This is my kingdom

Ada in Piazza Galvani, one of our favorite hangouts.

 I'm not sure what caused the switch. Last semester during Mike's midterms I was moaning that I never got enough time with him and the simple tasks at home were making me crazy.

This time around, I feel like a powerhouse. Maybe it's part of becoming more adult—learning that you are in charge of your reactions, learning to take on more responsibility, and understanding that you're responsible for all of your actions (and consequences) no matter how unconscious (or conscious) you were that you were actually making a choice.

Does any of this make sense?

I guess I don't feel like I need to be on the defense anymore. My choices are my own and they have brought me to this point in my life: married, with a baby, living in a foreign country, sticking to a strict budget, trying to figure out how to paint again, learning to cope with life as a nomad, learning that I am stronger than I knew. . .

Mike and I have talked about how so much of maturity is being comfortable in your own skin; of just knowing that you are who you are; not feeling the need to prove your worth or mystique or beauty or brains to anyone.

Today, I feel comfortable.

I'm coming to better understand that this is my kingdom.

I rule here. In my kingdom, those dust bunnies that crawl under the couch and make as bunnies do will get swept up nightly (and morningly, depending on how busy they were) because I'm in charge. I see my job of sudsing down Ada's highchair as a daily, personal decree that my toddler's stickiness will not take over like the sticky, thorny brambles of fairy tales. Each piece of laundry is carefully hung because here, no detail (or sock) goes missing.

I set the mood. (I set the table.) I make sure my kingdom is fed and well. I make sure my kingdom is happy and bright.

These aren't the burdens of motherhood. They're the responsibilities of a queen.

So I'm off to conquer the kitchen floor. I feel a victory coming on.

Playing tourist again

Ada in San Giacomo Maggiore. She got over her fear of churches in a hurry.

 It had been too long since Ada and I had ventured out to see something new in the city. We took a walk to a church near by which supposedly houses Saint Caterina de’ Vigri’s incorrupted body. Google maps said the walk was 4 minutes, so I thought it would be fun to let Ada toddle with me to the church, rather than strap her in for a 4 minute ride.

The walk took us 20 minutes.

But she (and I) enjoyed it so much.

We stopped in at the church and Ada was uncharacteristically afraid. She wouldn't let me put her down. Maybe it was the echo, or the dim light. Or the deeps reds and gold?

We shared a pastry at a corner cafe on the way home and Ada flirted with the Napoleon who work there while trying her hardest to score a free Magnum bar.

I did some research during her afternoon nap on some of the ruling families in Bologna before (and after) the Papacy took over. The Bentivolgio's were a major family that ruled from the early 1300's through the 1500's until they were expelled when the Papacy gained control of the state. Their family history is laced with murder, scandal, Catholic indulgences, sinister plots and rebellion. It's a wonder that a movie hasn't been made (but maybe that's just the way all ruling families were during the Renaissance. Nothing new or noteworthy?)

Their seat of power was in church (made ornate by their wealth) called San Giacomo Maggiore. I've walked past it numerous times, but never gone inside. At a certain point in Europe you start to think: A church is a church is a church. I got there a few months after arriving, but after doing some research on the family and the artists who decorated the space, I found the whole experience to be much more enriching in a historical way, rather just a "Whoa. Another gigantic church." Ada got over her initial insecurities and walked every inch of San Giacomo chirping all the way. (Aren't echoes fun?)

After the church we poked our heads into the palace across the street and then stopped by a bakery on the way to the library.

The whole day was so perfect. I was discouraged after being jolted from painting just an hour after I began (note to Ada: if you don't take morning naps anymore, you had better make up for it in the afternoon), but I ended the day feeling like I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

Being surrounded by sights and sounds like these, how could I not be?

My life like Monty Python's

 When we moved into our apartment over six months ago, I had visions of grilling out back in our own little garden. We decided a few weeks ago to host a barbeque with a whole slew of Italians and show them what an American BBQ looked (and smelled) like.

We went to the macelleria on Saturday and bought over 2 kilos of ground beef and over a dozen hot dogs. That was the easy part. The hard part was finding charcoal for the grill.

Months ago my Italian teacher told me that Italians don't like to barbeque because it take too much work. This struck me as so odd: How much easier can it get than hamburgers and hotdogs? but after the rigamarole of trying to find charcoal, I began to understand where she was coming from.

