Casi Dos Meses

Since there haven't been any major occurrences in the last few weeks, I've decided to compile a list of things that have stood out to me in my first 2 months living in the Palazzi household...

Some things I like:

- How everyone in the Palazzi family (particularly Marcos, Mateo and Lucia) loves to hum or whistle or softly-sing random songs at any given time of day. Just the other day, Marcos was (as usual) cooking in the kitchen while smoking a cigarette and whistling/humming/singing a tune, and I laughed out loud when I realized what he was singing:
“Lollipop, lollipop, lo lo lo lollipop…
Lollipop! Bu, dum, bum, bum…”

-The combination of the smell of good food cooking and fresh cigarette smoke puts me right back into my Grandma and Grandpa’s house in NY… not to mention, Marcos’ random humming reminds me a lot of my Grandfather as well…

-Nutella. Sure, I’ve had Nutella before. But I’ve never had a constant supply of Nutella at my disposal before. That stuff calls to me all day long, and even as I’m eating the chocolaty goodness, I’m thinking about the next time I’ll eat it: should I combine it with Pan con Leche (sweet little bread rolls) or the healthier Tortitas de Maíz (like rice cakes, but made with corn)? One of these days I’m bound to get sick of Nutella, though, right? Right??


Some things I don’t like:

-The smoking. Sure, I may have said I like the smell, as it reminds me of my Grandparents and all… but after nearly 2 months, that reminiscent aspect of it sort of wears off… and now all I can think about is how I’m getting all the bad effects of smoking without actually smoking myself.

-My shower. I hate my shower… it is the smallest, most inconvenient, most cruel shower… about 2ft by 2ft, and when I stand it in (all 5 foot 1 inches of me) the shower head is only about a foot above my head, spraying water that goes from very hot, to very cold, and back again. Apart from the size and water temp, I have to constantly adjust the shower curtain to keep from a) sticking to my body, and b) edging away from the wall so water doesn’t leak out the sides. On top of that, if I’m not careful, I sometimes accidentally bump my arm against the pipe where the hot water comes from, and I literally get a burn on my arm while showering. Even worse, occasionally the shower head will wiggle itself free from it’s precarious placement in the shower head holder (it has to be placed so, in order for the water to spray down on me and not onto the flimsy shower curtain and all over my bathroom floor) and when it wiggles free (from all my aggravated movements of trying to keep the shower curtain closed, trying to keep my arms away from the hot pipe, and trying to keep the water at a comfortable temperature by constantly shifting the handle slightly to the right, then slightly to the left…) when it wiggles free, it lands smack on the top of my head, and then smack down onto my toes. At this point, it is now spraying water all over my teeny tiny bathroom… while I simultaneously try to re-close the shower curtains, pick up the shower head, and be extra careful not to hit my head on the scalding pipe as I’m bending over. Now, imagine how much fun I have trying to shave my legs.

-When the kids say, “One moment.” …this is their response-of-choice when they are asked to do something. “Simon, please pick up your pjs,” “Yes, Al-ee-sohn, one moment.” “Lucia, you need to make your bed.” “One moment, Al-eee-sohn.” “Mateo, can you help me set the table?” “Yes, just one moment.” This phrase wouldn’t be so terrible, if it actually meant what it is intended to mean, but when the Palazzi children tell you “one moment,” what they mean is “I'm not going to do it... ever.” …fortunately, with much nagging (although I’d prefer to call it “not-backing-down”) the phrase is being used a bit less than when I started. But it's still something I have to hear every day, and I cringe every time I do.

Embarrassing Moments:

- So one of my main tasks as an au pair is the laundry. And for the first month and a half, I would dread the drying aspect of doing the laundry, because I hated how I would have to pry the drier door open with my fingers which, after a few loads, would leave my fingertips all sore (from the rough, metal edge of the door…). Finally, I decided to tuck away my pride and simply ask my host mother if there was a trick to opening the drier door (I had already scoured the machine for a button or some other kind of door-opening mechanism…). Marta took a drag from her cigarette, gave me a look like I was slightly insane, walked into the laundry room, gave the drier door a little *push* with her fingertips, and the door swung open with ease.

