Yesterday I forgot Damiano’s Bunny when we left the playgroup, and when I noticed it was too late to go back. Damiano had a very very rough night, taking him 40 minutes of desperate wailing and calling for Bunny to fall asleep, and then waking up several times in the middle of the night “Buuuunnnnnnnnyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!! Buuhuhuuuuuunnnnyyyyyyyy!!!!!” So we realized that said Bunny is very very important to him.
Today first thing in the morning we walked to the playgroup to recover the rabbit, and I realized that Bunny needed a full body transplant. Some weeks ago I had sewn a patch on his butt because Damiano had taken great pleasure in ripping the stuffing out and shouting with great concern: KAPUTTTTTT!!!!! But the patch soon proved ineffective: Damiano could still empty the poor bunny’s gut and ended up making holes on the patch.
The only solution was to take it all apart and make the bottom from scratch, maybe using a material other than stupid terry cloth.
So that’s what I just finished doing: extreme surgery, 100% successful.
I hope Damiano doesn’t mind Bunny’s new attire. I love it.
As I slowly realize that in more or less a month I’ll be busy with a newborn AND a two year old full time, I have started to tackle some issues around the house that I am very unlikely to address once Santiago, Damiano and sleep deprivation drive me totally insane.
One of these was the spice cupboard, that was not only a total chaos but it was also dirty and full of expired stuff, like a jar of curry expired in 2005, and full of empty spice pots and old jars. On Saturday I dragged my friend Katie to Innsbruck and we had a great morning sans kids at Ikea. I picked up these cupboard racks that I cannot find on their website, and I cleaned up that mess once and for all. Here it is:
Oh I’m always so kind to myself!!! I actually think this belly is very becoming. And it is becoming HUGE. Anyway, the real reason I’m posting this is because I’m freaking proud of my sewing non-skills. Today I grabbed this belly panel, these old jeans, and TA DAAAAAAA! Maternity jeans. So comfortable they feel like PJ’s. If you’re wondering why I sewed the front that low, it is because I had to get to the point where they weren’t tight, and that was, well, very low.
Ok so, first of all. Silly me. I’ve been living in Europe for more than 10 years now (ok, that just gave me goose bumps…). Why on earth didn’t I go to London sooner? truth is the sterling always scared me off, and I always went for “cheaper” places like Paris. So much for cheaper. Anyway. I LOVED London so much that I’m already a little sad because very likely it will be loooong before we manage to go again. Yeah, I know. It’s called depressive personality. Being able to leave Damiano with my in-laws was the smartest thing we could do, he was happy, very well behaved and of course they were also thrilled to have him all for themselves. Spending some time alone was great for Michele and me, it felt like the old times, when we were young and carefree. Now we’re just young. And not for long.
Here’s a little recount of our fantastic weekend:
On Saturday we had breakfast with eggs on toast, we went on a walk through the South Bank, we learned about brutalism, we panicked over my water breaking, we were silly enough to go to Oxford Street, we had a delicious lunch at Carnaby Street, we caught a brilliant comedy at Piccadilly, we walked to the Tate Modern, we loved it, we had dinner there.
On Sunday we went to Brick Lane and to Spitalfields Market, we loved both, we didn’t buy anything, we walked a lot, we had lunch there, we went to Liberty, I didn’t want to come away from that amazing shop, but finally we did, we went to Hamleys to get a Ninki Nonk for Damiano, we caught a Thames Clipper to Greenwitch, pronounced grenitch, we rested out tired feet, we went to grab sushi, we went to the Imax theatre and we saw the Watchmen which we loved, we came out to find the Tube closed, we found a night bus, left us 3 km from our hotel, we walked and walked and walked till I was having contractions but finally we made it and I was great to take our shoes off.
On Monday we took the plane back to Innsbruck. the end.
Posted by sol in images
Since I was bored I decided to start a band and record a debut album.
I play the violin and the mandolin, sing and whistle. Awesome. Anyone can do it.
