Sweat

I feel like I've been sweaty all day.

This morning I took the girls to the library for story time. Despite the fact that we left in the 9AM hour, it was probably 800 degrees outside by the time we walked through the handicap entrance and were greeted with a flood of cold air conditioned air. Bless you, tax dollars, for keeping the library so cold.

The walk back was twice as hot because it was about 500 degrees warmer out and I had a little fireball wrapped to my body. And I was pushing 35 pounds of toddler, plus 35 pounds of library books. We stopped at the grocery store on the way home, just to load the stroller-turned-handcart up a little more.

After putting Ada to sleep I nursed Liv before her nap. (The smell—the mixture of sweat and breastmilk—took me right back to 651 N. 800 E. in Orem where I spent weeks upon weeks of frenzied nights trying to figure out how to use my body to sustain a human life. Nursing didn't come easily to Ada and I.) My shirt was still damp from our walk this morning as little Liv sucked away, doing what babies magically know how to do upon being born.

It was one of those increasingly rare long-nap days. Both girls were down for over 2 hours which is some sort of noteworthy miracle. Naturally, I painted for two full episodes of This American Life—the only way I keep track of time in the studio these days. I was sweating on the balcony as I worked, the occasional breeze felt like a gift every time it blew by.

Now baby 1 is awake, eating a balanced meal of snap peas and the last of my Cadburry mini eggs and baby 2 is stirring. I'm finally dry. But I've truly appreciated the work-like nature of my day so far. The literal sweat that has reminded me that life should be hard, but that its punctuated with enough gifts and breaks that make us think: This isn't so bad. In fact, I'm really enjoying it.

My abusive boyfriend-child

I had a friend tell me that toddlers are like abusive boyfriends and we are like their low self esteem girlfriends. "We keep coming back to them, love them more and more each time."

It makes me feel like a crazy woman sometimes. How is she at once so endearing and maddening?

This morning I was over-the-moon in love with her. She was shirtless, doing a veggie dance and taking laps around the kitchen while eating "pock-warm" (popcorn). She would pause about every 30 seconds and stand back from her whiteboard to exclaim, "Oh my goodness! Look at THAT!!" She sang, "And everywhere that Mary went, Mary went, Mary went, Everywhere that Mary went, Mary went, Mary Mary went."

My heart couldn't take it.

*     *     *

In an obvious moment of deep contemplation Mike turned to me the other day and said, "Isn't it crazy that we have the capacity to create people we'll someday associate with?"

"Like, our children?" I had to clarify.

"Yeah. You know—don't have any friends? Have some babies."

So weird. Though it is becoming truer and truer. Ada is turning into my buddy.

*     *     *

Most buddies of mine, however, don't take dry erase marker and scribble up and down the length of their shins before coming in to ask for forgiveness and wipe. (See what I mean?! Abusive. But how could I not love her even more after her obvious try at rectification?) Or throw themselves to the ground and start writhing because I filled their cup with water rather that milk.

When I put her down for a nap  she looked up and apologized again. "Sorry, Mommy. No, no color on pants. Color on paper!"

What was going to be a reluctant, guilt-inducing, not-so-motherly, begrudgingly bestowed kiss turned into a shower of smooching. She hated it.

I love her for it.

my two loves at the park on my 60 degrees, sunny birthday

Less-than manic

It's been a textbook Monday around here. Ada woke up HOURS earlier than she should have forcing me out of bed HOURS earlier than I would have liked (though, to be clear, I spent a good chunk of time on the couch with a pillow and blanket pretending to play with one eye open).

We made pancakes. And ran around in our undies until the acceptable hour for such shenanigans (and laziness) had long since passed. I just put The Lou down for her nap. I'm still in my PJ's. It's 1 PM.

Yes, Monday.

It's going to be a good week. But, oh! be kind to us.

Prophetess

It's like my mood was prophesying about the weather. Yesterday we were on tornado watch until 7PM. Luckily, no tornadoes, just fallen limbs and branches (and a tree, conveniently, on 2nd right where I wanted to turn...) And rain. Torrential rain.

But today? Blue skies. Perfect 70 degree, breezy, crispy Autumn weather. Just perfect for an afternoon in Georgetown with my besties. I came home to a clean house and a sleeping baby. Today is so great.