We checked a few places nearby before asking around and making a trek (on bike) out to a supermercato in Zone Lame. We asked two store attendants if they had carbone, one said no, the other said yes, in the back. Not finding it "in the back," we decided to try the next supermercato that our neighbor's nephew told us about.

We pedaled and pedaled, not really knowing how to get there, but remembering a few street names. After we went under the freeway overpass, it felt much too much like the IKEA experience we had right after arriving in Bologna (I just searched my archives, have I really not blogged about this? Story to come. . .) where we rode over 10km, got lost, nearly got our bikes impounded, and nearly all of us ended up in tears . . .

We decided to turn back, charcoal-less, but determined to check a few more places in centro. After getting home, we spent some time cleaning the grill and readying the yard. We talked about other places we might find charcoal, a ferramenta, perhaps? when Mike spotted a big bag of charcoal in our neighbor's garden.

It was one of those moments where our life were a TV show like Monty Python and the Holy Grail, the bag would have started glowing and heavenly voices would have started "Ahh-ing."

After buzzing next door, Mike returned with a very full (and very neglected, cob-webby) bag of charcoal.

Funny how so many wild goose hunts seem to end in your own back yard (or your neighbor's).

That giraffe was supposed to be for Easter. I should never buy gifts early.  I'm too weak.

A love/hate, as always

I've started looking at one-way tickets to Utah. It's made me at once excited and sad, like many changes in life seem to. So many things are entangled in love/hate relationships, no?

I've started to make mental lists about everything, gelaterias, things I'll miss, favorite streets, charming walks, scenic bike rides, quirky shops, best store-fronts, museum schedules . . . I've also started allowing myself to think about Utah summers. Mmmmm, Utah summers . . . are there any better?

Things I will miss about Italy:

In one of our favorite piazza's, Piazza Cavour (proximity to the best gelateria in town may have something to do with it).

1. Piazzas. Why doesn't America have these? Why don't we have beautiful outdoor spaces (the mall doesn't count) filled with benches where people just hang out, eat gelato, read newspapers, and chat about whatever people chat about? Some of my favorite ones are small and tucked away, but Piazza Maggiore is always filled with people, live music, tourists . . . you get a sense of community when you're there even if you're the farthest thing from somebody's neighbor. The piazza's have provided tons of entertainment for Ada. She likes making friends and trying to beg ice cream off people (don't worry, I don't let strangers feed my baby). There are always dogs roaming by or pigeons landing here and there that she chases after, pointed finger leading the way.

2. Hanging laundry on the line. As much as I complain about how time consuming laundry (and everything else) is here, I think I'll actually really miss the slower pace of everything. There's a subtle gesture that people do here that I think evokes everything slow and care-free about Italians. When I hang laundry it's like a moment of meditation. It's a practice in caring about each part. It's also beautiful when it's all out in the garden swaying.

3. Walking. I hope that I can maintain some parts of our routine here even when we live out west for a bit. I think it's therapeutic. I have loved going to the store nearly every day with Ada. It's a good chance for us to breathe in some fresh air, check out the store windows and say hello to our friends at the Coop.

4. Bikes everywhere. I love the bikes here. I love the variety, the repainted finishes, the baskets, the clinky chains and squeaky breaks. I think I'll really miss the feeling of riding on cobblestones.

5. Window shopping. Man do they store owners seem to pride themselves in their window displays. I love it. It's made me second guess my cyber shopping tendencies. . .


Things I won't miss about Italy:

1. Cigarettes. The smell is bad and it seems like Spring has made everyone double down on their packs of cigs, but the butts every where is what kills me. Also, trying to keep them out of Ada's little hands when we're in a piazza or at the park is seemingly impossible.

2. Hanging laundry on the line. And doing dishes by hand. And how the laundry detergent just isn't up to par.

3. Walking. As much as I love it, sometimes it sounds so nice to get in a car and just go.

4. Motos. While it's impressive to see extremely well-dressed Italians zip by on a Vespa, they're so loud and stinky.

5. My bathroom. It's small. And there isn't a tub (and both Ada and I really need some tub time). And it has a bidet (Ada's new favorite depository) which always has crayons or toys in it. And the towels are scratchy. (Do I sound whiny?) I'm just looking forward to my big, soft, bleach-stain-and-all bath sheet that is folded neatly in a plastic box labeled "Towels and Bath stuff."

