped as we watched from above the imminent crushing of several mopeds and impossibly teeny cars weaving in and out of traffic.

It's like this: You know when you're driving 355 and there's construction (duh), and there are signs that the lanes are decreasing? Most people get over in plenty of time, but there's always that one asshole who waits until the very end to try and get to the front of the line, butting his/her way in like they are more important than everyone else?

That's how EVERYONE drives in Rome.

The ride on top of the bus in the sweltering heat made me feel like a piece of bacon in a frying pan. Oh, the irony. Good thing I had the forethought to slather on the sunscreen

I got some lopsided pics of some sights from the top of the bus (I won't torture you with those--the "good" ones are further down this post), but I did get some good shots of what I'm calling "Life in Rome". I was just so blown away that people work and live around such amazing historical architecture.









I rode the bus all the way around and got back off at the stop near my hotel. I needed a shower and some quality time with my map to plan the rest of my evening.

The hotel staff suggested I wait until the next morning to hit the Colosseum, et al because it would be less crowded and the sun not quite as searing.

Originally, I wasn't planning on going to Vatican. Not for the reason you might think. I just didn't think I would make it out there with all the other things I wanted to see. But it was evening and I hopped an easy Metro ride out there.

Since it was after 4pm, the museum was closed, but I did get to stroll around St. Peter's square. Holy (for reals) Shit! Amazing.







(a little crooked--oops)


















I found this particular statue breathtaking:


This (admittedly badly-angled) shot is of the stone "plaque" the current pope had placed where the last pope's would-be assassin stood when he took the shot back in 1979(?).



The rest of this day and the next were a whirlwind of walking, sightseeing, eating, drinking, showering, and sleeping.























































Trevi Fountain before sunset:









And after (the height of my lonely. *sniff*):




The Spanish Steps at night and views from and around there:






















Pantheon. I had lunch in this square.











Friday night, I took a night tour called "Dark Rome". It was fun. Rome is even cooler at night.

One of our tour guides had her adorable dog with her.


This church used to bury to poor who couldn't afford a proper burial. The artwork on the outside of this building was right up my alley. Had I been able to stay one more day I could have gone inside and seen furniture and even chandelliers (sp?) made from bones!

















They used to house the Pope here. It's in Castel di San Angelo. This was the last stop on the night tour.




After the night tour was over, and because I had already gotten lost twice that day, I was beat. It was getting late, so I walked down to St. Peter's to catch a cab. It was the only time I took one, and there were no problems (even though every guidebook I read said to be wary). Between my sad Italian and his broken English, I got back to my hotel for the price he quoted me before I got in.

I had to get up really early, so I had packed up almost everything before I left for the tour.

I was sad that my trip was over, but kind of giddy that I was going back to home to my own bed, my kids and my man.

I really did fit a lot in those two days.

I will go back. Only next time, I'll have someone along for the ride.

My flight home was LONG. Over 11 hours. One of the male flight attendants took a fancy to me. He kept winking at me, and when I went back to ask for a cup of coffee, he asked me if I needed anything else. I told him that if he was hiding a steak back there, I'd be happy to take it off his hands. He made a comment in Italian that I can only imagine meant something along the lines of, "Yeah, I got a steak right here for you baby." because the other flight attendants giggled.

Whatever. I got my cup of coffee and ego boost for the day. I was happy.

When we landed at OHare, I was more than ready to inject a cigarette directly into my veins. But I had to wait for my luggage and go through customs. As soon as that was over, I was good to go.

My Mom picked me up and I stopped at my parents' house to show them the pics before heading home.

Pulling into my driveway was heavenly.

Everyone keeps saying, "Oh America (especially my town) must look SO boring now." But you know? It doesn't.

I think I appreciate the comforts of home even more now. Going on this adventure was a blast. And I WILL go back. Hopefully I will get to visit other parts of Europe in the coming years. But home is home. And it's all the more sweet when you've been away for a while.

After my kids got back from Grandma's house, I spent the day smelling thier head while soaking up all the snuggles they would allow. I swear they got bigger while I was gone.

They had just as much fun as I did splitting the week between sets of grandparents, and came back with three times as many clothes as I sent them with.

August is our next trip, but this time it's a family affair. In about a month I will be at Sea World and Disney World.

And be posting a million more pictures.

Ciao for now!