The feminist in me

Yesterday was one of those days where I woke up early, started my day with a run, and immediately jumped into appointments, phone calls, emails, errands, laundry . . . I went to the eye doctors (and was approved for contacts again!) I went to the bank. I played with Ada in the backyard as she walked around with a sputtering hose.

My sister had to pick up her dry cleaning, I had to drop mine off. I drove. In autopilot-mode, I almost made a bad turn. Then passing her bank where we had to stop first I drove to mine, forgetting that you only pay upon picking up your clothes. Realizing my mistake and without stopping (I would have needed the cash a few days later), I steered around and drove back to her bank. The entire outing should have taken less time than it took to get there. When I opened the door to the back seat to get Ada out I realized: I didn't bring the clothes. A wasted trip. We drove home I sent a few more emails, resigned to the fact hat I wouldn't paint that day, and went back to drop off my dry cleaning.

At home I begin reviewing our finances and my sister scratches my back. And I realize I've buzzed all around town without a bra.

I've always been a detailed to-do list maker, including things like "take a shower", but it might not be quite detailed enough any more. I think my planner has handicapped my brain.

Second breakfast

By a quarter after midnight the three of us found ourselves around the kitchen table eating Cheerios (or Ciambelline, as they call them here). Rewind 45 minutes and you would have seen me walk into the bedroom where a sleeping Michael laid a few feet away from a sleeping Ada in her crib. Just 5 minutes past that, and the whole scene would have been thrown into chaos.

I felt heavy and tired from a day of not being my best self. Despite my efforts to start anew with the determination to make the best of a so-far not-so-good day, my positivity lasted as long as Ada's afternoon nap—and it was pitifully brief. By 5:30 that evening, Ada was in the tub sink and I was ready to throw in the towel.

Ada went down a bit early, and so did Mike. Shortly after 9 I was alone in the kitchen with a few hours to think about how crappy my day was and how poorly I handled it. At 11:30, as I crawled into bed and cozied up to Mike I started crying. My tears woke him up, and minutes later my sniffles woke up the baby.

Pull it together, Paige.

I moved the crib out, then swept Ada up in my arms. I closed the bedroom door quietly behind me and softly sat on the couch. I sang to her as sweetly as I could, stroked her cheek and rocked her gently— the actions imbued with regret and apology. Repentance for a day where her mama couldn't hold her face to the stone. So I thought I would indulge her with lullaby upon lullaby and as much time as she needed before falling limp and sleepy into bed.

Every time I tried to lay what I thought was deeply sleeping Ada in her crib, I felt her grip my arm or my neck before writhing in protest. After nearly 40 minutes I laid her down, and this time, she was quiet for a few moments after I closed my bedroom door.

The shock of a cry cutting through the dead night air still surprises me. I don't think I'll ever get used to the change in volume, mood and motion that ensues after it breaks. I let her cry for a few minutes before Mike rumbled something about being hungry and getting up. So I got up, brought Ada to bed with me, but the sound of Cheerios bouncing off a cereal bowl sent her into a hunting-dog like frenzy.

So there we were, 12:15 AM, eating an unreasonably early breakfast, and not all too happy about it. My exhaustion gave way to punchiness and the scene struck me as so funny, though being the culprit of bringing us all to that point, I did my best to hide my smiles and muffle my giggles.

None of it was funny when Ada was up for the day at 5:15. But by 7:30 Mikey was up, and there we were again, having breakfast together, this time with the sun shining. We went for a walk and pushed Ada in the swings. I took a morning nap (and hallelujah so did Ada) and when we left for an afternoon of swings, slides, the carousel and gelato, the memory of the night before landed back in the funny category. I think it's there to stay for a while.

Dead and sluggy

I listened to a podcast a few days ago where a woman recounted some so-called "Faith Narratives" of early Puritans. They wrote extensively, crafted their own "Faith Narrative" that recounted the state of their soul, and professed it to the clerical head of the congregation they wished to join. In describing her heart, one Puritan woman called it, "dead and sluggy."