These are the instructions. Bird in the hand, thanks you made my afternoon.
- Go to Wikipedia. Hit ‘random‘. The first Wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.
- Go to Quotations Page and select ‘random quotations‘. The last four or five words of the very last quote on the page is the title of your first album.
- Go to Flickr and click on ‘explore the last seven days’. Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover. I used the third picture down.
- Put it all together, then tell us about your album.
- Comment with the link to your album
- Unstructured data refers to (usually) computerized information that either does not have a data model or has one that is not easily usable by a computer program. The term distinguishes such information from data stored in fielded form in databases or annotated (semantically tagged) in documents. BLAH BLAH BLAH
- The complete quotation is:
Perhaps I am a bear, or some hibernating animal underneath, for the instinct to be half asleep all winter is so strong in me.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh
30 minutes sewing that is. A whole day trying to take the head measurements from a 2-year-old.
The lovely sweater was ruined in the washing machine. Damn, it was NEW. Now it is (was) too small for either my husband and brother-in-law, so instead of stowing it away for 13 years for my teenage sons, I decided to repurpose it.
If you wish, I can make a pattern available. All you need is a lot of patience.
It’s one in the morning, I’m wiped out, but I lost the use of reason a couple hours ago so right now it seems like a great idea to blog about this. On my last trip to Innsbruck to see my gynecologist I picked up these lovely oven dishes at IKEA. They are the perfect size for two, so tonight I made a total of 8 servings eggplant parmigiana. Parmigiana is the only way, apart from baba ganoush, that I’ll eat eggplants. Otherwise, I despise them. Anyway, parmigiana some freaking toil. OK bitches I’m off to bed.
Hi there! It’s been a while, I know. It’s just that well, I’m pregnant. And that’s a good excuse for anything, or almost anything.
This past week I spent three days away with my little one, since Michele was on a business trip to France and I didn’t want to stay alone in the house for so long. I went to visit some old friends near the Como lake, and then I went to Milan to meet with other friends and run some errands.
The last of those errands before coming back home was grocery shopping. Here in town there is only one supermarket, and it sucks ass (like, all the produce is imported from Spain, because of course Italy is a desert where only yucca grows…) And going to the vegetable store is like going to the jewellery. So I couldn’t resist and I bought tons of Italian veggies and other delicious things that are impossible to come across around here.
One of my favorite pasta dishes is fava bean carbonara, which is simply a normal carbonara with added fava beans, and pecorino cheese.. Yeah I know, I have to find a new name for it. Whatever. Tonight Michele and I spent quite a while shelling the damned things, and getting 200 grams of them out of 2 kilos pods.
These will go in the freezer chest I’m stocking to get ready for war. Ok, not war, but the arrival of Santiago in 2 months (yes I’ve been pregnant for 7 months already… holy shit) will certainly leave our table bare more often than not. So I’m making myself a favor, when my brain cells will be escaping through my nipples, at least I’ll have the time to dig for some food.
Posted by sol in life
My father died 6 years ago. They found him dead in his flat in Mexico City. They broke in. He died alone. He hadn’t heard his daughter’s voice for 3 months, and for years before that. The last time I saw him was 5 years earlier, when we said good-bye a few days before I moved to Italy.
His death caught me in a hard moment in my life and was one of the may shadow lines I’ve crossed along the way. My greatest regret is that I failed to see that if he was in my life then he certainly had a lesson for me and I never went to claim it. I’m so sorry I never got to talk to him about art and philosophy and music and poetry. He was a charming erudite and I wish I had half the curiosity for things that he had. He loved me dearly, I’m sure of that. I’m sure he’d burst of joy watching his grandson, and he’d undoubtedly notice the astonishing resemblance Damiano bears to him.
In the past six years, all the people I’ve met who had met my father have only good memories and words of praise of his sharp intelligence and sensitivity. I’m always left with a bitter aftertaste because I know that his life could have been different had he had a loving father himself. But in that case I wouldn’t probably be here.