This is what Vernazza, Italy looked like when we were there in August.
and this is what it looks like after last week’s flooding.
The beautiful building we stayed out used to look like this:
But looked like this during the flooding:
Staying in Vernazza for five days was the pinnacle of our time in Europe and it makes me sick to see what’s happened to it. Our hearts go out to the wonderful people of Vernazza.
Within in hours of being back at work after our month in Europe my manger came over to my desk and wanted to know how the kids did on the trip. I told him, honestly, that they both did great. He smirked and said, “I thought you were crazy to take your kids on a vacation like that!”
He’s not the only one.
Since The King and I have planned all along to take our kids on adventures like this we had to plan things a little differently then if it would have just been the two of us. First off The King did a little internet research and found the roller bag most recommended for kids to use, at the best price. As soon as it arrived in the mail we made a pretty big deal about it to Babboo and hyped him up to use it on our trip. We loaded it for a test run and had him practice with it around the house. Babboo was excited to be considered big enough to be in charge of his own suitcase. The King and I were excited that he was finally old enough to help carry his own weight.
We knew the only time Babboo would actually have to pull his roller bag was when we went from hotel to airport/train station and vice versa. When we packed we made sure to spread our stuff out between the roller bag I’d be in charge of, the backpack The King would carry and the roller bag Babboo would have. That way if, Heaven forbid, something happened to one of the bags we’d all still have underwear and an outfit to get by. We kept Babboo’s bag as light as possible.
It worked out perfectly. Babboo was able to maneuver the bag over bumps and curbs and load into trains without too much assistance. If he got tired of pulling it The King and I were always there to take it for him for a few blocks. But overall Babboo was a trooper.
As always The King was in charge of carrying the brunt of the luggage. And, as always, he was also in charge of all map reading. He says he doesn’t like having all the directional pressure on him, but I believe differently. I know he secretly thrives on navigation all subway and train rides.
This time around I was in charge of Rerun. I too did some research on how best to navigate around Europe with a 11 month old. After trying out a few of my friends carriers I settled on the Ergo carrier. I saved up my birthday money and found one on craigslist. It was in good shape and the right price. Plus it and was black. (Which, let’s be honest, is my number one requirement!)
I carried my (not so) little baby everywhere we went. Including hiking in the Cinque Terre.
What I liked most about the Ergo (which is not paying me to say this) was that Rerun could take a nap while we went about our sightseeing. We didn’t have to go back to our hotel room and we didn’t have to feel guilty for not going back to the hotel room. He was perfectly happy sleeping all cozy up against me.
And while the temperature in Europe in August can get pretty high, I never got too hot. If I did get a little tired, which didn’t happen very often, The King was always willing to carry him in the Ergo on his back.
Even though it may not appear so, Rerun loved the Ergo.
Babboo was only two the last time we took him to Europe and therefore doesn’t remember anything from that trip. (He claims to remember that we let him pee on the beach, but I don’t know if I believe him.) He didn’t remember the glorious food in Berlin. Most notably the döner kebab. When he saw his first döner at the shop at Yorkstraße, which according to the locals is the best one, he audible gasped.
I admit I did too.
While we didn’t actively seek it out, we stopped at a remaining section of The Berlin Wall during our week in Germany. I told Babboo to stand by it so I could take his picture. I figured it would be a picture he’d like to see as an adult. He asked us both what it was he was standing by. The King and I looked at each other and just shook our heads. This was not the time or the place to get into the horror that is Hitler.
We spent some time inside Tacheles looking at all the cool art. Since it’s an abandoned building there were no lights and the place stunk like a sewer. The place made Babboo a little nervous and I thought about the juxtaposition of The Wall and the art at Tacheles and how it should have been the wall that made him nervous, not Tacheles.
While Tacheles is one of The King’s favorite things about Berlin, I personally love Tiergarten. Tiergarten is like the Central Park of Berlin. Babboo was disappointed with the park and made the comment, “how can they call it a park? It’s all just grass. There aren’t even any toys to play on here!”
Touché.
Babboo’s old enough now that The King and I can use him as sort of a tripod and we can finally get pictures of he and I together. Although, like his father, he prefers to be a little more artsy in his photo taking.