After being woken up early, finding the contemporary gallery only to find a locked door, and half a dozen tantrums at the library, I feel the same way. I came home to the house full of music, Mike at the sink doing dishes, and a kiss on the cheek to great me, yet responded with shrug and passed off the baby.

Then I sat at a tupperware of cold leftovers and did a bit of stress eating.

And why? Because I have a totally normal toddler? Because I had a totally normal experience with Italian "operating hours"? Who knows.

All I know is I needed to find a way to revitalize my dead and sluggy heart and let it feel how good the day actually was. After all, it's sunny and Mike is taking the day off after finishing his second-to-last exam. As I listened to Mike and Ada play peek-a-boo between the clotheslines draped with a stripped bed sheet, I felt my heart begin to thaw. A few chapters in Romans and power-nap later and I'm ready to start a new. It's Friday anyway, and we've got a whole lot of livin' it up to do before stepping on the airplane.

Cotton Candy

Ada had her first taste of cotton candy today (courtesy of Aunt Julie). This is what she thought about it:

What would we do with out our great friends? They definitely top the list of things we'll miss when we leave.

How foolish

"Oh hey!" Mike gets my attention as I'm fixing lunch, "An email from Fernanda [our Italian teacher]: looks like class is cancelled this week."

I walk over. No email.

"APRIL FOOLS!"

"Mike. It's the 2nd."

"It is? Dang it."

Cousin Matthew. No, for real

Ada stabbed me with a pencil and made me bleed this morning. She's a wild one. I'm still not feeling 100% (nor is she) so we're making a conscientious effort to make this a down day. As in, long naps, much lounging and Downton Abbey.

Last night I dreamed Michael was Matthew Crawley (funny enough, I have a cousin named Matthew Crawley) and I was Lady Mary. We were so elegant and delightfully witty together. It was basically a slice out of reality. Minus the fancy clothes and lavish home.

I really think I need more sleep.

Healthy, nature-y dipping sauce

We're battling some colds today. I'm trying to battle mine with sunshine and a date night (tonight!) with Mike. Think it will work?

This afternoon we had a picnic in the backyard. Ada ate all of her lunch with a side of dirt (think: bite my bread, wipe it on the ground, bite it again, wipe it on the table . . . like a healthy, nature-y dipping sauce). It's over 70 degrees so after lunch went spent a few hours in the park. Glory, glory, glory! It's so beautiful today.

We were both sweaty by the time we left. I've seriously missed the sweaty Spring stickiness.

Tomorrow we plan on taking it easy and resting up for a big trip to Stake Conference in Venice on Sunday. After, we're hoping to spend a bit of time on a vaporetto and to take in some sights around San Marco.

Happy weekend!

Positivity pays

A window at the Basilica di San Francesco.

 It worked.

Wacky nap schedule meant that we went out right in the middle of pausa pranzo (which means every thing is closed and half the city is home eating a big lunch with their family), but the library was open and we had it almost all to ourselves.

A mom came in and told me it was her first time at the library. She said she didn't speak any English, nor did she understand any (She asked: Di dove sei? And I said: Sono Americana di Utah. The "Utah" part really threw her off. I tried explaining it was one of the 50 States, but ended up just leaving it at, Sono Americana. Basta!) but we communicated a bit.

Her daughter is the same age as Ada and was a little sick so she warned I should probably keep my daughter far away (Ada would have none of it. She's too social). I heard her ask the librarian where books for small babies are. He motioned towards the back of the room and I heard her say that that room doesn't have baby books in Italian, it only has books in Arabic and Chinese (it's true. Maybe the librarian was new?) She seemed frustrated, so  I showed her a few of the books that Ada really likes. She asked if I come to the library every day, I said, "No, non tutti i giorni, ma due o tre volta per settimana." Then she followed up with, "Allo stesso tempo?" "Di solito un po' dopo."

Ada set a new P.B. and walked probably 30 feet to her favorite librarian (she got so excited, squealed, pointed at her, and then followed her finger all the way to the librarian with the jingly lanyard). The librarian asked her age again, and after I told her she said, "Presto, eh?" I replied,"Si. Tropo presto. Non sono pronto!" We both laughed as Ada toddled away.

Wah-lah! Practicing my Italian. It felt so good to use it (even though it is still so painfully limited).

