anna in med school

Oh, our sweet one-year-old!  A year and six days!  

We spent her birthday relatively simply.  I’d read somewhere on a blog about the tradition to have one friend over when you turn one, two friends at two, and so-on.  I like that idea; keeps things grounded (because even 12 kids at 12 doesn’t sound too extravagant).  So we suckered our friends Sam, Jill, and little Charlotte over for dinner–we may have even forgotten to mention that it was a birthday, whoops!

I couldn’t help but wrap as many things as I could: new clothes from her grandparents and great-grandparents; a toolbox (a purple and green one!) from her Popop; little Hedwig from Kathleen; a funky singing flashlight-y thing from Doria; a magic wand from Stephanie.  She made out like a bandit!  And she, not surprisingly, took much delight in destroying the wrapping paper.

I have been a little nostalgic recently, thinking about my own mother and how special birthdays were to her.  She used to make the best chocolate cupcakes with white icing that she let us bring to school.  I wish I knew the recipe.  But I do have her old recipe box (one of those old wooden ones that was probably in every kitchen in the 1950s, stuffed to the brim with different cards labeled “from Marcine’s kitchen,” for example).  There are six different recipes for chocolate cake/cupcakes.  I took my chances and tried one that had a few of my mother’s scrawls on it.  Of course, since I can’t eat gluten, I couldn’t even tell you if I got it right.  Instead of bothering with the homemade icing, I just went ahead with funfetti (what could be better really? my mother probably rolled over in her grave!).  Ultimately, I think the birthday girl approved:

Now she’s back to contemplating the great questions of life: Phillips or flat?

Our last installment in the Italy series.  Tivoli, home of two world heritage sites, was a perfect last stop en route to the airport from Assisi.

Villa d’Este was once a Benedictine convent, converted to a pleasure palace in 1550 by Cardinal Ippolito d’Este.  There are frescos and water-spouting gargoyles.  And there must be at least a thousand fountains, including a 130m-long path of the Hundred Fountains, all powered by gravity alone.  One fountain, designed by Gian Lorenzo Bernini, uses its water pressure to play an organ!

I know the pictures do not convey the sentiment, but our sweet daughter adores water.  She is fascinated by the sound and loves the feel on her skin and her ability to splash!  It was all we could do to keep her on dry land.  (Incidentally, on our recent trip to the Chesapeake Bay, John took Ari out on the kayak, but had to turn back early because she kept trying to crawl out into the water!)

We almost bypassed Villa Adriana, Emperor Hadrian’s summer residence in the early second century.  On the five-km drive from Villa d’Este to Villa Adriana, our tuckered out girl fell asleep and we considered cutting our losses.  We felt a little guilty, but she certainly rose to the occasion–it was almost like she knew it would be our last adventure in Italy, for the time being.

And nothing gets a smile on her face more than being on daddy’s shoulders…near water!

Unlike Villa d’Este, Villa Adriana was more like a town.  Many of the structures have been designed as reproductions of buildings in Athens and Alexandria.  We were in awe by how well preserved the buildings were (I can only wonder what they would have been like in their heyday) and how much access we had to them.  We could reach out and touch the stone and marble; imagine doing that in the states!

Thank you all for your thoughtful comments and private notes on our less than ideal flight over to Italy.  The flight back went much better.  Of course it helped that it was during the daytime so, although it made for a really long day, most people were not sleeping for much of the flight.  And someone with the airline pulled some strings and got us a bassinet for Ari.  As a result, she slept a full hour and 15 minutes, not terribly long over the course of a nine-hour flight plus getting to the airport ridiculously early (in order to try to obtain said bassinet), security, and taxiing on the runway, but it improved her overall demeanor considerably.  Instead of berating me for being the rudest woman ever, several passengers and crew commented on what a sweet daughter we have.  It was still hard keeping her happy and occupied, with lots of bouncing and paper-ripping and brownie nibbling (as John put it, it was like doing burpees for eight hours), and she melted down in the very last few minutes, but it didn’t leave me desperate to never take her on an airplane again.  In the comment section, we discussed this awesome idea.  All suggestions are welcome and encouraged–please share your wisdom!  Ari’s been on 10 flights, and I am still very, very much a novice!