I reminded him time and time again that taking upside down pictures wasn’t as clever as he thought it was.
Sure the boys won’t remember details from this trip. But we had fun while we were there.
Next stop, Italy.
It’s been a little over a year since I pushed Baby Rerun out of my special lady-parts.
When he was first born I had a hard time looking at him and seeing him as an individual and not just as a baby. People would ask me who Rerun looked like and I didn’t have an answer. He didn’t have the dark hair his brother had, and what hair he did have was much lighter. Rerun didn’t have the eyelashes that Babboo had either. (This was a hard one for me considering Babboo’s lashes.)
He just looked like a baby to me. A super snuggly baby I loved with all my heart. But a baby none the less.
Rerun’s personality began to show the older he got. He loved to smile and grab at faces. As he got even older this evolved into him intently locking eyes with people (mostly stranger) and then smiling at you once he got your attention.
One of Rerun’s most favorite things to do is smack Babbo’s face. If Babboo is within reaching distance you can be sure that Rerun will be pounding on his head. Thankfully having his head pounded by his little brother is one of Babboo’s favorite things, so it works out.
(Here we are at the Eiffel Tower trying to take a nice photo. But NO, Rerun must hit Babboo’s head!)
It’s not just Babboo’s head that Rerun likes to pound on. He loves to bang on mirrors and windows.
We spent a lot of time on our trip to Europe trying to get Rerun to sit down on trains and “stop hitting the window!”
And then there’s the mirrors. He’ll start to bang on them which is then followed by him seeing his reflection and playing a game we refer to as “kiss the baby” in which he’ll start licking and kissing himself in the mirror. (Apparently he finds himself very attractive.)
In the last month he’s begun giving us kisses. I use the term lightly as mostly he just wants to lick our tongues. He refers to Babboo as “nigh nigh”, but has yet to figure out who “mommy” and “daddy” are.
He seems to have the whole sleeping situation figured out. He demands screaming out when he’s put in his crib but will stop in no less then 3 seconds. He likes to be swaddled and to sleep with his “sick bunny“. He nurses three times a day, but only if something better isn’t going on. He has no interest in television and will dance the second he hears any type of music. He prefers his Ergo carrier to the stroller and hates being in his car seat.
Rerun is a picky eater and prefers to eat pancakes and string cheese. Babboo, on the other hand, will eat just about anything we give him. (Including fresh sardines in Vernazza, Italy. I wouldn’t even try them.) And, also like his older brother, he likes to climb on everything. EVERYTHING! We never had to baby-proof our house before Rerun was born.
This little red-haired, picky eating, tongue kissing guy has been a part of our forever family for a year now. And I’m thankful for every second of it.
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Technically Rerun spent his first birthday on a plane coming home from Paris. Due to the time difference his actual birthday lasted more then the standard 24 hours. I wanted to commemorate his first birthday by taking his picture on the Eiffel Tower the night before we flew out. Unfortunately my batteries ran out and this is all I got:
(I swear he’s at the Eiffel Tower and that that’s Paris in the distance. I SWEAR!)
He’s changed a lot in this last year. Just look:
I’m not sure what I like most about this picture.
We’re back from our trip to Europe. It was great. Really great. Much better then the last few times we’ve been there.
And to answer the most asked question I’ve been getting, “the kids were amazing. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
There’s something I’ve been noticing a lot lately. I usually notice it when I’m waiting at the bus stop. Maybe it’s because that’s the only time in my day where I’m just standing there, doing nothing. My thoughts are wandering and then my eyes will start to wander and then…BAM.
There it is, a face tattoo.
And I’m not talking about the small, yet somehow both pretty and tasteful face tattoos like Kat Von D has.
I’ve seen some very odd face tattoos lately. When I see them it takes me aback and I find myself doing a double-take. I quickly feel guilty for staring but then I remind myself that I’m not staring at some unfortunate person who was scarred by a fire. This person wants to be started at. I mean right, the main reason someone would get a tattoo on their face is so that people will stare at them?
I wonder if I’m just noticing face tattoo’s more or if it’s a new trend and there are actually more people willing to commit to something on their face FOREVER? Hey, I’m all for trends. I’m fine with tattoos. It’s just the face tattoos that freak me out.
