Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Oh Baby/Bimbo!
Yesterday I went with my new friend Christina to go talk to the head of the "Testosterone" gym, let's call him the Peacock, about whether he wanted to hire me. It turns out he charges 80 euros a month to use the machines at his gym for the price of membership, but the lessons are free. He pays the instructors only 18 euros an hour so he was more than a little put off when I asked for 30, hoping for 25. He said that I would be paid based on how many people I got to come in and pay half the membership fee a month to just take my class a few times a week. Thank goodness everytime he strutted away from us to shake his tailfeathers and allegedly assist some poor bulked up woman who needed help setting the machines to an impossible level of weight or some teenage boy who had to follow one of the Peacock's formulas for bulking up, I had Christina, an expert business woman, to counsel me. In the end we decided it would be less hassle and more money if I just give lessons at someone's house.

Then I ran back to take T and Greta to babysit for the fabulous Louis, who just turned one.  Louis speaks baby language in French, Italian and now, most likely, in English. He goes to sleep without crying and is the most smiley, charming, little guy on the planet. Except, of course, last night he had a cold and was breaking in two new front teeth. He is learning to walk so his favorite activity is racing through the house pushing a little wooden bench like a drunk little lawnmower across the wood panel floors.

Whee!

Although, he woke himself up coughing a few times, he put himself back to sleep. I had to beg the girls not to run in right away to the crib and scoop him up. That's when I realized that this was not just a lesson in diaper changing, feeding, and head watching, but the hardest part of being a mother is sometimes just being able to wait stuff out.

I live to babysit!
Pay us in homemade quiche anytime!
Ooh la la am I ever cute!

So we played Truth or Dare, ate the fabulous homemade quiche that Louis' momma made for us,  read fashion magazines and made up dances until midnight when the tired parents came in from their big night out at the Ben Harper concert in Piazza Grande.



Louis' folks aside from being lovely, sweet, and producing very excellent quality babies, are also immune to mosquito bites. They keep the giant windows wide open and don't have screens like we do so despite all of the citronella in the world, I came home with a dozen tiger mosquito bites that immediately swelled up like new limbs.  The girls got zero bites and wore no protection whatsoever.



This post was brought to you by the letter B: Bites, Babysitting, and Bad Business.
Arrivederci, Brooklyn!

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