Italia, Here We Come. [And Also, What Happens When We Combine Your Kid + Mine; When Your Kid (OK Mine) Gets Kicked Out Of Daycare; and Why, Dear Sir, I Simply Will Not Ski.]
You know it’s a tough life when you’re off to take a vacation from your vacation. But alas. We’ve come to northern Italy for 12 days to meet a group of friends who all used to live in DC but we’ve now scattered to various parts. And all is bliss here in the Italian alps except for two (itsy-bitsy) things: (1) two families - us and our friends Ana and Alejandro - have 1.5 year olds, who it turns out are way more interested in asserting dominion and control over their toys and every other belonging nearby (MINE! About sums it up, whether conveyed through words or fists) than in forging lifelong friendships with one another and allowing their parents to maintain the same. So that has been, well, a thing to navigate. Though I’d say the real victims here are our friends without children, who have graciously looked on in well-masked horror as the two toddlers hash it out and/or my toddler scales the windowsills and rearranges every orange we’ve bought with a thwak! onto every available hard surface in the kitchen. So that’s number one.
Number (2) is, well, I don’t ski. And did I mention that’s actually why we’re all here? Yes, well. The thrust of this trip is so that all of my avid skier friends can race down their black diamonds and what not (with Juan, more of a beginner but just as excited, joining occasionally when he is not working) and me - in my mind’s eye - living the dream sipping Italian cappuccinos while Luca attends the local pop-up ski-town daycare that watches small groups of kids (ok let’s call them piccolo bambinos, as Italy does, for adorableness effect) while the parents ski and drink those cappuccinos I mentioned. But alas. Luca has, for all purposes, declined to adjust to the daycare situation, and after a few half-days of him spending his morning hours yelling for “mama” between tears, both his newly-appointed caregivers and his parents decided that this particular arrangement was not worth the squeeze. (Honestly, if this had been his future care spot for many months to come, I think we would all have worked harder to make it a more manageable transition, etc., but as it was - a week wasn’t worth it!)
So that’s how, long story short, Luca’s mother and father went from both not skiing to also again, as we had been in Portugal, tag-teaming our time watch this young man. (As I type he’s passed out next to me in a cafe next to the beautiful snow capped slope, where I watch the skiers from a SAFE distance ;) and sip - yes, that’s right - my little cappuccino.) The week is looking a little different than we’d imagined, but that’s a-OK.
*PS - why don’t I ski, you ask? On account of my inability to do so (well, mainly my inability to STOP doing so once I’ve started, as this ‘pizza wedge’ stop that even a five year old can master has, time and time again, left me pizza wedging my way down a mountain yelling LOOK OUT to the crowd below that I - despite my best efforts - continue barreling towards until a friendly stranger or netting system designed for this purpose stops me. So, I’ve decided to take a pass this year. (Pun intended.)