Recollections

Yellow Hair.

~ Alessandra

I picked up my baby girl from nursery school one day and on our way home she asked me, “Mommy am I dopted?” I wasn’t sure I had understood her question and asked, “Why Topino?” (Little Mouse) “Because only I have yellow hair!” Amongst the five of us our Goldilocks was and is the only one with yellow hair; both her siblings and her parents have different shades of brown hair.

That day at school they must have talked about adopted children since there were a few in her year’s class. It must be a difficult concept to understand for a four years old, and observing the uniqueness of her hair color our Brainy Blonde (she was born and is one!) must have concluded she too was adopted. “I seem to remember somebody kicking in my tummy at all hours.” I told her. “I thought the little baby inside me was practicing to become a great soccer player one day*. Then I went to the hospital and came back with the most beautiful baby I could wish for!”

I proceeded to show her pictures of her American grandmother and Italian nonna, both true blondes, and pictures of her nonna as a child and young woman; whom to these days she resembles in an astounding way!

I wanted her to understand that adopted children are adored by their parents; I didn’t want her to think that her adopted little friends were less precious to their adoptive family than she was to hers. I explained that people adopt children for multiple reasons but they choose to do it and to give a loving home and upbringing to a child who otherwise might not have one. She seemed to be reassured; probably also by the fact that she, with her unique yellow hair, had come from where her darker hair siblings did, but surely her very caring little heart was satisfied to know that her adopted friends were loved and cherished as much as she was!

The playful beginning of what became magical years as a dedicated, very talented classical ballerina.

*The baby in my tummy was not kicking to practice soccer but to rehearse pirouettes, grand jetés and become a beautifully talented performer.

Goldilocks (center) in Medea at one of the Lincoln Center Theaters.

The day all our lives were upended.

~ Alessandra

That day the presumed safeness of our lives in the U.S.A. died.

It was a gorgeous day, the air was fresh in a turquoise sky; an ordinary Tuesday in September. I had taken the children to school, went back home and was about to get out again to run some errands when my husband called from the Financial District. There had been an accident: an airplane had hit one of the Twin Towers. His office was across the street from the towers and he didn’t want me to worry in case I heard of it on the radio. I turned on the TV and, like the whole rest of the world, witnessed the horrors of that day.

Credits: Philip Yancey
‘Reflections on 9/11’

All communications were dead and I couldn’t check on my husband’s whereabouts. When the second tower fell engulfing the whole area in a huge cloud of dust and debris despair engulfed my whole being*. I saw my life crumble in front of my eyes. What now? What about our children? I needed to be with my children! NOW! Like I could soak up some comfort and hope from their embrace.

My Goldilocks was in grade school and her siblings in middle school. A dear friend of mine with children in my middle schoolers’ grades offered to go pick them up while I went to get my grade schooler. Once I finally was reunited with all my children I learned that the morning had been a deeply traumatizing experience for the middle schoolers. For some truly incomprehensible reason the children with parents at Ground Zero, including mine, had been separated from the others. My kids unleashed their debilitating fear and spoke of all the terrorized children in the room with them; some were crying uncontrollably, some were praying, others hugged each other for comfort.

Somebody who had walked uptown for miles and was finally able to use his phone called in the early afternoon saying that he had seen my husband who, like everybody else that had been able to eventually leave the devastated area, was aimlessly ambling like a mosca senza testa (a fly without head) somewhere in midtown.

The afternoon was going by and I didn’t get any other news until between 6 and 7 pm my husband made it back. Always thoughtful, not to scare the children he had managed to somewhat clean himself up a bit. My bottled up dread and heart wrenching emotions of the day finally exploded in a tearful, “If they didn’t kill you I will!”

It was a most terrifying day that has left deep scars on all of us, but we were the lucky ones. My heart goes to the families who didn’t get their loved ones back home, to all the children who lost a parent, to all the first responders and rescuers who died or got sick while saving lives, to everyone who’s life was destroyed without hope of repair that day.

*Not being able to see and breathe my husband was suffocating and the thought crossed his mind that he might not be able to get out of there alive. It’s an unlikely and convoluted story of somebody who, after the first tower was hit, helped to evacuate his office building and was walking towards uptown when he was contacted by a frantic mother who asked him to look for her son who was staying at the downtown Millennium Hotel. My husband was back at Ground Zero when the second tower fell. The guy he had gone back to look for had safely been at a shoeshine.

