Five days ago, I arrived in Italy with my husband and daughter for a family vacation. I have no idea why we selected Italy as a destination, as there is nothing to see, the food is barely edible and if one more person says 'Ciao, Bella' to my daughter in their crazy moon language, I don't know what I'm going to do. (Even more diabolical? They smile when they say this.)
I'm kidding, of course. So far, it has all been as wonderful as we've heard and expected. Although here's a spoiler alert: You go through the entire Colosseum tour and do not even see one Christian being fed to a lion. Also? Our daughter tossed roughly the equivalent of one year's retirement savings into the Trevi Fountain. According to Roman lore, she should expect to return to the city no less than 377 times as a result. And inevitably, in all the miles we've walked and sights we've seen, I will guarantee that the most memorable part of the trip for her will be feeding the pigeons in every piazza.
This trip is also notable as it marks the first time she has shown an interest in keeping a journal. For our last fall, I bought her one so she could record what we were seeing and her thoughts on the travel. Then, she reminded me that she was five and would prefer to play in the pool in her down time, thankyouverymuch.
But on this vacation, it is very different. Just yesterday, she busied herself writing for quite a while, looking very earnest in the process. This provided me with another of those when I'm simultaneously so proud of her and heavyhearted, thinking she will be all grown up and out of the house before I'm ready.
After she had finished writing and put the journal away, I could not help myself and had to take a peek into her thoughts, which is when I read this:
'I am icsudid to be in Itle'
Don't worry, it took me a moment to translate, too: She is excited to be in Italy.
Which obviously struck me as totally adorable, and made me happy to realize that she is still my baby.
My baby who also speaks a crazy moon language.