Paris in Love (42 page)

Anna and I went out with Alessandro’s aunt for a ladies’ lunch today. Anna danced into the Rivoire, an august and elegant institution
here in Florence, wearing gorgeous new ballet flats and a ruffled dress. The waiter brought us paper napkins, and then suddenly an elderly gentleman at the next table barked “Filippo! Bring these ladies proper napkins; they are Florentines!” Filippo returned apologetically with huge pale pink linen napkins. We ate like (Florentine) duchesses.

Alessandro and I ventured forth in search of chocolate eggs, since the Easter Bunny finds American children no matter where they happen to be. Generally speaking, the Easter Bunny hops over Italy, where instead parents give big chocolate eggs that crack open to reveal a surprise toy. We saw one the size of a seven-pound baby, decorated with a lush three-dimensional bouquet of chocolate flowers.

I always thought boys’ reluctance to speak about their feelings was programmed by culture (nurture, not nature) and raised Luca accordingly. But lately he only grunts when asked questions about his emotions. “I can talk about my feelings,” he said today, when pinned down. “But” (with unmistakable revulsion) “
not
with my mom.” I do hope whomever he’s sharing all those feelings with appreciates the effort I put in.

Milo looks very odd when he runs. His legs look like delicate twigs scissoring below his round and furry belly. But he rarely runs anywhere; he avoids even walking whenever possible. He’s like a bolster pillow auditioning to be a dog.

Today we went to a small fair that had taken up Easter residence in Florence’s biggest park. It was a small, tattered, and supremely illegal carnival: emblazoned with Walt Disney characters, though the magic and copyright-sensitive hands of the Disney corporation surely never came near it. Anna, who had triumphed over the Tower of Terror at Disneyland Paris, found herself petrified by this ancient Ferris wheel. We rose up in the air, sitting in a little car with open sides and no seat belts, and Anna buried her head in her lap and wailed, “This isn’t safe! I wouldn’t take my daughter on this ride!” I ignored her, enjoying the grin of Thomas O’Malley the Alley Cat on the canopy over my head as we rose into the blue sky, swaying gently.

A delightful Easter memory from yesterday: ladies walking to church holding little bowls tied up in linen tea towels and topped with taffeta bows. Inside were hard-boiled eggs, on their way to Mass to be blessed by the priest. We brought ours home and sliced them, per paschal tradition, into homemade broth, which created a sunny, blessed soup.

Today we all have chocolate hangovers. First the Easter Bunny arrived, then Nonna gave both children foot-high chocolate eggs topped by flares of shiny foil. Then relatives began to arrive—also bearing eggs. The living room table is now full of them, as if someone were growing huge radishes with garish foil tops.

We are throwing a birthday party for Alessandro’s beloved aunt Giuliana, the widow of his paternal uncle, whom she met thanks to being related to his father—after said uncle divorced his first wife. The dinner, which will take place in her favorite restaurant, includes family from both sides, several of whom maintain hostile relations. We just made up the seating chart, which took several hours and is a miracle of strategic and diplomatic finesse, in hopes of avoiding Italian fireworks.

If you ever visit Italy, do not skip the grocery chain Esselunga. They often carry onesies made by the French company Petit Bateau, with adorable little illustrations on the front. I always pick up a few for last-minute gifts, but only after living in Paris have I realized that they are actually cheaper in Italy than on their native soil.

The birthday party for Giuliana went off without a hitch. The children had every reason to behave during dinner, given that my personal threat of evisceration was accompanied by permission to bring books and iPod Touches. For five hours and six courses, they did a pretty good job of pretending to be polite and obedient. But when the birthday cake was delivered, Anna suddenly disappeared. Next thing I knew she was on Giuliana’s lap, smiling her most charming grin while a forest of cameras flashed and Giuliana blew out her birthday candles.