48 hours to go

I survived the first day of solo parenting with only a few panic attacks. We headed to a park in the city for a picnic lunch and then onto the Natural history museum again. I wrote my cell-phone number on the boys arms.

 We took our normal route home – discovering at about 1 hour past the melt-down, end-of-day, hungry, need the toilet hour – that our bus doesn’t go to the normal stop on Sundays – only part of the way there. I tried not to let the rising panic show in my voice and failed. With the cellphone running low on battery and realising that I have not memorised a single phone number in Italy, I called Roberto (Alison’s partner) for a re routing suggestion and we re-boarded the extremely hot and thronging underground train to take a second shot at finding our bus. We missed two trains while Gwilym insisted on sitting in passport photo booths and ‘boarding’ newspaper stands as imaginary rocket ships and calling people from the public phone boxes.  I dodged melt downs and tantrums (there were many opportunities for rides on ponies, dodgems, merry go rounds, bikes, miniature trains etc) and I listened to a continuous commentary from Silas about everything and anything for around 8 hours and at around 9pm, I lost a little patience.

I volunteered to cook risotto for Roberto (an Italian cook – how brave of me!) and started the time-consuming, laborious process on arrival home with two very dirty, tired, hungry, grumpy boys. Gwilym ate my expensive eye lubricating drops (yes – my eyes issues are still ongoing) while I sautéed the onions but the zucchini risotto was finally consumed and, after around an hour of negotiation, both boys are in bed and I give myself 7/10. My greatest complement of the day came from Roberto who said:” I cannot imagine how you manage to keep this up all day”. Thanks for noticing!

We wandered in the park with around a few hundred other Italian families whose favourite Sunday outing seems to be to head to the park with the kids.  It was a happy scene in the autumn sun, the falling chestnuts and the sounds of children let loose with their families.

 Once again, there were no shortage of mothers with towering high heels tottering after their toddlers and avoiding any traces of dirt on their white trousers while assisting their little ones on and off playgrounds (not to mention their spouses decked out in designer sunglasses, fine shoes, some fine-fitting jeans and a polo shirt). I would honestly love to get some photos to prove this but I am not yet brave enough to break all those privacy laws and put photos of complete strangers into my blog!  I am beginning to realise that the Milanese just do not find the opportunity to dress-down outside of their houses (with the exception of exercising maybe – which is rarer for women than men).

So, I am showing them how. A frumpy, dishevelled, make-up-free, flat-shoed kiwi leading the way. How attractive. Maybe I’ll try some eye-liner tomorrow.