Thursday, May 31, 2007

Sweat, Swedes and Swenanigans

Yesterday, when the Questura refused to give me my totally ready Permesso di Soggiorno for the umpteenth time (how many is "ump," you ask? I don't know, but I'm thinking enough to exasperate), I got back in the car where The Husband was waiting and La Bimba was sleeping and cried. We started to drive off and The Husband closed the windows. I reopened mine because it was sweltering and he shouted, "But she is sweating!" I shouted back, "I need air!" He shouted more loudly, "You want her to get bronchitis?!" I shouted from the bottom to the top of my lungs, "YOU DON'T GET BRONCHITIS FROM SWEATING IN THE HEAT AND THEN HAVING A WARM BREEZE WASH OVER YOU! BASTA!!!!"

The Husband let me leave my window open.

Sometimes you just reach your limit, you know?

There has been a lot of wind lately, lovely breezy days, which send the Neapolitans to take cover in doorways. They are offering constant fear-of-bronchitis comments to me and La Bimba and I have changed my response tactics. I used to either agree and assure them I would wrap a wool boa around her neck asap or disagree and lecture them briefly on the error of their logic. Now I stare blankly and walk away. Feels great!

La Bimba often gets called "la svedese," the Swede. I was at the park the other day and there a little blond boy with clear blue eyes wearing a white and navy blue sailor suit. I said to his mom, "Now this one really does look like a Swede."

He was actually a Swede. The "mom" was his Neapolitan babysitter.

I was thinking about starting to call Neapolitans "Naps" in this blog, but that got me thinking about JAPS, not the derogatory term for Japanese people, but the acronym for Jewish American Princess. We used to throw that term around like freshly blow-dried hair over our Jappy shoulders. It eventually became politcally incorrect to do so, so we stopped.

You can still find Italian American Princess t-shirts in Little Italy.

I was having a massive pity party the other day because none of my non-mommy friends call me anymore. Then I saw some of them and it turns out they are all having crises of varying degrees and they don't hate me. I felt like a heel. Why is it always so easy to imagine the worst?

Folks are gearing up for the Great Disappearing Act that is summer vacation in Italy. The Ghost Town effect doesn't hit until August, but the Slow Trickle Into Loneliness begins in June. We have about 50 ideas of where we want to go and when, but nothing planned except for a week in Sicily with the Nonni. I am really looking forward to some long floats in the Mediterranean.

I have been reading the expats in Italy blogs a lot lately and wishing I had the time and energy to comment, join some discussions, meet some challenges like the "____Needs" challenge posted by Sognatrice. I'll do a bit here:

1. Sima needs a really good immigration lawyer.

2. Sima needs to diversify support via partnerships.

3. Sima needs to be amended to restore that balance.
4. Sima needs you.

I do need you, I really do...and a good immigration lawyer.

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