Neither of us is Ari’s favorite this week.  I had to hold her down for her one-year blood draw to test for lead poisoning and iron deficiency.  Poor thing had to just sit there as they drained two vials from her little arm, the whole time looking at me with fat tears rolling down her red cheeks.  All seemed to be forgotten after a few nibbles of homemade neiman marcus cookies.

But then a few days later she fell from standing on John’s watch.  It was slightly, slightly more dramatic than her normal fall that she makes 10+ times daily (the perils of learning to walk!), and she was easily consoled.  But then John brought her down the stairs in the middle of her going-to-bed routine: “Anna, we have a problem.”

He set her down on all fours in the middle of living room; she tried to crawl, and her right wrist crumpled underneath her weight.  After a few attempts, she looked up, grimaced, and made a pathetic little whimper.  John: “I think she has a buckle fracture.”

Okay, here’s where we demonstrate, yet again, that the doctor-med student combo does not make the most compliant patient/parents of patient…

In med school, John got hit by a car while biking to his ED sub-internship, an important month in school.  He broke his hand and seriously banged up his leg.  He arrived to his shift in the back of an ambulance, but he refused pain management so that he could finish up his shift.  Badass?  Absolutely.  Slightly idiotic?  Without question.  Have I ever mentioned that this kid also went out drinking then tried to go for a run while suffering from a collapsed lung?

Then there’s me.  Less badass, more just lazy.  I fell (well, more like skidded/slid) down the stairs at 38 weeks pregnant.  It was 10pm on the Sunday before my last week of clinical rotations prior to maternity leave.  I was tired and heavy, and I sobbed at John, “I don’t want to be on toco for four hours!!”  (Cardiotocography: recording of the fetal heartbeat and uterine contractions; after minor trauma, it is standard practice to sit in the ED, hooked up to the monitor for four hours to make sure everyone is doing well.)  John monitored me with a simple stethoscope every 20 minutes, even heard a good fetal heart rate acceleration, and we called it a night.

So for our daughter we weighed the pros and cons: take her to the emergency room where we’ll wait for several hours, resulting in an incredibly cranky, overly tired little girl, and where they would at most, take x-rays and splint her (otherwise inexpensive procedures that will end up costing something exorbitant in the ED); or wait until the morning and take her to her primary care, and risk coming off overly cavalier, under-concerned parents.  We opted for the latter.

The x-rays confirmed John’s diagnosis: a buckle fracture of the right distal radius (a really small, hardly visible on x-ray break of the bone that extends from one side of elbow to the thumb, on the end of the bone closest to the hand).  A nurse from our pediatrician’s office called me with the plan: we were to take Ari in to see a pediatric orthopedist and, in the mean time, we were to take her to the local emergency room to get the wrist splinted.

Already fearing that they must be suspecting child abuse, I was ready to take Ari in the ED and throw away the rest of the day.  John refused to let me consider it, stating that “it was the worst waste of resources!”  Instead he scrounged around for supplies himself and fashioned her his own brace.

She was pretty perplexed, then peeved by the restraint in motion.  But then she learned how to glide!  She places her right hand down on the hardwood floor, and simply propels herself around with her left arm–it’s really more efficient than her standard crawling ever was, although she looks like an awkward turtle.

The funny thing is that I’ve tried hard not to be the ridiculously overprotective first-time parent.  Just hours before the event, we were at brunch with Ellen at Silk City (with it’s bright lights, funky sculptures, outdoor seating, and casual atmosphere, it’s a sort of heaven for older infants and toddlers), and Ari was banging around the metal legs of the table.  I was all like, “It’s cool!  She has to learn somehow.  She’s not going to break anything.”  Famous last words, right?

l’boo & l’bo (both gross and adorable).  The impetus for this trip.

