It's gotta be said....

WARNING: The following may be offensive to some. I realize that I am over generalizing, but if you don't like it, stop reading. If you disagree, good...I like stirring things up.

I have come to a conclusion about the younger men (the twenty and thirty-somethings) of Italy. They fall into one of two categories: either smoking hot and manly or scrawny and girly.

Let's start with the guys that would be getting stuffed into lockers and trash cans if they were in the States. I'm not saying they look nerdy or gay...ok, maybe gay, but I am saying that there are not a lot of masculine qualities being exhibited. If one of these guys were on a scooter with a helmet, you could go 50/50 on whether or not it was a dude or a chick. Most of them are smaller than a 12 year old girl. We were at a shopping mall, and had a guy pass us wearing two pairs of jeans. One over top of the other. And the one on top couldn't have been more than a size six. I'm happy if I can squeeze into one pair of jeans, let alone two. And let's not even talk about what it would take for me to fit into a size six again.

When winter comes, it will be even harder to discern the guys from the gals. They'll be all bundled up in their uni-sex clothes, and the scarves will cover up the facial hair.

At first, I thought all Italian men were the size of middle school girls and wore purple. But then....there he was. His body was built like Michelangelo's David...chiseled and rock hard. He was the only man I had ever seen who could make a banana hammock (weenie bikini, speedo, whatever) look good. He was standing there by the side of the pool speaking Italian into his phone, so I knew he wasn't "one of ours."

It was then that I figured it out...there are a handful of amazingly gorgeous, well-built Italian men who have taken all of the men hormones for their culture, leaving only girly hormones for the other thousands of men.

Our Soldiers Are Coming Home

Dear Friends and Family,

This weekend, I watched a movie with my husband called "Restrepo." It is an independent film that is showing in select theaters throughout the States and will be coming out on DVD soon. If you would like to learn more about it, you can check it out at restrepothemovie.com.

The movie follows the soldiers from the unit my husband is currently assigned during their previous deployment to Afghanistan. These soldiers are doing another tour in Afghanistan, and are due to come home within the next few months.

I am embarassed to say, because as an Army wife, I should have understood what the deployments were like for the soldiers. But I truly had no idea. Restrepo opened my eyes. These soldiers spend a year living in tents and plywood structures. They sleep in the dirt. With their main outpost miles away, they eat MRE's day after day. These soldiers are not sitting in front of computers. Phone calls to loved ones may come monthly, if at all.

When the soldiers return, they will have with them only what they can carry in their rucksacks. Everything will be covered in dirt and grime from a year of rough living. The soldiers who have families here in Italy will return to warm meals and welcoming homes. But there are 75 soldiers in my husband's company who will return to an empty barracks room. With a few thousand soldiers returning in the next few months, our P/X (shopping area) will be sold out of many of the linens and bath items.

Our Family Readiness Group ( a group of wives and children of soldiers) is hoping to prepare the barracks rooms to provide a warmer welcome for these boys who have given so much of themselves. Back in August, we sent out a mailer to the parents of the soldiers in the States. We have received a lot of items, but we are still falling short.

If you have any desire to help make a soldier's homecoming more welcome, please send me an e-mail and I will give you an address. The military is providing sheets for the beds, and shower curtains for the showers. We would love to have towels, shower gel, and razors in their rooms. If there is anything else you would like to send, I'm sure it will be welcome. If you know of any groups that would be interested in helping out, please give them my name and e-mail address and I will contact them. I realize it's short notice, and I apologize for that. Seeing that movie was such an eye opening experience, and it compelled me to do something.

Thank you in advance!
Love to everyone!!!!
Ciao' for now!

A bicycle built for two....or three

Short blog, but one worth writing about. Since living in Italy, I have seen the strangest people riding bikes. I told you about the guy carrying the umbrella wearing a long fur coat with a sequined hat. There have been people riding their bikes while smoking cigarettes, talking on their cell phones, and eating gelato. Some doing all at the same time. There was the bike with three adult passengers, one on the seat, one on the handlebars, and one on the back rack; the lady with the baby in a snuggly (frightening); and countless people toting their weed whackers (no...get your mind out of the gutter...I'm literally talking about the garden tool). They carry them over their shoulder while pedaling, hanging out of the basket on the front of their bike, draped across the handlebars, and in one instance, attached to a hand truck he was pulling behind him. Yet, for all of the toting of weed whackers, there are a surprisingly large number of weeds around. I truly don't know where they're whacking. Today, however, I found the muse for this blog. There was a guy pedaling his bike carrying a CHAIN SAW! If you've never carried a chain saw, they are rather heavy, and they have very sharp teeth all along the blade. I don't even want to carry one while walking, let alone negotiating traffic on a bicycle.