Then we explored some place new: The Basilica di San Francesco.

Basilica di San Francesco

 I've been meaning to get to this church ever since I went to a lecture on art in Bologna. The lecturer talked about how central the University of Bologna is in the art history of this city. The Franciscans (like the Dominicans—I'm learning so much about the Catholic church's religious orders here) were a progressive order of Friars that valued secular learning as well (there is a library in the church as well as in the Basilica di San Domenico). They played a part in the establishment of the University here.

A view across the central nave looking into one of the chapels.

 The interior is about as Gothic as anything I've seen in Italy. The altar piece especially was so striking because it was in such stark contrast to every other gilded, Romanesque altar piece I've seen here. And it may be my favorite church yet (though San Domenico is right up there). I love the highly patterned interior, especially all the stripes.

The bell tower.

On the church grounds are several raised sarcophagi. Normally, emporers, church leaders or other important figures are the only ones to merit such a spectacular burial. But not in Bologna. The tombs here house the bodies of deceased lawyers (who were also teachers at the University of Bologna). The University of Bologna is still the premier institution to study law at. The reverence the Franciscans and Dominicans had for past professors is incredible.

One of the many tombs for professors on the church grounds.

After visiting the church I found rubber cement AND packing tape. And Ada was asleep by the time we ate. And dinner was good. And I sketched (though not for 15 minutes. Try and try again . . .) And the laundry is done (for now).

There is truly power in a positive attitude.

Advent Calender Day 14: eating almond bars from the Christmas market

Christmas Song: O Come O Come Emmanuel by Sufjan Stevens

A cyber pep-talk

(Because sometimes writing it all down makes it more likely to happen).

Today I will not let Ada's wacky naps get me down.

I will explore something new in the city.

Even though I missed a few days of sketching, I can still sketch today.

I can conquer the laundry.

I will try (again) to find rubber cement. And if I still can't find it, I'll take comfort in the fact that I can buy some in Utah in 11 days (eeek!)

I am a good cook. I will have a delicious dinner waiting for Mike when he gets home from a long day of school and if the stars are aligned, Ada might be asleep too. But if she's not, at least she'll be in her jammies and looking extra cute when daddy comes home.

I will try to use what little Italian I know and practice while I'm out and about today. Because practice makes perfect.

Advent Calender Day 13: Read this talk together

Christmas Song: Last Christmas by Jimmy Eat World (does it make me out of shape if, by the end of dancing with Ada to this song, I'm winded?)

Bestimme deinen einstellung

When Coach Eric Taylor told his wife (excuse his language), "If I do this thing half-a** it doesn't help anyone," I knew exactly where he was coming from. He was working harder than he ever had in his life and doing it with one thing in mind: his family. I also knew how his wife must be feeling: overwhelmed, discouraged, perhaps a bit isolated and really missing her husband.

Yes I have a grip on reality; I know these are fictitious characters.

But Mike and I had a similar conversation a few days ago. I was struck again by how good he is at seeing the bigger picture. And discouraged for getting stuck in the weeds far too often.

I felt empty, but knew I had to give more. But to give more, I had to be filled.

Mike opened the scriptures and we read passage after passage of comforting, empowering words. While the words sounded beautiful and inspiring, I felt like I had already tried to do what they were saying and didn't reap the power they promised. I felt cut off for some reason. Numb. I explained this to Mike, welcomed some tears in the process and was finally calmed by a blessing.

While Michael spoke, I knew my Father in Heaven was aware of my efforts. I knew He was proud of me. I knew He knew that I could do more than I was allowing myself to do. I knew He wanted me to take the time each day to fill myself. I knew He was there to help me.

I started this week renewed. I have felt fueled by my scripture study. I have felt sustained during the daily grind.

*     *     *

In my high school German class, there was a sign on the door that read, "Bestimme Deinen Einstellung!" I still think about that advice a lot (still!). So much of our happiness—and unhappiness—is a choice. If it's possible for me to be unhappy living in Italy, studying the language of love, and cooking fresh pasta for my beautiful family, it's possible for anyone to find reason to be down.

But it's also possible for all of us to allow ourselves to be happy, to allow ourselves to be filled, to allow (force?) ourselves to seek out the sunshine despite the gloomy forecast.