Maybe we have Ed Helms to thank?
But I doubt it. The type of person who would get a face tattoo isn’t the type of person that, I would think, would be super into comedy.
(Maybe I’m wrong.)
When I see someone with a face tattoo my first thought (after reminding myself that it’s okay to stare) is of their mother. Their sweet, sweet mother.
I picture a woman, maybe not that much older then myself, holding her precious baby in her arms and promising to always feed and clothe him. I see her wrapping him in a soft blanket and rubbing his perfect baby face as he falls asleep.
Fast forward eighteen plus years. The same mother is setting the table for Thanksgiving dinner. She carefully lays out her wedding china while she waits for the turkey to be done. She baked her son’s favorite banana cream pie and you can still smell it in the air.
It’s the next part of this little vision that makes me want to run up to the person sporting the face tattoo and yell, “what does your mother think about your tattoo?!”
I hope it’s a rhetorical question.
His poor mom didn’t ask for this. When she was baking the crust for the banana cream pie she didn’t think that when her precious son finally walked in the door she’d be trading that banana cream pie for face tattoo.
Seriously.
Why would anyone tattoo their face?
How can they do that to their mom?
I honestly don’t worry about the person with the actual face tattoo. I don’t spend time wondering what type of office allows it’s workers to have tattooed faces. I don’t try to picture how that tattoo is going to look once the kid is about 50 and their face starts to wrinkle. (Forget about what it’s going to look like in their eighties.) I just think about their mom.
I don’t know what I’d do if Rerun or Babboo showed up with a tattooed face at some point.
They can be darn sure they wouldn’t be getting any more banana cream pies. That’s for certain.
So tell me, are there a lot of face tattoos out there or is it just me?
(And what would you do if your kid came home with a tattoo on their face?!)
We’ve been having a great Summer of Fun (part deux) here at the holaisabel household. Too bad it’s only been summer in Seattle for maybe two weeks. Maybe. But those last two weeks have been a whirlwind. First my parents and sister came to visit. Officially they came up for my cousin’s wedding, unofficially they came to see my boys. (Which, of course, I don’t blame them.)
The King worked like a mad man the week before my family arrived and was able to get our guest bathroom DONE. This was a lot of work but he was able to get all the tile laid so that they wouldn’t have to shower in the boy’s bathroom. (And now I have four showers I have to keep clean. Kill me now.) We had a pretty good time with my family. I love weddings, especially ones where someone I love, love, love is getting married. And I love, love, love this particular cousin. (And no, she doesn’t read this blog so I’m not just saying that for her benefit.)
The day after my parents left town The King and I frantically washed the sheets on the guest bed and cleaned the guest bathroom so that May, my best friend that deserted me and moved to Reno, and her family could come and stay with us!!
This is the first time in two years that the entire family has been able to come visit. And whether or not they’ll admit it, I think our husbands were the happiest to see each other.
Boys aren’t too good about keeping in touch but The King and Mr. May picked up exactly where they left off when they moved away four years ago.
We took the kids to visit the neighborhood where we all used to live. The kids played in the park that is right across the street from our old house. I don’t think Babboo will ever forgive me for moving away.
The park is pretty awesome.
Eventually May and family had to head home to Reno. We drove as far as Portland with them and then we all stayed the night in The City of Roses.
We stayed in Portland a little longer to enjoy the beautiful sun. (Seriously Portland, thank you for the gorgeous 4th of July weather.)
While we’ve been having a blast I admit I’m a little sad that we won’t be here to enjoy August, which is the best part of summer here in Seattle. We’re taking both kids and heading to Europe. It’s been a few years since our last trip and our frequent flier miles and hotel points were starting to burn a whole in our pockets so we decided to pack up the family and go!
We leave in a few weeks.
Thankfully, as of this morning, our last hotel is booked. It’s official…we’re actually taking our two kids (one that will turn one while in Paris) to Europe. I’m pretty sure that classifies us as The Stupidest Parents in the World.
(Actually, I’m pretty excited about the whole thing. I’m sure the kids will be great. Repeat with me…THE KIDS WILL BE GREAT!)