That sad face is not because I got mad. That's a total Please-don't-make-me-stop face.

I'm working on a Bologna City guide and some Best-Of's. Hopefully I'll have something to share soon.

Peach tea and strawberries

Yesterday I went visiting teaching. I'm in a threesome companionship that visits four other women. We got our assignment a few months ago, but this is the first time I've been able to go with them.

One of my companions picked me up just after 3:30 and we took a bus to the edge of centro. From there we walked a few blocks to meet our other companion. She was waiting in her blue car. I had understood that we were going to drive to our teachee's home. They explained that one of them would sit in the back and I should get up front with Ada. "Lascia il passeggino!" the told me, motioning for me to leave my stroller parked next to the car.

"Siete sicuri?" I asked, not really thinking it would be safe to leave the stroller there while we went to our appointment.

They said we'd only be 15 minutes. I got in the car and went to close the door but it got stuck on the stroller parked too near the car. When they said to leave the door open, confusion too over. I turned to ask them what they wanted me to do again when I saw their Liahona's spread open on their laps and finally realized we were only getting in the car to plan our lesson. No wonder they said to leave the stroller. When I told them I thought we were driving someplace else they got a good laugh and understood my hesitation to just leave the stroller in the parking stall.

We visited one woman. She had peach tea and strawberries waiting for us and quickly made a few adjustments (moving chairs in front of outlets and placing valuables out of reach) when she saw that Ada came too. We shared our message and visited for a while, then I tuned out while I followed Ada around the room and tried to make sure she didn't burn the place down. We were there for nearly 2 hours.

The whole experience was so Italian. The large open window in the second story flat. The high ceiling in the living room. The large painting on the wall. The rhythm of the conversation. The tablecloth. The feeling of having no place to go which makes the moments seem to hang in time. 

But it was also so familiar. Gathering with a few women over the glossy pages of a church magazine. The back and forth of sharing experiences and testifying of truths. The friendship and support. The feeling of sisterhood.

I was grateful after getting home 4 hours later that I am part of this grand organization of women that gives us the chance to be guardians over one another. And it also made me realize how relatively easy my church responsibilities have been in the past (visiting the girl next door, walking to the temple . . .)

I hope this experience will shape my perspective in the long-term; that I'll reflect on it when I feel overwhelmed and too busy to serve and remember that I spent 4 hours on one visiting teaching appointment. And I was tired. But I was grateful for the chance to belong.

And another circuit

This morning the whole fam (yes, all THREE of us) drug our doughy bodies to Giardina Margharita for "Boot Camp," a group exercise program lead by a multiply-deployed government contractor and his Marine Corps wife. Needless to say, it was intense. Especially for a couple of sacks who haven't done much in the way of exercise in months. While the drill sergeant shouted commands, Ada wandered around comparing water bottles and acting as a self-appointed moral booster.

When we got home and I went to lift Ada out of her stroller, I could feel my triceps shaking in protest. I'm going to be so sore.

But this is exactly what the doctor's ordered.

A few things

I am starting to be a regular at a few fruttivendoli (and a macelleria) around town. It's been fun to feel like I'm really part of a community here. People recognize Ada and I when we walk in their store or up to their stand a just a sense of familiarity does a lot to make you feel at home. Another bonus is deals and free fruit (if you're as cute–or maybe as demanding–as Ada. She can sure work a crowd. When we pull up to the fruit stand and she sees the clementines, she goes nuts, so they usually give her one or two to chomp on while I order). I really can't wait for asparagus season. It's just days away!

I went to a pescheria today (that's where you buy fish). The smell has kept me away before now, but I feel like our home menu is tired and needed something new. We're trying a balsamic-glazed salmon tonight. I'm always pleasantly surprised at how naturally interacting with the vendors is becoming. I have the vocab and phrases down (though I had to learn a few new words so I could order my fish).

