Two Worlds

Baby Boy and Mamma in Ischia Ponte © Photo by Antonio Gerenini

After battling a rash that was probably an allergic reaction to something and a terrible stomach flu that had him going diarrhea for seven days, Baby Boy finally started feeling like his old self again. He’s still dealing with teething, which is keeping us all up at night. But he was able to get out and about again. Our first stop was Ischia Ponte, where his father and I indulged in some fresh seafood before taking pictures of our boy in front of Castello Aragonese. To see the few sunny moments Baby Boy experienced while sick and just after recovery, visit the “Recovery” photo album.

We spent my first Mother’s Day with the family at home, and Baby Boy and his papa’ gave me a lovely bracelet that is pink and looks like rope but is actually copper. Very cool. The best gift came from Baby Boy a few days before Mother’s Day when he said mama for the first time. Finally!

Baby boy climbs into the laundry basket for fun. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

Even though I’ve been visiting Ischia since I was 2 years old and I’ve been married to my Ischitano husband for nearly four years, I still experience some form of culture shock every time I step foot on the island. This time around might have been the worst yet. My seven-month-old son had diarrhea for seven days straight. There was one day that he made a total of 10 poop bombs. He cried. I cried. On top of this, he already a rash of red bumps all over his back and bottom. With the diarrhea came diaper rash. At one point, he had the rash, which we thought was some sort of allergic reaction, and the diaper rash at the same time. His backside looked like a tomato and it probably felt like a hot pepper.

When the pooping first began, since he already had the rash, everyone, including the doctors here attributed it to some sort of allergy. Meanwhile, there was a stomach virus going around the island. After a few days and some cortizone cream, the rash started to go away, but the diarrhea became more intense. We tried one medicine that seemed to put my baby in a catatonic state, which scared the bejeezus out of everyone. We took him to the hospital, where they found that he was hydrated but gave him different medicine to control the diarrhea. On the eighth day, despite still pooping a little too often, the diarrhea finally stopped.

I was worn out from the culture shock. It came in the form of my inability to voice an opinion over his medical care. I don’t know the medications here or the terminology for different illnesses. The doctors were perfectly kind and gave me good direction. (In fact, the main doctor he sees here is my cousin and she’s an excellent physician.) But because you’re in another part of the world with their different ways and beliefs, you’re at the will of others. My in-laws and husband directed me on what to feed the baby. I had little choice because I also have to use what’s available here. He lived on cream of rice, fennel tea, and my breastmilk for weeks. Now, he’s finally eating some good ol’ fashioned American oatmeal again, and he’s just starting fruits and veggies. Even though I’m the mom, I didn’t have much say. I had to let go and trust the folks here. Although I’ll be grateful when I’m back in my own element and can call the shots with my own kid, I’m glad everything turned out all right. And Baby Boy is finally feeling better. Through it all and to his credit, he always had a smile on his face.

Finally, the sun was shining in Ischia and we could go outside. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

During the winter in the States, my niece would always stand by the door or window and say, “Outside.” She wanted us to take her outside like we used to when the weather was nice and warm. I would explain that it was too cold and it became dark earlier than it had during the summer and early fall, and we couldn’t go outside. And she would respond, “Outside.” I’d explain again, and she again would say, “Outside.” I think you can imagine how the next hour would be for us. Well, for the entire time we were in Ischia, Enzo and I were up at the window, saying, “Outside.” We couldn’t go outside either. It was raining, cold, damp – one big mess. But last weekend, the stars aligned and Antonio did not have to work and the sun was shining long enough for us to take a couple of walks. It still wasn’t hot, but lovely enough to finally go “outside.” Join us on our walks outside by clicking on the photo album, “Outside in Ischia.”

Week three also brought a big milestone. Enzo said his first word – papa’. We thought it might be a fluke, but he has said it a million times since. He says it every time he’s crying and annoyed that mamma is trying to change his diaper or clothes. Most of the time, he yells it. Papaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa’! My husband is thrilled, but you can imagine how I feel about it.

Our laundry air dries outside in Ischia. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

Here in Italy, women take laundry to a new level. I have always considered myself capable. I know how to use a washing machine and detergent. Since my son was born, I have been dealing with milk, poop, urine, and baby food stains with a little bit of Oxy-Clean or some brown soap. I can work a little magic. But these Italian ladies never put their clothes in a drier, wash many things, including delicates, certain sweaters, comforters, and the like, by hand. And they know every product – heavy duty stain removers, special fabric softeners for different kinds of fabric, fabric stiffeners for shirt collars, you name it. If it rains while laundry is out to dry, they run outside like wildfire and get everything down and under cover in seconds. If there was an Olympic game for this, they’d win hands down.

