The wedding weekend and insanity ended. Lauri, my sister, and John, my now brother-in-law, full of love and wedding loot headed back to Chicago to begin a life of wedded bliss. The hubs drove north for a work conference and I stayed at my parent's house to get some dental work done by my childhood dentist, whom I haven't seen in 6+ years. You know, since graduating from college, getting a job, having my own insurance, getting married, and now living abroad. Yeah, I'm not the bottom feeding little brat who was here last complaining about my econ final. Now I'm complaining about my Master's level econ final. Totally different!!
But I digress... Left behind by those who moved on with their week, I was carted around in the passenger seat of my mom's SUV feeling the odd familiarity of being home. Sometimes when I step inside my parents' house, I'm automatically 15 again. The fact that they won't let me drive their cars just solidified the feeling.
Blah blah blah, fast forward a few days and I came down to see my sister in NC. You know what's awesome about America? American TV. Bravo, in particular. Competitive cooking shows. Oh sweet sassy molassey! I watched Bravo, unbathed and unashamed for HOURS! My sister at work, her husband at work, I sipped pumpkin beer alone during the day and watched other people work hard and have their dreams shattered. Damn, it felt good.
But then I had to clean up my act. Litterally, I had to bathe. I finally introduced myself to hygene long enough to go visit Christy's 1st grade class. I spent a day in a room with 22 first graders. Holy smokes, it was different. No breaks to check People magazine and judge Anjolina's outfits (I always vote against her "Looks from Last Night" on principal. Home wrecker.). Talk about exhausting! Through hours of teaching kids to read (sheesh!) and realizing that I have no idea what a baby giraffe is called (it's a calf, by the way. Can't believe you didn't know that!), we finally got to my 30 minute lesson in Italy. I blabbed on and on about Rome and things being old, showed them pictures of castles, taught them the 6 Italian words that I know and then dazzled them, I mean it, with European plugs. Should you ever be forced to talk in front of first graders, always bring funny outlet adapters. They. Loved. It! I killed it with plug adapters. I'm not even kidding. I got the biggest laughs and the most questions about how to plug in my Nintendo DS (which I don't have) and how to make that plug fit into the American outlet.
Here's the video my sister made about the day I spent in her class. It's so awesome!! Brava, Christy!
We're capping off the trip to NC with the purchase of a dress for the upcoming Navy Ball and as much Thai and Mexican cuisine and possibly one sushi pit stop before I dash back across the pond on the morrow. I won't lie that I am not very excited to be leaving. I've missed my homeland. I've missed my family. Eavedropping in my native tongue. I've missed feeling super fancy when I casually say "Oh, I live in Italy." I've missed the comfort of a Southern drawl, the endless hours of entertainment that my 1 year old niece can provide and the familiarity of my sister's hugs. But most of all, I've missed being back where I know how things are done. We've spent now just over one year in Italy where I have mangled an unknown number of bathrooms, butchered thousands of Italian words and most definitely offended someone on a nearly daily basis. The entire thing sometimes leaves me exhausted. I must admit, and you can judge me if you wish, that I am not anxious to go back right now. I want to stay here, away from my job, my inconsistent shower temperature and my cat's litter box just a little longer. But I know that I can't. It's the journey that makes us the strongest. I sometimes wish I could just fast-forward to that part where I have a house in the suburbs and a yard full of impecably dressed, well-behaved, brilliant children, and pictures on my walls of the next two years. But I know that I must face each day, each long distance phone call and let's be honest, each additional broken car window, with my own courage behind me. I feel bad when I complain about the distance or the lonely nights or how much I miss my old friends. I feel so incredibly guilty when I complain. I wish I loved everything about Italy and Naples and living abroad. But when I come home, I have to really force myself to remember that going back is what I have to do. Put on your big girls pants, Lynne. It's time to leave your American dreams on the shelf for a few more years and be that international lady of mystery that you someday will become. Or at least, the one woman whirling durbish of crazy that you already are.
Love and hugs from this weary traveler,
Lynne
xoxo
But I digress... Left behind by those who moved on with their week, I was carted around in the passenger seat of my mom's SUV feeling the odd familiarity of being home. Sometimes when I step inside my parents' house, I'm automatically 15 again. The fact that they won't let me drive their cars just solidified the feeling.
Blah blah blah, fast forward a few days and I came down to see my sister in NC. You know what's awesome about America? American TV. Bravo, in particular. Competitive cooking shows. Oh sweet sassy molassey! I watched Bravo, unbathed and unashamed for HOURS! My sister at work, her husband at work, I sipped pumpkin beer alone during the day and watched other people work hard and have their dreams shattered. Damn, it felt good.
But then I had to clean up my act. Litterally, I had to bathe. I finally introduced myself to hygene long enough to go visit Christy's 1st grade class. I spent a day in a room with 22 first graders. Holy smokes, it was different. No breaks to check People magazine and judge Anjolina's outfits (I always vote against her "Looks from Last Night" on principal. Home wrecker.). Talk about exhausting! Through hours of teaching kids to read (sheesh!) and realizing that I have no idea what a baby giraffe is called (it's a calf, by the way. Can't believe you didn't know that!), we finally got to my 30 minute lesson in Italy. I blabbed on and on about Rome and things being old, showed them pictures of castles, taught them the 6 Italian words that I know and then dazzled them, I mean it, with European plugs. Should you ever be forced to talk in front of first graders, always bring funny outlet adapters. They. Loved. It! I killed it with plug adapters. I'm not even kidding. I got the biggest laughs and the most questions about how to plug in my Nintendo DS (which I don't have) and how to make that plug fit into the American outlet.
Here's the video my sister made about the day I spent in her class. It's so awesome!! Brava, Christy!
We're capping off the trip to NC with the purchase of a dress for the upcoming Navy Ball and as much Thai and Mexican cuisine and possibly one sushi pit stop before I dash back across the pond on the morrow. I won't lie that I am not very excited to be leaving. I've missed my homeland. I've missed my family. Eavedropping in my native tongue. I've missed feeling super fancy when I casually say "Oh, I live in Italy." I've missed the comfort of a Southern drawl, the endless hours of entertainment that my 1 year old niece can provide and the familiarity of my sister's hugs. But most of all, I've missed being back where I know how things are done. We've spent now just over one year in Italy where I have mangled an unknown number of bathrooms, butchered thousands of Italian words and most definitely offended someone on a nearly daily basis. The entire thing sometimes leaves me exhausted. I must admit, and you can judge me if you wish, that I am not anxious to go back right now. I want to stay here, away from my job, my inconsistent shower temperature and my cat's litter box just a little longer. But I know that I can't. It's the journey that makes us the strongest. I sometimes wish I could just fast-forward to that part where I have a house in the suburbs and a yard full of impecably dressed, well-behaved, brilliant children, and pictures on my walls of the next two years. But I know that I must face each day, each long distance phone call and let's be honest, each additional broken car window, with my own courage behind me. I feel bad when I complain about the distance or the lonely nights or how much I miss my old friends. I feel so incredibly guilty when I complain. I wish I loved everything about Italy and Naples and living abroad. But when I come home, I have to really force myself to remember that going back is what I have to do. Put on your big girls pants, Lynne. It's time to leave your American dreams on the shelf for a few more years and be that international lady of mystery that you someday will become. Or at least, the one woman whirling durbish of crazy that you already are.
Love and hugs from this weary traveler,
Lynne
xoxo
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