Sunday, October 28, 2012

Does not compute!
It's not that nothing happened this week; it's that I'm too sleep deprived to make sense of anything.

I have no idea what this is.
This is T's foot, leg, and polka dot purse. I found it in Iphoto.
1. I avoided going to the school elections because we have a sort of dud class and in the first year I was one of five mothers that showed up. They were so desperate for class representatives that they asked me, and I barely even spoke Italian back then. I said no. Then it turned out that you have no impact as a class representative and no way of contacting other parents except through a letter that is dictated to you by the professors about how bad the kids are. So I skipped last year and this year and was hoping that would be the end of it. Instead I got a call from T's math professor, who is the head of her section, asking me to come to school this week to talk to all of her teachers. During the transition period to the insulin pump T has been getting really low blood sugar values which is good because it means she needs less and less insulin, but it is bad because she has to stop what she is doing in class to call me.  Calling me is not the problem. The teachers know that she carries a kit with a syringe in it (called glucagan) in the unlikely event she would ever pass out from a low number. They called to tell me that they don't want that responsibility. Now I have to get a hold of the head doctor at the hospital in Florence to find out what the legal responsibilities are in Italy for teachers, if any. As it stands now they plan to call me and an ambulance and do nothing while she lays there unconscious. Good to know.

2. I have a class at the gym with just one person in it. They haven't taken it away from me yet, but it is really, super awkward and exhausting to re-teach a class I just taught to just one lady. It would help if I ever got a full night of sleep, but I don't. So I just wait around while the sweat freezes to my body and the remaining mosquitoes nip at me, eating a really gross nutrition bar that they sell there at the gym that tastes like a cross between plaster and carob. Remind me to buy the hot chocolate in the plastic espresso cups out of the machine instead, okay?

3. This woman who works at my gym and just had a baby asked me to personal train her. And since she had a famously stunning pre-baby figure and everyone knows her; it would be a huge coup to get her as a client. I have to find out about rates for co-workers and iron out the details since she prefers to workout at her home next to her baby. But if she gets the results that I expect her to, it would be better than making a commercial that airs every fifteen seconds on the RAI network.

4. T plans on being a dead flapper for Halloween. Her friend Natasha is going to be a dead Marilyn Monroe. To be precise, T says she will be the ghost of a dead flapper who killed Marilyn Monroe. They made a skit up about it in which Natasha does an eerie impression of Marilyn singing Happy Birthday, Mr. President.

5. Our election ballot thingy never came to us in the mail, and we don't know what to do about it.
Obama, if you can hear us, we are voting for you.
6. My dear, scientific friend Alessandro the interior designer has had an epiphany about life and the mind-body connection and keeps referring bioenergy clients to me. He seems to have a limitless number of friends with thyroid issues. They are all sweet and out there.

7. I am so stressed out that I started getting acne cysts not only on my face, but on my neck. It is very Halloween like, but not in a good way.

8. I may have found a house cleaning job for that woman Mary who came to the bread baking lesson, but I hope she got the cash together to get her phone charged because now I worry she won't pick up.


9. It turns out that I can speak Italian at home like my expat friends with Italian husbands, but it is going to cost me an army jacket for T. She gets the jacket only if she supports me in not saying a word of English for five days beginning on Monday. Desperate times, desperate measures.

10. Comix starts on Thursday and all of the piazzas are already filled up with big white tents in preparation for the thousands of manga costumed masses who are going to bring their multicolored wigs, fake blood, and almost nude selves to town for the event. T's school is closed from then until Monday, but I still have to get to work.

11. Our supply of test strips that T needs to use to test her blood sugar ran out and nobody wanted to give us any more of them so I had to borrow them from my friend who works at a hospital. Our supply of everything for the insulin pump did not show up in our pharmacy's computer which means we have nothing ready for the coming month and we have to go back to the hospital pharmacy to find out why. This put the DREAD in dreadful.

12. The other day Viv, the little girl T babysits, woke up and asked for T whose name is one of the four words she can say other than mamma, da da, bye, and now ciao, which T taught her. Technically she says bye-ciao, but she's still a bilingual genius. Her daddy Stephen followed a bunch of girls T's age with backpacks around, risking feeling extremely stalker-like, so that Vivi could see T at the gate before the school day started. Cuter than that does not exist.
This was weeks ago when it was warmer so please don't call the Italian scarf police on me. She's fine.

I apologize for the tacky list formula for today's blog post. You would totally forgive me if you were here today which is Sunday. It is pouring freezing rain outside, but that has not stopped the Lucca marathon from hooking up the loud speaker so that it blares at us. It is headache provoking and also alarming because although they are allegedly speaking in Italian, I have yet to understand one word. Is it bad to have a cocktail at 9:56 AM?

p.s. I guess F is exhausted, too. Last night Natasha was sleeping over. She and T had switched sides of the bed and F accidentally pricked Natasha's finger instead. Luckily she and T started laughing hysterically. F is mortified. Sorry Melissa, we promise not to prick your child in the future.

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