When the laundry is all dry and inside, they iron it. They iron everything – underwear, sheets, even rags. Their irons look like something from another planet. They have a big box under the iron plate, which you fill with water to make steam. They are industrial sized, and they sell special furniture to contain all their ironing equipment – the ironing board, fabric sprays, a tray or two to put folded clothes that have been completed. When it is closed, this furniture looks like a small pantry or cabinet. When their work is complete, these clothes look like they are ready to go on sale at the GAP. They are perfectly folded or on a hanger chic and fabulous. Meanwhile, my laundry is in a pile on the bed after I bring it in from outside here in Ischia, and I fold it as quickly as possible. And I almost never use my professional iron or the piece of furniture for ironing. It looks great with my runner on it, and we have put some pretty candles on display on top of it. I guess I have learned the art of laundry, but I’m not practicing the art of laundry – at least not yet.

Jaci with the kids © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

We’ve been in Italy two weeks now, and Enzo seems to be having fun despite a rash on his back and bottom, a lack of sleep, and a disheveled mamma, who he may or may not recognize. He does, however, seem to miss everyone back home, especially Aunt Jaci and Maria, with whom he spent lots of his time during his first six months. Of course, he misses Nonno Pasquale, Nonna Regina, Zio Giovanni, and the rest of the gang in America, too. But Maria and Baby D in Aunt Jaci’s belly are his best playmates since they are closest to his age and size. He’s bummed he will be missing Baby D’s entrance into the world. I can tell. Still, I’m sure Enzo and Baby D – and Maria for that matter – will make up for lost time and get into all kinds of mischief together. We have plenty of time for that. I’m also certain Enzo will have big smiles for them whenever we see them all in person next because he sure has them for everyone here. (In honor of our nostalgia for home, I have put together a photo album featuring our American family. Check out “Enzo in America” to see what we did just before we came to Italy.)

Today, I can sing a new song to Enzo, “It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old mamma is snoring/She went to bed with a bump on her head and she couldn’t wake up in the morning.” It’s been raining and cold here for a week straight. It’s so cold that you don’t want to get naked to put on your pajamas, and the toilet seat in the bathroom feels like an ice cube on your bum. I wear two sets of pajamas (one of which is made entirely of fleece) and two pairs of socks to bed every night. My scarf has become my favorite accessory while my pals in the States are already in summer gear. Ugh! And yesterday, after a night of zero sleep and an onslaught of three deadlines, some of which I am still completing, I accidentally slammed my head into the corner of one of the kitchen cabinets here. I have a rather large bump on my head and a raging headache. Thank God I bring Advil with me wherever I go.

Come to think of it, my head has had lots of woes lately. This week also marked Enzo’s first poop bomb in Italy. It was fabulous. I pulled his pants off and didn’t realize a mountain of poop fell out of his pant leg. Enzo sat in this pile, smacked his hands down in it as if it was a fluffy pillow, and then smeared it in my hair. Then, I had to carry him naked with a bottom brown with poop all the way to the other side of the house, where he takes his baths. My sisters-in-law proceeded to help me wash him a bit earlier than usual. It wasn’t until later that evening that Antonio was sitting next to me talking when he jumped back in his chair with disgust and shouted, “You have poop in your hair.” It sounded more elegant in Italian, by the way. I didn’t realize the baby had put it in my hair. I had to take my second shower of the day, and now Antonio finds it hilarious to tell me about a stunning new invention – hair gel, which he says works better than poop. I may never live this one down, folks.

Baby boy dries off after bath time. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

I’m not sure if baby boy is saying ciao or fight the power in this photo. It is kind of hard to tell when he’s taking a bath and just afterward. He’s one great baby, except for two flaws. He doesn’t sleep at night, and he is constantly trying to run away from us. He is now crawling, both on his belly army style and on all fours. Whenever I get his diaper off and try to change him, he quickly rolls over onto his belly and takes off naked across the bed, on the changing table (which is more than terrifying), and on the floor. I have had to learn to put on a diaper and all his clothes, while he’s crawling. This is no easy task. He pulls these same shenanigans after his bath, but since he always has an audience at bath time – namely his cousins and aunts – there is always someone to help hold him down and keep him from falling.

What I’ve learned in the last week is that you can diaper a baby who is in motion and on his belly by wrapping the diaper around his bottom and then lifting his legs to slide the front of the diaper into position. Then, you just have to adhere the adhesive from behind. It’s easier to pick him up and have someone else slip on his pants and socks. If no one is around, pick him up, sit him on your lap and put his shoulders under your arms to hold him down while you put on his clothes. Finally, when you must, catch him by at least one leg, so he doesn’t fall and hit the ground. I had to do this on Pasquetta as Baby Boy nearly crawled off the bed while I was changing him. Suddenly, parenting and heart attacks were synonymous!