The largest international children's book fair is in Bologna right now. Ada and I went and checked it out yesterday. A giant fox was reading to a big group of ragazzi and Ada did her classic arm-in-the-air-I-want-to-touch-that-thing move when she saw him. I think we might buy a book (for Easter maybe? I remember getting Goosebumps books one Easter. How festive, right?)

The director of recruitment and admissions posted a short summary of our experience on House Hunters International on his blog and tipped me off to the fact that a segment of our episode has been posted on YouTube. You can watch it HERE.

It's spring. As in, officially, calendarily, it's spring!

Becoming a little person

After just over 30 minutes at the new museum in town, Mike and I bustled out of there with our bored and anxious toddler. The whole time I was thinking, How will I change her between now and April when my parents come and we plan on hitting up several museums and sites a day for over a week?!

Poor thing.

But after a quiet Sunday, I was struck by the thought that Ada has been spending an eternity prior to coming to me forming a personality and becoming the little person she is right now. So while I still believe I can teach her, I recognized that I can't change the fundamentals. They're out of my control. She's only been my daughter for thirteen months, but she's been Someone Else's for an eternity. And I think He has a pretty good handle on parenting.

The realization didn't solve my museum conundrum, but it did make me feel like Ada is spectacular. 

Ada's latest trick: climbing onto the kitchen table. Oh what fun!

Give yourself credit

There's a book that will always remind me of my dad (possibly his favorite children's book?): Bread and Jam for Frances. A worn copy lies somewhere at my parent's house and it's just one of the things I am looking forward to in Utah. (Other things include corn on the cob, swimming, the 4th of July and Snowies).

I sent my sister-in-law an email a few days ago. I wanted some reassurance from someone in the thick of mothering. Her response nearly made me cry (she's that good at writing emails) and immediately put all my unfounded and hyper-critical worries aside.

She passed along a bit of advice that I've always gravitated towards: trust your gut.

It's something my mom would say, and it's the kind of advice I try to give girls who approach me with questions. I'm a believer in listening and instincts. Lately, however, I think I've been guilty of not listening to my gut, not trusting my hands or my brain or my heart.

I wonder if this hesitation to trust ourselves stems from the overabundance of information we have at our fingertips. When I notice something unusual, I immediately jump online and begin searching and scrolling insatiably through dozens of sites, flipping through books, and asking around, even when my gut says, "Just take a deep breath. She's normal." Or, "Somedays she just doesn't want to eat as much. She's healthy." Or, "If you scrutinized your waste the way you do Ada's you'd probably be conducting online searches all day. She's just fine." Or, "She just needs you. She's yours."

So while I'm grateful that we have a wealth of trusted resources, I'm also grateful for the gentle reminder I was given to trust my gut. It reminds me also to give myself a chance, and understand that I am Ada's mother, and as such, her knower. I know her.

This phrase is quickly becoming my personal mantra (and it should be yours too): I am more capable than I realize.

About as constant as the weather

My afternoons have looked much like this lately. So far, I like our Spring routine: errands done before noon, a quick lunch, maybe the park for a few hours and then home for Ada's nap. While she sleeps, I paint. It's what I always wanted my life to look like; balancing mothering and art making in a way that wasn't stressful or burdensome for me or my kids.

But probably as all phases go, this one will undoubtedly be short. Naps are evolutionary things that are about as constant as the weather. And we move back to The States in less than three months. An onslaught of tumult will undoubtedly ensue as we shift into another gear and try to root ourselves again.

It hardly seems real. Just three months?

I remember our first night here so vividly. Mike and I were both overwhelmed and nearly paralyzed by questions of: What have we done? Is this the right thing to be doing? Where are we? I think we would both quickly answer all of those questions now with a resolute: Yes. This was the perfect thing for us to do.

But until things get unsteady again, I'm going to ride this calm wave while I can and hopefully pump out a few paintings in the process.

To Pango Pango and back

 Playing cu-cu! in birthday clothes from Grandma and Grandpa (the package finally came! And yes Dad, it looks like it went to Pango Pango and back).

Ada is relishing in the fact that she's already in tantrum stage. We like to call it, the "floppy-stomp" and it can be expected at about any time of the day, especially when transitioning from one activity (like reading) to another (like going outside).

It wears me out quickly, but I'm making a conscious effort (and saying mini-prayers all day) that I can keep calm and carry on.