But, I think I've figured out why there are so few traffic accidents in Italy. Yes, the drivers are crazy and aggressive. However, because of all of the crazy obstacles we come upon while driving, you are forced to pay attention...lest you shall lose a side-view mirror to a chainsaw carrying biker.

Ciao' for now!

Where's my manual????

The government spends billions of dollars evaluating programs to find out whether or not they work. I know this because our current First Lady is working to examine the programs that are in support of military families. My suggestion to her, instead of spending the money to take an in-depth look at existing programs, why don't you put that money into the countless programs that already exist that have run out of funding due to the many military families who have found them helpful! Wow...what a concept! See...that is logic. I have learned as a parent that many decisions I have to make are as simple as looking at things logically.

If my children had come with manuals, similar to the 112 page book in five different languages that came with my hand mixer (seriously...if you need 112 pages to help you figure out how to use a hand mixer, you probably shouldn't be in the kitchen) I may not have to make so many decisions on my own. Logic wouldn't play a part; I could simply turn to page 43 and read their steps for handling the crisis of the moment. But, alas, no manual.

So, when my four year old refuses to get dressed in the clothes that I have laid out in the morning, because he wants to wear his Buzz Lightyear pajamas, there is no troubleshooting section to turn to. Decision time. Do I let him stay in the pajamas? Yes, if we are just taking his older brother to the bus stop. No, if we are going to meet his new teacher for PreSchool. First impressions being what they are, I don't want him to be "that kid" and I certainly don't want to be "that mom."

And then, there are those moments that no book would cover. When the same child calls to you from the bathtub and says, "Hey, mom, look at this!" it's decision time. What are the chances that whatever he has to show me is something I want to see? It could be a turd. Or maybe he found my razor and decided to shave his head. Or, like in the instance of tonight, he'd want me to see the little dancing toy he had suctioned onto his weiner. Such a treat, parenthood.

Ciao' for now!

Customer Service, Italian Style

If you've been reading my past blogs, you would understand that my experiences here in Italy have been marred only by two things. The first, my dissapointment in Northern Italian cuisine. The second, getting help with having anything fixed takes FOREVER. Well, after this week, I can no longer begrudge the Italians on that one. On Wednesday, with a laundry list of tasks to complete, my youngest son and I set out. We hopped in the car, and away we didn't go. The car wouldn't start. It didn't sound like the battery, and I knew that I had driven through some really deep water during a surprise rain storm on Tuesday. So, I did what any woman would do. I called my husband. He had no clue what to suggest. I guess my errands would have to wait.

I called the auto repair place on our military post, and was told that they wouldn't fix the car, but if I wanted to, they could come and tow it (for about $40), and I could fix it there. (Seems you can rent a lift and tools). The guy said from my description, it sounded like the fuel pump which would run anywhere from 35 to 150 euros. My Girl Scout badge in Automotive Maintenance failed to cover replacing fuel pumps, so I thought this may be a bit out of my league.

Frustated that I may have to wait until my husband had the time off to fix it, aka never, I walked to the nearby FIAT dealership. In my very little Italian, and the guys very little English, he understood that my car was "kapput" and that I had walked there from my house. Next thing I knew, there was a mechanic pulled around out front prepared to give my son and I a ride to our house to check out the car. WOW! I almost fell over. You mean I wasn't going to have to wait a week?

He drove my son and I to our house, and proceeded to tinker with the car. He signaled to me that he had to go back to the garage to get something, but that he would return. Which he did! He proceeded to tow the car back to his garage, and told me I could pick it up in 2 hours. Are you kidding me???? I kept thinking, OK, this car only cost us $100. It's probably going to cost me $500 to fix it. Damn language barrier. But, hey, I was desparate, and the guy had just driven off with my car...AFTER doing a home visit to try and fix it.

Two hours later, when I went back to the dealership, it was ready! And the bill....are you ready....51 euro! For everything! I must have said "Grazie" a thousand times. I told my husband I want to invite the mechanic to Thanksgiving dinner. (I'll tell you more about Thanksgiving later).

Ciao' for now!

It's me or the mountain, baby!

During my six week trip to the States, where I gorged myself on all of the flavors of home that I had missed so much, and used Dunkin Donuts as my personal therapist, hey, $6 a dozen is way cheaper than $200 an hour, I wasn't QUITE ready for my husband's plans for a day together.