Enzo dressed in his Sunday finest on Easter. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

So, my husband and I finally arrived in Ischia, Italy on April 1. We brought our baby boy, at just six months old, to meet his Italian family. Despite the first hour on the plane in which baby boy had a meltdown and thoroughly annoyed the people sitting behind us, the rest of the trip was cake compared to what I had imagined. Now that we’ve been here, baby boy has been getting everyone to fall in love with him. He’s all smiles and giggles. And his first Easter, despite rainy and cold weather, was sunny and warm. (To join in the fun, visit the “Italy Week One – Easter” photo album.) Wait until you see the rest of the pics of him in his snazzy suit! Keep an eye on the site for weekly updates from the Boot.

Busy hands make gnocchi. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

Over the weekend, my husband and I attempted to make gnocchi, potato pasta, by hand. Now, I have made gnocchi many, many times with much success. I use Lidia Bastianich’s recipe, and it usually takes an entire morning to do it right. I spend much time focusing on it, making sure the potatoes are boiled just right and that I don’t over knead the dough. It’s a delicate dance. If you work with the dough too long, then you will have heavy gnocchi. If you work the dough too little and therefore add less flour, you will have mushy gnocchi. Or, in the case of my mom, who attempted gnocchi just once, you will have no gnocchi at all. Hers disintegrated when she put them in the pot of boiling water, so we had potato water.

My husband and I decided that we wanted to go to church on Sunday morning, which meant having to make the gnocchi the night before. I had never done this before. We would have to do freeze the gnocchi. And, because we were making them at night, we’d have to work as quickly as possible because of our son’s bedtime and sleeping patterns. I should mention that I’m terrible at night, especially now that I have an infant. We didn’t take the necessary time or have the necessary patience to get the gnocchi just right. Our attempt at freezing the gnocchi was a failure, too. On Sunday, when my parents arrived for their Valentine’s Day lunch, we basically served them potato goo with sauce on it. It was a big disappointment. The lesson I learned is that you can not take shortcuts. I needed to stay home on Sunday morning and spend the entire time focused on the gnocchi. They would have turned out much better, and we would have enjoyed a more satisfying meal. That’s true for just about anything. Everything will turn out better if you pay attention, focus, and take the necessary time to do it. There are no shortcuts in life. Period.

Babies make the family go round. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

Since I gave birth to my son, I have realized a great many things that I hadn’t before. I’ve decided to share “What I’ve Learned” in this blog. So, about once a week, you can tune into this blog to find out about one of my valuable lessons.

I’ve spent much of time recently reflecting on my extended family. In a short time, the landscape of our family has radically changed. People who were very much apart of the everyday happenings of our family are no longer with us and new people have joined us. We have a different look. Attend a family celebration today and compare it to the past and you’ll notice new faces, those who are missing either by death or by choice and new leaders emerge as people grow and mature. Sometimes, these changes are unbearable. It’s hard to go on when you’ve lost someone you love. Sometimes, the changes are a dream come true. Just think about the first time you held your baby in your arms. What I have learned is that no matter how sad you are by certain changes, you may as well embrace the change as soon as possible. It’s inevitable and there’s nothing you can do about it. Of course in the case of those who have passed away, you should always keep them in your heart, and you must share your memories with the newest members of the family. Embracing changes, rather than fighting them, however, is the only way to go on.

Admitted is a great book for those thinking about applying to business school. © Photo courtesy of Betsy Massar

You might recall that I mentioned I had worked on two books. Well, the first of the books, Admitted: An Interactive Workbook for Getting into a Top MBA Program (85 Broads, 2011), is officially completed and available for purchase at Amazon.com and AdmittedMBA.com for $24.95 and downloadable chapters are available at AdmittedMBA.com. I worked as a consulting editor for Betsy Massar, the book’s author and founder of Master Admissions. It was a wonderful experience, and since I was pregnant while working on it, I feel like I’ve now delivered two babies – my son and the book.

Admitted is the perfect book for anyone who has ever thought about applying to an MBA program. Unlike the other books out there, this one helps people reflect on the decision to go to business school and the application process itself. It’s a lifesaver when it comes to writing the admissions essays because it offers activities that prompt you to truly think about your strengths, weaknesses, and the way in which you should craft your story. I have been writing about MBA admissions for nearly a decade, and I can honestly say (even though I admit my bias) that there aren’t any other admissions books like this one. It’s truly unique for its activities and ability to help applicants thoroughly dissect the admissions process, so they can turn in the best applications possible.

Good luck to all those applying to business school!