Meanwhile, I relish even more in nap times and bedtime. But last night, after I put Ada to bed and finished the dishes, I could hear her in her crib quietly doing her lune call (as we call it), and playing peek-a-boo (but she learned it the Italian way and says, "Cu-cu!"). I wanted so badly to go in and watch her cover her eyes and throw them off while saying "cuh-coo!"

I could sense that she was in a happy, calm mood, and I wanted to share in it.

So I went in. Mike was in a test review and I had nothing else tugging at my time. I got her out of her crib and we laid on the bed together singing, playing cu-cu and trading the pacifier back and forth. She was sweet and soft and giggled quietly as we played.

It was a reassuring moment that, yes, she's doing just fine. And I'm doing okay too.

Two thoughts on humans

1. Nicholas Phillipson authored a book on Adam Smith and talks about his desire to study human nature in an attempt to create a better society. He summarized Smith's conclusions like this:  "The only thing we can be sure [of] is that human beings are the weakest, feeblest, most defenseless of all animal species. The only reason they can survive is because they learn to cooperate . . . We learn from the moment we're born to exchange ideas, goods, services, sentiments with others and we do that because if we don't we die. . ."

2. Tom Freedman published an article Sunday that points out an oft overlooked renewable resource. In praising Taiwan he says, "...you developed the habits and culture of honing your people’s skills, which turns out to be the most valuable and only truly renewable resource in the world today." And quoting a researcher on natural resources and test scores noted that, ". . . knowledge and skills have become the global currency of 21st-century economies."

My body, my spirit

I've been thinking a lot about bodies lately. Specifically, I've been thinking about the spirituality of our bodies, not our spirits, but the way that our bodies are tied to our spirituality.

In my opinion, many of us view the body and the intangible parts of us (mind, spirit, emotions) as far too separate. I think if we do this, we risk putting our spirits, minds, and emotions at risk, because I'm of the school that our physical actions are unquestionably connected with our spirits.

Mormons believe that God has a body, like our bodies, only perfect in form and function. We also believe that the big goal in life is to learn to become like God. So, if we are here trying to become like God, then wouldn't a big part of that be learning how to use our bodies perfectly? I think so. I believe there's far more to Godliness than patience, charity, and mercy. We need to learn our bodies perfectly; to feed them, use them, stretch them to their limits, and care for them too. Because our bodies not only house our spirits, they are holy things themselves.

I think it's a no-brainer that what we do with our bodies profoundly influences our emotions. But there seems to be a disconnect for many people who hold to a belief that bodies are inconsequential. They're just a piece of biology. They think that what they do with their bodies won't affect their intangibles.

The man in the podcast I recently posted about seemed to be surprised that after engaging in open-type relationships, he no longer wanted to be with his long-time girlfriend. After a three month foray in polyamory, they both decided that they "just weren't right" for each other anymore. My take on the story is that they engaged their bodies in activities that didn't fortify the love and connection they had with each other. It wasn't about having to discover if they were right for each other. They determined that with how they used their bodies.

How we use our bodies determines the way we feel emotionally. If you choose one person with your heart, but another person with your body, doesn't it makes sense that the body eventually wins over?

When I was single and dating in college, I noticed that the worst breakups came not when I split with the guy I "loved" most, but when the physical affection outpaced the real relationship. It was a lesson to me in how powerfully connected the physical and emotional/spiritual are.  Physicality shouldn't supersede the substantive. When that happens, emotions get manipulated and people get confused.

I'm not trying to write a novel, or get into the weeds of sexual morality, I guess what I'm saying is I have come to understand more deeply that our bodies are holy; that they are part of the struggle in becoming like God. We're not here to master some sort of "mind over body". We're here to recognize that God's creation of our bodies wasn't merely so we would have a vessel in which to go through life and work out our spiritual struggles. Coming to earth to "get a body" is only part of the story.

We've got our bodies, now we need to learn to use them.

Ciao dentone

Things are getting real anecdotal around here, but there is something about toddlerdom that lends itself to constant recording.

