We've been here a week already

You guys, the dial up, it is killing me. Seriously. Tonight my mom told me that she plays a game of solitaire while she waits for her email to load.

It's about 9:30 at night. My parents went to bed. Phillip is snoring on the couch downstairs. I have to go wake him up and insist he fix the TV for me so I can watch a movie or something because my body is stupid and doesn't understand that it's nighttime, and also that people with jet lag are supposed to fall asleep early, not at three in the morning as has become my custom. (Notice 'fix the TV'- nothing works right in this country. And I will have to get my dad to do a guest post about buying a house in Italy, how the different sets of paperwork show three different prices, and how the notary had to step outside when my dad handed over a bazillion euros in cash, because he needed to be able to say in court that he didn't see any money change hands. And this is how EVERYONE buys a house. Except my dad said, "If I had a blog I'd have to kill myself," and at that point I decided I wasn't speaking to him anymore.)

We flew back from Germany today. We flew from Treviso (near Venice) to Hahn (near Frankfurt) and spent a few days with my aunt, tooling around the Saarland and complaining about the absolute dearth of baby stores. At first I thought this is because all my magazines are right and Europe is not having babies, but there were TONS of babies! And they were all wearing very cute clothes. I was quite tempted to walk up to their parents and ask where they bought their child's wardrobe. And all the babies are zipped into these puffy sack things that fit perfectly into their strollers. Except the strollers are more like buggies, you know, where the baby lies down with the little shade over his face, instead of sitting up in a Travel System like the efficient Americans. (Perhaps that little sentence there shows that I am slackjawed at all the stroller options, not to mention the cribs and car seats and diaper stuff and aaaccckkk!)

I'd ask them, except I can't speak German. It's embarrassing. I can't even order in a restaurant. And when I do know the right word to say, Italian comes out instead. I'm hopeless.

Anyway, Phillip can say that he has now seen Germany. He saw an honest to God castle, and not the foofy palace kind; he ate schnitzel and wurst, he drank gluhwein at a Christmas market and got to ride shotgun on the autobahn. I think that about covers it. My allegiance still goes to Italy, but I have to say that Germans know how to do Christmas. Thankfully for us, they started early. In Italy the Christmas decorations are cheap and gaudy and weird colors, like orange and lime green, but in Germany, ah! Everything is gingerbread houses and adorable Santas and wreaths and lights. My mom had to buy another suitcase just to haul home her load of Christmas junk, and I admit I filled my nearly empty extra suitcase with my own share. My house is going to look soooo cute.

But now we're back in Italy, where I can read signs and remember the right words and will eat pretty much anything on the menu. My mom and dad are talking about moving home soon, and I asked them if the thought of moving back made them sad. But really, it was making ME sad. I mean, now I will have to PAY for my European vacations. That doesn't seem fair, does it? All Phillip has to do is drive half an hour to find himself back at the house he grew up in, his elementary school, his dentist's office, his playground. Once my parents move back to the states, it's highly unlikely I'll be back here. I might visit Italy again, but I'll be in Florence or Sicily, not heading back to this little town. (And who am I kidding? It's not like I'm FROM here. Shut up, me. I just want to eat tortellini alla panna and be chauffeured around by my dad. Also: a round of applause for my dad, dear readers, for taking two days off last week and driving us all over the Veneto.)

My dad graduated from high school at an air base near where my aunt lives now. He told us that there were 50,000 Americans living in that part of Germany in the late sixties. There are hardly that many now, but it was still weird to fly up there with a bunch of military people on vacation, and run into a couple of my dad's former students in the middle of downtown Big German City. We went to see the new Bond movie (three thumbs up, the blond Bond is delish) at a giant German movie theater that shows half the movies in English, and we sat in the middle of bunch of American guys with half their hair shaved off. How privileged we are!

Anyway. Phillip is still sleeping on the couch. I need to go get him. It will take me that long to publish this thing anyway.

Tomorrow my mom and I are leaving Phillip at home to do some hard core shopping. And after that? London, baby!

Comments

[Maureen]

I have no comments on your European vacation, but regarding the ridiculousness of having to figure out what stuff to buy your child: Rush, rush I say, right out and buy _Baby Bargains_ by Denise Fields. Or get it off Amazon, no rushing required. It enabled me and The Husband skip over the "Oh my God, the choices! How are we supposed to choose a crib? A carseat? A stroller? WHAT DO WE PICK?" stage of choosing stuff because it summarized the important features of each purchase. And it's all about saving the money.

I do not, however, recommend reading the chapter on cribs right before bed because you will dream about cribs all night.