Our oldest son would be in school for the day, and I signed our youngest up for a day back at his preschool class. It was just me and my man! He packed our bags (impressive, just one of the reasons I love him) and off we went for a little hike.

The road to get to the place we were going to hike from was a little squirrely. It was a paved road, how they got the equipment up there to pave, I don't know, but it was barely wide enough for one car. And, if we drove a little too far to the right, we'd definitely have a chance to test out the roll bar on our jeep. We arrived at the parking lot for the hikers. There was a really nice path off to the left. From what my husband told me, it led through tunnels that the Italian Army built during World War I to use in order to get through the mountians. By the way, these are not your regular mountains, these are the Dolomites, the Southern tip of the Alps. These are American mountains on steroids.

However, it was not our plan to take that route. Oh,no...not us. That route is for children...beginners. Not people in the great physical shape that we are in (or..at least were in 20 years ago). We started out on a trail that was quite steep. Let me give you a little picture of what we were up against. Turn to your left. Do you see that wall? Start walking! Oh, and don't forget to include some loose rocks, tree limbs, and narrow your wall down to about 8 inches wide with a bone-breaking fall to your side. Then, for good measure, put prickly plants on the ground on both sides of the trail so that when you reach down to help steady yourself as you climb that wall, you get mini thorns in your hands. Sounds fun, right?

The next part added some rock climbing, now we're talking! Followed by a hike along a beautiful ridge. The views were spectactular. And the temperature drop was refreshing after our little hike. We could see for miles. After 2 1/2 hours of hiking and climbing, we came to the part where our bags came in handy. It turns out he hadn't packed us a picnic lunch. No wine and cheese. Nope. It was filled with climbing gear. A harness, gloves, hat, and some ropes and things called lobster claws. We adorned ourselves with our gear and climbed another section of rock. The gear was to save us if we happened to lose our stepping or grip, since we were about 200 feet up on the side of a mountain. As we rounded a corner, we came to a ladder. It was bolted into the side of another peak and led to another area of climbing. Seriously? We're going higher? I'm not afraid of heights. I'm not even afraid of falling from heights. But I was a little nervous climbing up a ladder that was 3000ft above sea level. And MAN, was it chilly. It wasn't refreshingly cold. It was, "where's my sweater and gloves" cold. And when you're climbing a ladder that far off the ground, (yes mom, I was attached to the ladder with my harness), you don't want your fingers to be numb.

From there, it was a lot more of the same. Up, up, up...over, over, over. By this point, my legs are hurting me, and my rear end is questioning whether all of those donuts were really worth it. We hit a point called the "saddle". It's this area where you climb (or slide...you choose) down a football field embackment of rocks and then get to climb back up a field of rocks on the other side. It was at this point that the Angels of mercy shined upon me, and my dear husband asked if we should hike over to the trail instead of heading back up hill. Maybe it wasn't the Angels of mercy. Maybe he just saw that I was exhausted, or maybe "Are you kidding me?" had come out of my mouth just one too many times. Any way around it, I chose door number one. It's trail time!

This is where we learned that not many people take the easy way out. We know this because a path sort of started to lead us over to the main trail, but then, it disappeared. What do we do? Do we turn back? We could see the main trail in the distance. We knew where we needed to head. My boyfriend Bear Gryls (star of Man vs. Wild, and only I know he's my boyfriend...he's not yet aware), taught me some important navigation skills, so I said "Let's move on." Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl. Where were the Discovery Channel guys who plan Bear's trips out before he takes them? The first part wasn't bad...just more hiking. No trail, but nothing major to get over. And then there were the rocks. Oh...and the snake. Yes, a snake. Beings I don't speak much Italian, I couldn't ask it if it was friend or foe, so I just figured it was foe and changed my path. But, once you see one snake, you wonder how many of it's friends are around. Add snake-anxiety to the fun! We finally saw the trail just below us. The only thing in our way was 10 feet of pine trees. And no, not pine trees where you can walk beneath the branches and be impressed by their beauty. These were pine trees that had been knocked down over time and were growing along the ground. We had to climb over and through the piney maze to get to the trail. Have you ever had a pine branch hit you in the face? I have. Not fun.

But we made it. We reached the trail and headed back on the hour and a half walk back to our car. Was it worth it, definitely. Will I do it again, you betcha. Will I forego the donuts...better believe it.

Ciao, ciao for now!