Ada isn't a shy baby. She likes engaging strangers in games and flashes smiles at whomever will reciprocate. The other day in the grocery store, we were waiting in line behind a woman in a big fur coat. Think: 8 inch long hairs (tangentially: do you have to brush fur coats with fur that long? And I must make a note so I never forget how silly the Italians are because they all wear parkas and fur coats in 50 and 60 degree weather). Ada flashed her a gappy grin and the women exclaimed about how many teeth she has. The woman started counting ("...quasi otto!") while Ada's smile got more grimace-y and forced and she realized the woman was distracted.

I could see the wheels turning in Ada's little head. While locking the woman in a stare, Ada slowly reached out, and without moving her eyes, started petting the woman's coat.  She probably got a good half-dozen strokes in.

I don't think the lady noticed. She was too busy admiring each of Ada's features and pointing to each one.  I was dying inside. What a clever girl I have: I want to pet that coat. I'll distract her with my good looks!

Perhaps my favorite part of the whole encounter was the woman's valediction: "Ciao signora, e ciao dentone!!"

I made this creature

Ada is a funny creature. She's never been much of a snuggler, though she's getting more and more lovey as she grows. We've both been a bit sick for the past several days and yesterday I tried to put a stop to it all. Rest. Rest. Rest.

At least rest for Ada. She has taken to a silly habit of not being content to simply lie next to me in the bed, she must be on me. And not just on me, her head must be resting on my face. As in squarely on my cheek. And she plops it down rather roughly so if I'm not prepared and haven't positioned my face properly, she smashes my nose with her fuzzy noggin and rubs it around until my face is turned.

Needless to say this does nothing for my ability to rest with her.

I think we're on the mend (hopefully).

I have been joking with strangers lately when they comment on how fearless Ada is that is almost too fearless. Non ha paura di niente. Forse ha troppo coraggio!  I tell them. She runs up to any dog (including the gross one-eyed nasty we practiced being "soft" with at the park last week) and puts her hands right up in its face. She runs up to ledges and peers mischievously off the edge. She tries to scale everything in sight. Stranger danger has been replaced with "Hello, what's your name? I'm Ada and I'd like to sit on your lap."

But I found a weak spot in her intrepid nature: She bursts into tears—sad, big, scared tears—whenever I blow my nose.

Is it bad that I waited until she was nearby to double-check? As soon as I began the first blow, her lip quivered, her chin bunched up, her eyes got big and anxious and by the second blow the tears cascaded down her cheeks.

Oh those cheeks. I think I'll go kiss them now.

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.

Stake Conference and Venice

We were up early to catch the train to Stake Conference. I spent time Saturday preparing for the trip north (packing breakfast, preparing lunch, packing diapers, toys, snacks . . . I'm going to be such a pro at traveling by the time we leave Italy) and it was so worth it. After an hour and a half on the train and a short taxi ride to the hotel where conference was held, I was immediately impressed by how familiar the feeling of community at Stake Conference was.

On the way to Conference. Thanks Brianna for the photo.

 The meeting was centered of Family and what we can do at home to strengthen our families. It made me want to recommit our family to holding Family Home Evening each week, even if Ada only participates for a small bit of it (she folds her arms during prayers . . . most of the time). The talks were all in Italian except for one which was given by a woman from the military ward in our stake. They provided audio translations to English speakers. Mike and I shared one, but we tried not to use it (with Ada running a muck it was hard to listen much at all). I feel like we're beginning to get the hang of this language.

The meeting made me so glad that we are part of a ward in Bologna. It made me glad that we worship together in Italian and that our family is striving to be involved as much as we can.

After many families headed to a nearby park to eat lunches and let the kids play. Ada was exhausted and crabby, but finally calmed down after spending some time playing with Dad.

From the park we walked back to the hotel and bought bus tickets to head into downtown Venice. We went with a few women from the ward and felt lucky to have some tour guides. Mostly, I felt like the day whet my palette for heading back in April with my parents!

Ada and I waited outside the train station while the rest were inside buying our return tickets.

Family picture. Doesn't Ada look thrilled to be in Venice?

In Venice, a piazza is called a campo. Photo by Julie. It was her birthday.

Off one side of Ponte di Rialto

Add off the other side.

A glimpse at the Grand Canal. We didn't take a vaporetto down it. . . this time . . .

Ada got her own seat for about 10 minutes. Then the train got real full. Despite her little concerned face, she was a super-trooper the whole day. We love our little baldy.

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!