Here's to feeling up to it

Maybe all the cigarette smoke is getting to me. I sound like I've been pounding down a few packs a day for years (hacking, coughing, scratchy-voicing). Or maybe I'm just sick for real.

Luckily the Lou has managed to remain immune.

For now.

Today we have a small to-do list. I'm hoping I'll feel up to doing it all:

- go to the park and play on the swings
- visit the Mercato dell'Erbe to get some fresh produce
- buy a new plug adapter and power converter at the Ferramenta on Via Farini
- out do Ada's current steps-in-a-row record (at 11 steps)

Wish us luck.

Looking down Via Castiglione near La Sorbetteria (yum).

She likes to sleep in my bed

There are a million-and-one things to do in the next week. But I've got a cold. And my Ada Lou has a fever. Boo. Maybe we'll just kick it in bed today and hope it blows over soon. I sometimes complain about how active my sweet girl is, but now I want my wiggle-worm back!

abbracci e baci

Guess what happened yesterday? It became September without me even wishing August goodbye. My cousin was discharged from the hospital to finish out her doctor-ordered-bed rest (stay put baby!) We threw her a baby shower (and we didn't have to go to the hospital to do it!!!) and my phone, which has been held together with duct tape (leopard print duct tape if you must know) for well over a year finally bit the dust. And Ada got some shots.

There were a few moments when I got to lift my head out of the hustle of the day and smother my girl in hugs and kisses (abbracci e baci, in Italian). We played some games on the floor. That was my favorite part of the day.

Everything else was good too. The shower went well. I activated a new phone. I called our new insurance company and while the nice guy helping me figure out my benefits looked up our plan, he enumerated the reasons why he loves the smell of babies (it was so weird but funny all at once).

I'll miss August (and the 1st day of September, for that matter). But guess what happens in September?

On a different note, this marks my 800th post. Whoa. That's lots.

It's the little things

Things that made me smile yesterday:

1. Fixing Mikey's glasses with glitter glue.
2. Ada squawking with her eyes closed, then opening one to see if I was watching.
3. Eating a bowl of chocolate ice cream
4. Walking to Mama Chu's and having lunch with family
5. Dinner group

Another Funny

P: Hey do you want to read scriptures?
M: Mmm hmmm (long pause) But I don't know where to put them.
P: Put what? The scriptures?
M: No. The cars.
P: What cars?
M: . . . bringing people to get their ears pierced.

Needless to say, we didn't read last night.

On this, the longest day of the year

Let me tell you about the perfect day. It starts off with a flurry of domestic activity that clears the clutter from you soul as well as the floor in your closet. It is interrupted by a lunch date with that boy you married because he makes you smile when he opens the front door. Basically, he feels like home and I love that feeling.

After you kiss him goodbye and wish him the best in bringing home the bacon you head out on your bike for some research time on campus. But not academic research, bridal shower research, which, speaking from experience, is well worth the time and it's just as satisfying as that 12 page research paper I turned in two weeks ago. Also, you don't have to make a bibliography. Always a perk.

The perfect day always makes room for a nap, but just a short one. There is too much to do on June 21st, the longest day of the year.

The perfect day also allows for plenty of bike riding. This time, to dinner with over 20 people who you absolutely adore, and not because you have to (they are family afterall), but because they are some of the most intelligent wonderful people on the planet. (This is all true). And like any perfect day, dinner is of the Mexican variety, because no problem was ever so big a little flour tortilla couldn't cure it.

The post-dinner bike ride is taken at a slower pace, there's no room for side-aches on perfect days. No, no. But the bike ride is longer, for on the longest day of the year, there must be music. Live music. Fun music. Outdoor music. Yes, a lawn concert does just the trick. The perfect day is also filled with treats. Cookie dough and popcorn, but also, the first Surf 'N Slurp of the year. Surfer's Sunset is highly recommended.

Finally, the perfect day is wrapped up with an outdoor movie in the backyard with the arm of that boy I told you about tucked tightly around my shoulder.

For on this, the longest day of the year, all moments should be outside moments. They should be sunshine moments that keep you warm even after the sun sets way after bed time.