Assisi is the town where Lorenzo’s family is from.  On Friday afternoon, the day before the wedding, Lorenzo was generous to give everyone who wanted to join a walking tour of Assisi up to La Rocca.  After our 2.5-hour lunch at the Trattoria Pallotta (a feat it was indeed to keep Ari occupied and reasonably content that long), Aurelia decided to cleanse her prosciutto-laden palette with grass at the top of La Rocca.  As we neared the end of our wipe supply getting the dirt out of her mouth, we decided to plop her down on an old wine cask to keep her out of trouble.

Each guest was given a goodie bag complete with a bottle of local olive oil and these:

Of course, John being John, he wanted to check off AS MANY BOXES AS POSSIBLE.  We tried, we did what we could, we loved every minute.

The wedding service was held at Lorenzo’s mother’s favorite church Santo Stefano, a simple and exquisite 12th century church built in the Romanesque style, with gothic arches and a wooden ceiling.  One of my favorite parts of wedding event was right before the ceremony.  Everyone, including Lorenzo, waited outside the church on the cobblestone streets for Lauren to arrive.  There was an audible inhalation when Lauren turned the corner and emerged at the top of the stairs approaching the church.  She and Lorenzo met and entered the church together.

The wedding was a full mass, in Italian.  I sheepishly snuck in the back for easy escape access, and I was relieved to see a cluster of small children and their parents also huddled toward the rear.  Next to the church was a small courtyard complete with olive trees and grape vines.  Someone involved was brilliant and had set out a table with a pitcher of water and glasses, and at one point or another, it seemed like every child under eight made an appearance to release some energy.  Personally, it was nice to talk with some other parents, and of course always fun watching Ari interact with other children.

After the ceremony, Lorenzo and Lauren rode to the reception in style.  The rest of us walked the short distance–we felt like we were part of a parade through Umbria!

The celebration that awaited us at the Giotto Hotel was spectacular.  Prosecco was flowing when we walked onto the terrace, and every turn revealed another table generously decked with mouth-watering Italian cuisine: cured meats; seafood; cheeses; fantastical salads; freshly baked focaccia; roasted vegetables; figs, melons, and other fruit; and more appetizers than I could possibly try.  Perhaps the most awesome was the giant wheel of Parmigiano Reggiano–I kid you not, it was at least four feet wide–sliced in half and then partially carved such that it looked like an enormous orchid blooming.  And our sweet daughter, already getting sleepy but beside herself surrounded by her most favorite foods, rallied with the best of them.

My only regret of the evening was that I didn’t completely overstuff myself on the gran buffet di aperitivi e antipasti, for I unfortunately had to depart prior to the secondi piatti (I’m still unreasonably disappointed that John didn’t sneak out the beef fillet in a pistachio crust, as classy as that would have been, for me to consume late that night).  We sat down to the “first course” a little after 9pm.  We were honored to get to share a table with the bride and groom, with Ari happily enjoying pasta and risotto until close to 10pm, when she finally made it known that she could not make it a moment more.  But the hour we spent getting to see up-close how happy our friends were/are, watching them relax as they started to enjoy breaking bread with loved ones–we’ll never forget it.  

John walked us back to our room a few blocks up the hill, and then returned to enjoy the rest of the celebration.  Ari quickly passed out and, though I was sorry to miss the rest of the evening’s festivities, I sank into the mattress with my kindle (finally reading Tina Fey’s Bossy Pants–wahoo-wah!  Uni-V-Virginia!).

The next morning we all walked to the cemetery where Lorenzo’s mother is buried.  Together, Lauren and Lorenzo left Lauren’s bouquet at her grave.  It was intimate, and a beautiful and thoughtful way to include her and conclude the weekend.

A brief detour from our Italy posts (still need to post Assisi and Tivoli!).  Last weekend was the kind where I hardly picked up my phone–to text, check email, take pictures.  It was the kind of weekend we really needed.

Glen and Lauren are two of our closest friends.  For our wedding, they gave us maybe the best gift ever: a weekend away with the two of them.  Our lives are varied and full, and scheduling is always complicated.  But four years and two little ones later, we were able to make it happen—uh, really all credit goes to Glen and Lauren.  They set aside the weekend, found this place, and packed up a toddler and a sweet geriatric doggie.  All we had to do was show up, and somehow we scored massive points for thinking to bring olive oil.