They do it with Barbie in TV!

~ Alessandra

My May girl was about four years old when it became clear to me that if or when children are too quiet there is a disaster looming!

The nonni (grandparents) from Florence were about to come for a visit and I had planned to finish the stenciling I was working on in the entrance hall before their arrival. One afternoon my May girl had a playdate with a little nursery school classmate and they were playing in the garden, just outside the open door near me.

I had been concentrating on my painting progress when I heard…silence! It hit me that there was no noise or girls’ chatter coming from outside.

My little May girl with her somewhat salvaged hairdo, finally asleep after an interesting afternoon.

I poked my head out and, WHAT?! Locks and wisps of my May girl’s shoulder length hair were spread out on the grass and she was sporting a spiky hairdo about a couple of inches from her scalp. Her playdate had brought with her the new ‘cut and style’ Barbie doll and had proceeded to ‘cut and style’ my May girl’s hair with the little pink scissors that came with it; I have to believe with my little girl’s blessing.*

When I finally regained my breath I incredulously asked, “What is going on here?!” “I saw it on TV!” The little girl boldly informed me. “She is NOT a Barbie doll, is she?!!” I exasperatedly answered. “But, the hair grows back! I saw it on TV!”

Silly me! I had forgotten to ask the factory my baby came from to provide hair refills for her like the ones Barbie comes with!

*My little girl didn’t have a mirror while she was being so glamorously ‘styled’; when she finally saw herself you could hear her screams blocks away from us. I thought that either the Police or Fire Department, or both, would show up and I would end up behind bars for child abuse**. I run my little girl to my hairdresser to try and re-arrange her hairdo… as much as it was humanly possible under the circumstances. Don’t forget, her Italian nonni, who hadn’t seen their American nipotini (little grandchildren) for months, where about to visit.

Lesson learn! From then on I wouldn’t stop fidgeting unless there was a ruckus wherever the children were playing, whether it was with playdates or between themselves!

**Now that I re-think about it, a quiet prison cell with a nice book might not have been such a bad alternative to the craziness of that afternoon, and a few others that come to mind…Where is the Police when you need it?!

A tavola non s’invecchia!

~ Alessandra

In older times when food was local and fresh expecting mothers were eating healthy during their pregnancy, which is when fetuses get a sniff of food for the first time. Nursing time provides babies with nutrients and tastes that come from what their mother eats, and babies react to things they get through the maternal milk just like if they had directly ingested the actual food or drink. When our firstborn was a couple of weeks old (he was born the night before his father’s business school final presentation) I celebrated his father’s graduation with a glass of champagne. After the next feeding our baby, who usually demanded to be fed every four hours like a Swiss watch, didn’t wake up for a couple of feedings. It took us, young and inexperienced parents, a little while to understand why that had happened.

If introduced to healthy food during gestation and nursing time, children will more likely be willing to eat vegetables and fruits later on, when they develop their taste, between 4 and 7 years of age. Afterwords it becomes more difficult to introduce them to, or get them to try, new things. That is why it is so important to instill healthy habits in them from the very beginning.

I have found it a good idea to keep children interested in, and involved with healthy food: it encourages them to be less diffident about trying something they don’t know. With only my youngest one left at home while her siblings were in school, grocery shopping was a fun game. Keeping my toddler safely (for my safety, that is!) in the cart, I would ask her to point to a fruit or vegetable and literally run the cart towards what she had pointed at enjoying her giggles (it wasn’t always towards what I had meant to get, but thankfully often close enough…) She would later babble with pride to her older siblings about choosing the ingredients for the meal on the table.

Children love to play with water, and will be happy to wash veggies, while becoming familiar with the food they handle. They like to be asked for help in preparing a meal, which will encourage them to later eat with out a fuss the meal they helped to make.

Young children often have to taste a food several times before they accept that they like it; some patience, most often a great deal of it, from their adults will turn out to be more rewarding than endless stressful and messy battles of the wills!

