That would be me, Mrs. Moglie. Married to a native Italian, Mr. Marito.
Mother to a daughter in high school, Ms. SmartyPants and a son in middle school, Mr. Uometto.
Employed at a private British School as an English teacher and Coordinator of Children's Studies.
Part of a small, but growing Protestant church in Frascati, a small town in the hills just outside of Rome.

This is where I sometimes gripe, complain and grumble about the things I dislike, have yet to get used to or simply don't understand about bella Italia.
I do, however, have many people, places and things that I dearly love and I am more than aware of being blessed by each and every one of them.
Also - a few helpful posts for visitors to Rome or for newly arrived ex pats. Check the side bar for tags. I've even some recipes that I've borrowed, tweaked or invented. One thing I've come to love about Italy is how it's changed the way I eat - slow food !! Although ... I do miss Taco Bell ... and Jack in The Box ... and KFC ... and ::sigh::
Thanks for stopping by !!

Monday, November 15, 2010

Bosoms, Butts and Bowling Balls

So, the other day, I told a story from years past about Ms. SmartyPants. Mr. Uometto would not be pleased if I did not include a story about him, as well. So here it is: Once upon a time ... when Mr. Uometto was still Mr. Bambino (child) and not  Mr. Uometto (little man) as he is now, he would look to me to be the measuring stick for all his bambino emotions. If I was happy, he was happy; if I was sad, he was sad; if I was excited or anxious or calm, likewise,  Mr. Uometto. 
Mr. Uometto aka Big Head
** his "big head" is actually the shadow of a lamp post behind him

One day, I was wearing a light colored turtleneck that was rather clingy and Mr. Marito noticed that my waist looked thinner than what he'd been used to seeing what with all the bulky sweaters we have to wear in winter. I ran to the mirror, wanting to see for myself, my thinner slimmer waist. Mr. Uometto, antennae always alert, abandoned his Lego masterpiece to join me. I looked in the mirror, studied my reflection and was happy to see Mr. Marito was right about my waist, but more than that, I was delighted to see that the clingy-ness of the material accentuated my very humble bust. My sisters all have double D, X, Y and Z thingamabobs, passed down from Mrs. Mom and her side of the family, while I -- I was given the more common gene found in most Korean women, the B cup. Telling myself they were abnormal Koreans and freaks of nature, I was able to console myself before Mr. Uometto could notice even a hint of my repressed resentment and bitterness. I ran to Mr. Marito and announced, "Ho il seno grandissimo!!" Which literally translates to, "I have got an enormous bosom!!" Mr. Uometto who had followed me into the room asked me what I meant. I pointed to my chest and said, "Look, mommy has a bosom!" Too young to appreciate the meaning of this phrase, but young enough to mimic every gesture, word and emotion, he became excited and started jumping up and down, "Yay, Mommy has a bosom! Mommy has a bosom! It's so big!" We carried on for a bit this way, me, as happy as a lark, Mr. Uometto happy because I was happy and Mr. Marito, happy to humor both his mammary challenged wife and his impressionable young son.  Mr. Uometto, clever child that he is, began comparing my bosom to round fruit and other similar objects. Having spent the previous weekend bowling with our church group, he seemed especially partial to bowling balls, "They're like bowling balls, they're so big!" He continued to jump up and down. Melons and cooking pots were all fine and dandy, although I couldn't help being a little miffed by his comparison to mandarins,  I replied, "Bowling balls? Well, now, let's not exaggerate." He stopped his jumping and his flailing his arms to and fro in order to think about it a moment and then with quite the serious expression, he said, "Yeaaah..." Then, "...but your butt, yes! Mommy has a bowling ball butt! Mommy has a bowling ball butt! It's so big!" And there he was, jumping up and down again ... sigh .... the joys of having children.

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