- Within the first week or so of living in Barcelona, I was amazed by how many people had stopped me (me! pale, blonde, blue-eyed, not-in-the-least-bit-Spanish-looking) to ask for directions. Obviously, with many of them I had to give one of my usual answers: “No le entendí” (I don’t understand), “No sé” (I don’t know), or “No hablo español” (I don’t speak Spanish). But after a month or so, I had built up enough confidence and knowledge to be able to actually answer some of them. As long as I recognized one or two words amongst their blabbering (“¿Blah blah blah blah Plaza Catalunya blah blah blah…?”) I could get the gist of what they were saying and respond in as little Spanish as possible (“¡Oh! ¿Plaza Catalunya?”) and point to where I think they should be. One time, however, I was sitting in the train on my way back from the kids’ school (a train I take almost every day and is very easy to navigate, thus I felt very knowledgeable about it) and a 40-something Spanish couple came onto the train at the Sarrià station, approached me and the woman asked, “¿Blah blah blah este tren blah blah blah Tres Torres blah blah blah...?” And I, confidently, responded “Tres Torres. Si. Si.” (Having been very certain the next stop would, in fact, be Tres Torres). Literally 5 seconds later, a college-age girl approached me, still at the Sarrià station, and asked, “¿Blah blah blah blah Reine Elisende blah blah blah...?” Having just come from the Reine Elisende station on the same exact train, I quickly responded, “No. No, Plaza Catalunya.” (Plaza Catalunya being the direction we were headed…and Reine Elisende the opposite direction). Aaaaanyways… long story short, I happened to send 3 people in the wrong direction that day. The train I was on (for some reason) picked me up at Reine Elisende, went to Sarrià, then went back to Reine Elisende (obviously they announced this in the station where I picked up the train, but obviously I didn’t understand it…) and I had to ride the train for about 10 excruciating minutes sitting next to the 40-something couple who looked at me like I was a cruel human being. When I attempted to explain to them (in absolutely awful Spanish) my mistake, they realized I was just a complete idiot, not a cruel human being, but continued to glare… needless to say, I don’t think I’ll be giving people directions anymore.

Empowering Moments:

- Just moments ago (as I’m writing this blog entry to be exact) I heard a knock on the door, and I opened it to 2 young Spanish girls, likely in their 20s. Right away (I guess the blonde hair is a give-away) one of them asked, “¿Hablas tu español?” And I answer, “No. Eh, un poco.” (No, eh, a little.) She continued to speak in Spanish regardless: “¿De donde eres?” (Where are you from?). “Los Estados Unidos” (the US). And then she began talking about how they are looking to ask questions of anyone who has lived in Spain for more than 25 years (maybe for a school project?) and if anyone lived here that fit that description. I said, “Si. Pero, no estan aqui ahora.” (Yes. But they’re not here now.) and she asked if they would be back later, and if so what time and blah blah blah… the point I’m getting at is, I had a complete (though simple and short) conversation entirely in Spanish for probably the first time ever. I understood everything the girl said, and could respond in Spanish that (I think) was actually correct, or at least comprehensible. This was a big feet for me and, at a time when I was thinking my Spanish has been progressing very slowly, it was a major confidence-booster.

- One morning, I was waiting in Lucia and Simon’s room for Simon to get dressed and after removing his pajamas, Simon threw them in my face and giggled as they fell to the floor (very common, sadly). As usual, I simply said to him, “I’m not going to pick those up, Simon, you are.” But this particular morning, Lucia was there to back me up. She gave Simon a stern look and said, “Yeah, Simon, Allison’s not your slave. She’s your canguro (nanny), but not your slave.” Those simple words made my day (maybe even my week). And to top it all off… Lucia made her bed without me even asking that morning.