I’m not sure who originally suggested that we meet in a town equidistant from our two cities, about 2.5-3 hours from each, but he/she is brilliant.  Set along the waterfront of the Chesapeake Bay, Deale felt like a true vacation from our Philly suburb, but it wasn’t a distance overwhelming to travel with an infant and toddler who are both rather travel weary.  There were no expectations for the weekend, and I took advantage by being profoundly lazy.  John and I might have also taken naps while Ari did–glorious!

One of my favorite parts of the weekend was marveling at the new words that came sputtering out of Graham’s mouth every day.  He’s such a different boy than he was back in May:

We had been in Charlottesville for a wedding.  Lauren was so kind to us, and she had agreed to babysit Ari while John and I went to our friends’ wedding reception.  Ari was barely sitting unassisted at the time, and Graham was already walking.  As I got ready to make my exit, Graham kept getting up to bring Ari toy after toy.  The sweetest, right?  Still makes my heart swell!

And now this kid is speaking in, occasional, four-word sentences, and asserting ‘Pace! (space) when Ari would get too close (sometimes that meant the same room), and running, and hopping!  It’s thrilling to watch, but at the same time I think, “Too fast, too fast!”

Check us out, due entirely to Julie’s craftsmanship.  And take a look at Julie’s video regarding her hope to adopt.

I’m also having a good time going through the photographs of other families/partnerships.  We had gone into the shoot with the goal of just getting a few good shots of the three of us–it’s interesting to see how much variety of personality and style comes through.  I know, I know…obvious right?  It just doesn’t seem like so long ago when families all crammed into a windowless studio and took the generic picture with a grey backdrop, like my family did…I’ll have to dig up one of them to share.

On our drive from Pompeii, after Ari conked out, John handed me a folder of well-organized travel documents–printed copies of all our room reservations, our flight information, our car rental agreement, etc.  Nestled between the boring confirmations (I am profoundly grateful that John rocks at this stuff so my talents can be, well, demonstrated elsewhere), was this article that John had dug up, but had not yet read.  Of course, the kid doesn’t remember how he even came across the article, but he printed it out on the off chance that it might be helpful.

Damn, he’s good.

Danielle Pergament’s account of her foray in Val d’Orchia with her husband and new baby inadvertently became our tour guide.

We couldn’t complain about the almost four-hour nap Ari took in the car between Pompeii and Val d’Orchia, but the last 45 minutes, once we got off the highway and she finally woke up, were miserable.  After trying to sooth her, sing to her, even tempt her with treats, all the while she screamed and writhed against the straps of her carseat, I finally released her and held her for the rest of the trip.  There wasn’t another soul on the back country roads, but I was still nervous that a tire striking a rock at just the right angle might create a collision between our heads and the window–I made John drive painfully slowly.  We needed exact coordinates to find Angela and Olimpia’s “farm”, a few kilometers up an unmarked, dirt road.  And when we thought we were surely lost in the mountains, with night descending, John just got out of the car to look for the farm on foot, quicker at that point than our trusty rental could dare.  Well worth it all:

After stopping by the local Coop (which the Italians pronounce “cop”) for some staples, we enjoyed a glass of Brunello di Montalcino with local pecorino, just as Pergament directed, on our own patio.  And then we ventured to the Rocca d’Orcia for dinner.

John ordered rabbit, and I ordered wild boar, and we could not guess which one Ari loved more–the alternating bites could not come fast enough!

The next morning we took our time.  We got down to the Abbey of St. Antimo around midday and listened to Gregorian chant echoing over the stone walls.

Over the course of the trip, we would ask each other periodically what our favorite part had been so far–we could never decide.  But out favorite meal: Il Leccio atop the mediaeval town of Sant’Angelo in Colle.  No question.  It is worth a trip; you will eat well here.  John got their famous spinach and ricotta ravioli in a butter and sage sauce, while I got one of their many veal variations.  I would have licked the plate.