In Italy there is a saying, “A tavola non s’invecchia!” (We don’t age while at the table!) Life has become so hectic that there is no time for the prolonged meals our ancestors were used to. Still, meal times should be happy times when memories are created, occasions to be enjoyed around the table with family and friends sharing meals nutritionally beneficial to all!

Buon appetito!


He’ll be President. Or Pope!

~ Alessandra

We are nearing the 2020 Presidential election and in case you are confused or disenchanted breath easier; I’ve got the perfect candidate for you!

I was seven months pregnant with my first child when I went to visit the White House with my suocera. We didn’t know what sex the baby was going to be, but my American mom in law, always light years ahead of her time, declared, “This child will live in the White House!”

A few years later my little boy and I were in the mommy and me program when the teacher asked me if he was born in the U.S. “Yes!” I replied. “He will be President!”

Our busy wana be candidate granted the press a brief interview while getting ready to tend to his mommy (his campaign manager) and me constituency.

Fast forward a few years and my little boy was, in fact, building his resume to become a formidable presidential candidate one day.

In the third grade he would be asked by the teacher to go from A to B to collect and deliver an eraser to him; he would eventually go back to the teacher with the eraser, but only after taking his time to visit H, J, W and Z to make sure his constituency was taken care of. “How are you doing?”, he would cheerfully ask his potential future voters around the classroom. Very politically savvy! (That filled me with pride, I am sure!)

He was always very in sinc with the environment; while his soccer team run the ball towards the opponents’ goal, he would make sure butterflies wouldn’t get caught in the frenzy by chasing them the opposite way. So brave I could cry! (Most probably did!)

His commitment to seniors had no parallel; after his group tennis lessons I would be called by ladies I didn’t know who would ask me if I was the lucky mother of such a considerate little boy, who gallantly made sure he chased and took back to them all the balls they flew into some bush or other outside the courts. “You should be proud of your son!” Of course I am! His unselfishness and community organizational skills were taking over his own personal gain. Truly commendable! (…still crying.)

There is only a glitch about his candidacy to the Presidency; his Italian nonna, with high hierarchy prelates somewhere or other in her ancient family tree, had plans of her own concerning our young fellow’s promising future: “Sara’ Papa!” “He’ll be Pope!”

NO PRESSURE AT ALL!

Lines and poke dots.

~ Alessandra ~ 1 Comment

After the all male deliveries in my husband family, and our own beautiful little boy, we had managed to brake with tradition and got two baby girls. By the time the first one was in nursery school her brother was dropped off at the big kids school around 8:15 am, while the nursery school’s doors didn’t open until 8:45. We usually spent that lass of time with a special cookie at the bakery and chatting between us girls in the car parked near the nursery school entrance. Once, while waiting in the car my darling May girl declared, “Mommy you have lines on your face!” REALLY?! I was in my mid thirties and until then had never bothered checking my face for lines. My darling daughter must have noticed the shock in my expression because she sweetly added, “Don’t worry mommy, you don’t have as many as grandmother!” PFEW!

The look in those eyes…
So sweet when they sleep!

Then, while both her older siblings were in the big kids school, it was our third child’s turn to wait in the car with mommy until the nursery school’s doors opened. We were looking at our faces on the rearview mirror once, and I was pointing to her the similarities between the two of us, “The same eyes, the same nose…” “But, mommy, not the same skin!” WHAT?! “Why?” I asked her. “Because you have poke dots on your face!”

My bicycle…

In a family of repeatedly just boys I had desired to also have girls. What is it that they say? “Careful what you wish for!” Or, like we say in Italy, “You did want that bicycle, now pedal!“

Aggiungi un posto a tavola!

~ Alessandra
Don’t wait up for us!

After the initial disbelief about not being able to return to the factory his baby sister, although she had been delivered missing the birillino… (see: Papa’ can fix it!), our first born and his new sister fell into an amicable enough relationship. He was protective and sort of possessive around her, and she seemed to trust her brother’s often less than orthodox initiatives definitely more than their elders did, mostly sporting an enthralled cheeky-toothless smile on her face when they were together.

Occasional sleepless nights, chronic exhaustion and the likes aside, we felt blessed and were enjoying our little offsprings when there was another knock at the door. My “I will keep going for the girl!” (see: Gun’s collection.) warning had been taken seriously because after our May girl, the first in my hubby’s family in 73 years, we welcomed another beautiful baby girl!* Add a seat to the table!

*Nope! No birillino, again! The factory must have discontinued them.

Our newest baby got into the groove of things in no time, soon managing to boss around her attentive older siblings who seemed happy to tend to most of her needs and whims at any pointing of her fingers towards what she wanted or wanted them to do for her. Because of that our Goldilocks didn’t need to actually speak for a while, the only word she felt was needed, mastered and uttered with great abandon was NO!

Pretty much the reality of those days…

Our Three Musketeers soon established an alliance that, harmless skirmishes aside, is very deep and strong to these days; to the delight of their elders they truly are each other’s best friends.

Tutti per uno, uno per tutti!
All for one, one for all!

A girl’s first and lasting love.

~ Alessandra

It is probably natural that little boys have a greater connection with their mother and little girls with their father. I actually shouldn’t say little as my father was always a very special influence in my life. Before I was 20 I already thought that I wasn’t going to bother getting married unless I found somebody like him. Our relationship wasn’t all roses and flowers, rose e fiori, like we say in Italy. There actually were times of deep disagreements and grudges, but he ultimately was the person I was trying to make proud of me, not an easy task!

There have been many fun and some awkward episodes concerning the two of us. The first time I had somewhat of a serious boyfriend I put a framed picture of him in my room. I soon noticed that my father didn’t look pleased when looking at that picture and brilliantly resolved to put a larger picture of my father next to the one of my boyfriend. (Daughter/Father Diplomacy Course #001)

One time, when I was around 20, my mom and younger siblings had moved to the country side for the summer while I had stayed in Florence with my dad because of my summer job. My dad and I often went out to dinner those nights. While at one of the restaurants a couple of gentlemen that knew my dad but didn’t know who I was entered and, although they passed right by our table, pretended not to see us. “Who is the young woman with him?”, they surely thought. Boy, gossipy Florence was sure to wake up to yet another juicy story! Too bad my mom knew all too well who the young woman was, and with much laughter, that became another fun morsel of our family folklore.

The girl/father special relationship was again obvious to see when it came to our first baby girl and her dad. The little creature was weeks old when she was claiming her father as her own, period! When their dad was coming home from work her older brother, a toddler, would gambol towards the door and throw himself to embrace his legs to greet him; his baby sister would start reclaiming her father’s attention, not stopping her shrilly remonstrances until he took her into his arms.

To these days she is the one who knows how to wrap her often stern dad around her finger, managing to achieve more of what is on her mind than the rest of us put together. Never underestimate a girl’s influence on her father! And vice versa!

Papa’ can fix it!

~ Alessandra ~ 2 Comments

I am sure most of you find that young children instinctively give a role to their adults in their mind; it usually is what they perceive one particular adult does the most. In our case it was like: mommy goes to the supermarket and papa’ (dad) can fix it!

Finally, after 73 years of drought, my husband’s family had a baby girl! And I had my May girl! Everybody was a winner. Our little boy, always very curios and observant, while I was changing his baby sister’s diaper one day noticed that something was amiss. “Mommy, she doesn’t have a birillino!” (little pin), he told me surprised and somewhat concerned; in his experience that was a piece she definitely couldn’t function without! Well, he was barely two, what was I going to say? “OH, no! I must have forgotten to put it there while she was in my tummy.” “Don’t worry mommy, we go to the supermarket and we buy one!” was his reassuring answer. “And papa’ can fix it!” Satisfied of the brilliant solution he had just thought of, he went back to his toys. Problem solved!*

Tings where not always smooth after we brought his baby sister home from the hospital. If at the beginning she was a peculiar novelty that fueled his endless curiosity, pieces missing and all, eventually he realized that she was there to stay. On second thought: couldn’t she be returned to the factory like we had done with the fire engine truck that had arrived with out one wheel?!

*On the other side of the coin, like we say in Italy, when one of my younger sisters, also barely two, saw our mother change our baby brother’s diaper, with eyes out of their orbit alerted her, “MAMMA! Look where he has a ditino!” (little finger). In her experience that was an absolutely superfluous item he was delivered with! Missing birillini, superfluous ditini: how confusing!