We couldn’t help ourselves, as we slid into the driveway of the Ciacci Piccolomini d’Aragona, a family-run vineyard.  And we loaded our car with a nice brunello and a grappa to take back home.

Then we satisfied the Twilight fan in me by visiting Montepulciano, where New Moon was filmed.  (So, how many readers would I lose if I admitted to devouring the books in the post-MCAT haze of 2009.  Crack literature.  It’s so, so bad, but I could not stop.  A weight was lifted when I finally got rid of the series in this purge.)  But in all seriousness, every street of this town was picturesque, every view of the surrounding mountains, vineyards, and farms was beyond words.

When I was kid, my mom read me a book about Mount Vesuvius and the legend of Pompeii.  I remember being really effected by the image of a couple, buried in ash, preserved together for thousands of years.

Outside of the archeological village, the modern city of Pompeii is fairly dilapidated and depressing–it looks reliant on of the World Heritage Site to bring in visitors (with good reason), and has ceased to maintain a living, breathing body outside from the attraction.  But the archeological site is magnificent and extensive, and we could have easily spent more than one day getting lost in the ancient town.

Mount Vesuvius and a little preview of Ari’s well-deserved meltdown:

Although it wasn’t exceptionally hot, just an hour under the dry sun with little reprieve is too much.  We practically sprinted out of the village, Ari squirming violently in my arms the entire way.  We bee-lined for what we knew was an over-priced tourist trap just outside the gates, but it had shade and cold water and nocciola gelato.  And then our babe slept almost the entire four-hour drive to Val d’Orcia.

I should start by saying that John planned pretty much the entirety of this trip (yeah!), since the bulk of planning needed to be done while I was studying for step 1.  Have I ever mentioned that John lived in Rome for four years when he was a teenager?  I love being married to an insider!

One evening we were sitting across from each other at the dining room table, me poring over endless lists of medications and their mechanisms, John studying intently his Lonely Planet, and he looked up, “So, would you be like way disappointed if we don’t visit Rome at all?”  Nope, not even a little.  The big cities of Europe–I get it, they’re awe-inspiring, and one can spend a lifetime in just one of them and not experience all its wonders.  But I feel like trying to tackle the greatest hits in a few days is exhausting and kind of takes the fun out of the discovery.

We had such a good experience with airbnb on our honeymoon, that we used it almost exclusively for this trip.  Our first stop was Sorrento, where we stayed in a gorgeous room in Gabriella’s home.  The patio had a jaw-dropping view of Mount Vesuvius!

So much of the charm of the place was Gabriella herself.  As we started to unload our bags, she promptly whisked Ari into her arms and carried her to the patio where a small carb treat was waiting for her.  Ari’s face, peering over Gabriella’s shoulder at me, said, Uh, okay…I’m confused but I like it.  This woman smells like the bread.  In the evenings we had dinner all together with Gabriella and her son.  In the mornings we ate fresh figs from her gardens.

We conquered Sorrento, Positano, Nocelle, and Ravello:

We walked the path of the gods (until little miss got a bit overheated):

I am still dumbfounded by how much we were able to pack in a day–though a far cry from what John would have planned during our pre-Ari days–and I feel a little guilty for how much we pushed her.  But gelato makes up for a multitude of sins…

No joke.  Carmela in Latin means “a fruitful orchard, as Mount Carmel in Palestine.”

The afternoon started a bit roughly.  (Boring alert: we’re in the transition from two to one nap a day, and sometimes we miss the mark and things end terribly.  Today 30 minutes of solid crying on the way home from Home Depot escalated when her fingers got pinched in her high chair.  She eventually went down, but dramatically so.)  But orchards have wind and dirt and funky big leaves to squish in the palms of our hands.

Our bounty (even the way Tiffany lays out her veggies looks artistic):

Hay, less than impressed:

She makes being wedged between pumpkins look like the greatest ever:

Because I had to:

Thank you so much, Tiffany, for these sweet pictures!