Rome Day #6- Latin mass, cat sanctuaries and martyrs.

Benedictionem nobis, Domine, conferat salutarem sacra semper oblatio: ut, quod agit mysterio virtutue perficiat. (May this holy offering, O Lord, always bring to us Thy healing blessing: that what it represents in a mystery, it may accomplish with power. Through our Lord.)

One of the things on my bucket list was to attend a worship service in Latin. I've spent the last two years studying Latin (along with my class) and I couldn't wait to experience early Christianity firsthand. Obviously the only church that still does a Latin service is the Catholic church and my class is 92% protestant. I'm not going to lie, going to Latin Mass today was a little bit like watching a movie with someone you know won't approve of the language.  I think probably some were more uncomfortable than others, but I can safely say everyone learned something or got something out of it. Most of the kids were not used to standing sitting and kneeling constantly, and no one was used to hard wooden kneelers. After the tenth or eleventh time we were on our knees all of us were beginning to feel like we were channeling arthritic eighty year olds. I told the class that every time their knees hurt, to think of how Christ suffered and died on the cross for our sins and not to take it for granted. Afterwards, I got a few "Mrs. Ramsey, I don't think I've ever thought about the cross so much with my knees hurting and that giant painting of Jesus up on the front altar." Hopefully my Scottish reformation ancestors aren't rolling over in their graves right now.  In the end though, I try to be a big tent Christian and am grateful for the things the early church gave us.  One of the things Ithink the reformation (maybe) got wrong was the focus on words and writing. While I am glad the Bible got translated into common languages, I think we lost all of the other five senses.  Even though my Latin turned out to be vastly inadequate, and I could barely understand the service, there was no end of paintings, mosaics, incense, music and sunlight streaming through the window to remind me that God himself meets us in worship.  

After church we got lunch in the Jewish ghetto and did an audio tour of Trastevere which is a little neighorhood on the west side of the Tiber river. We stood on the bridge that ceasar wrote his name on, and discovered an island where they put all of the sick and crazy people (oh, and women having babies, because clearly that makes sense). We also explored (as much as we could) the ruins where Caesar was betrayed and stabbed on the steps of the senate. "Et tu, Brute?". The ancient senate is now a cat sanctuary run by a humane society. So you can go down and watch a tabby clean its paws on the steps where the ancient world's most powerful dictator died, and then pop underneath one of the ruins which has been retrofitted into an animal shelter of sorts and pet a cat while you chat with a cat volunteer.  Only in Rome. 

We also visited (one of) Rome's oldest churches. It started out as a expensive Roman villa. A girl got married and didn't tell her new husband she was a Christian until the wedding night. Instead of shunning her or turning her in, he became a Christian too. They turned their villa into a home church and Christians have been worshipping there ever since.  The husband was eventually put to death for being a Christian, and when that just caused the little church to grow, the government beheaded the wife as well. But the home church thrived on, and underneath the (now big) church you can still see remnants of the first church and house.  

In some ways Rome is like a puzzle. You could sit down in any one spot and try to put together the conglomeration of all the different layers of history jammed together in one spot.  

Tomorrow is "day trip day".  So we're all splitting up. I can't wait to see the pictures from everyone's adventures. 

Rome Day 3- The Vatican, voice boxes and blisters

Today we learned that nobody messed with Michelangelo, not even the pope. When Michelangelo was painting the Sistine Chapel, he got into a feud with one of the high ranking cardinals. Michelangelo was so mad he painted the cardinal as the judge of the underworld with a giant serpent hanging where a figleaf would normally be.  The cardinal was furious and begged the pope to tell Michelangelo he had to change and repaint it, but the pope sided with Michelangelo and told the cardinal to get over it.  Now, half a century later, I got to feel like an ant in a land of giant naked biblical figures.  

But anecdotes aside, the Vatican was.... indescribable. It's so huge, and the line is so long, Ben nearly had a heart attack trying to get the class to the right place at the right time.  We had prebooked a tour, so we cut through the crowds and met out tour guide Carla who was at least 70, and perhaps suffering from conjestive heart failure, but scuttled us around three miles of vatican museums like a very efficient church mouse. She was inspiring because it was embarrassing to have to work hard to keep up with her. Her voice kept going out, and she'd smack herself in throat and keep going. Magically, it actually worked, like she had some sort of reset button on her juggular.  Never slowing down, she "andiamo'd" and "belissimo'd" our wide eyed class like a pro over ancient mosaic floors and explained paintings we'd only ever seen in schoolbooks. There are truly no words. Imagine the most precious thing at San Diego's Balboa museums. It's locked behind plexiglass and you have to stand ten feet away with your hands in the air and security doscents watching you like a hawk.  Now imagine miles and miles of halls and rooms jam packed with thousands of those same things.  Every square inch is covered with priceless and famous statues, tapestries and paintings. There's no plexiglass and you can get as close as you want, but you're basically in a human tidal wave and you can't really sit still and appreciate it properly.  That's how the Vatican was and it's such a weird juxtoposition.  

After we finished the tour, we climbed St. Peter's dome to the very top.  The kids were exhausted and starving, but still wanted to keep going. They were troopers and it was one of the highlights of the day.  The stairs were a piece of work in and of themselves. They twisted, and zigzagged and slanted sideways at times. Some of the dads had to go through sideways and a few people got claustaphobic. The litigious American in me was shocked any of it was legal and allowed since nothing was to code (which honestly was half the fun).  

We left at 8:30 this morning and besides sharing pizza with a peg legged pigeon for a few min, we didn't sit down until we got back to our apartment at 5:30. Blisters and sore feet abounded, but  so did happy attitudes and still more energy than seemed possible.  To get back to our apartment, we have to go through a thunder portal. It's so loud and earth shaking inside, it feels like some sort of "beam me up scotty" experiene.  

We may never want to see pasta and pizza again by the time we're out of here, but gelato hour will never get old... even when it happens at bedtime.  

Rome day #2- Trevi Fountain, Pantheon and the fake Pieta

Apparently eighth graders are immunue to jetlag... or they're like some kids who counter react to benadryl by getting more crazy and wild. You would think logging in hours of walking, plus not sleeping for a night, plus going to bed super late would make them teenaged shaped zombies, but instead the good times are a'rollin around here.  We found a cool rooftop park (that is really just a pile of ruins with headless statues and weeds), and they got to burn off some energy there, but I'm sure the people who live in this building are wondering who let the herd of elephants in the place. 

We started off the day with a walking tour through the heart of Rome. There is no way to truly understand and appreciate everthing here. You'll be walking down the street past an excavation and realize that the original street of ancient rome was a lot lower than it is now due to centuries of build up. At the same time there is a man levitating off the ground seemingly by magic! (clever theatrics, but still) Then you turn around and there's an egyptian obelisk...with a cross on top...in front of a fountain that all of the other fountains in the world wish they could look like. AND you have to try and take it all in while a gypsy is trying to sell you a selfie stick and someone is trying to pickpocket you. 

The Pantheon was the second moment I felt chills down my back because I actually felt like I'd been transported to ancient Rome. The first moment was an old statue where people have always (and continue) to leave notes about how much they hate the government (poor statue).  Rome is so layered with medieval, ancient and classical buildings that it feels a little bit like Alice falling down the rabbitt hole.  Nobody for real fell though, nobody got lost, there was only mild hangriness going on and everyone did great.  

We took a Poseidon team picture in front of Poseidon wrestling an octopus. (clearly the octopus represents Mock Trial) 

My lesson of the day was not to listen to tourists talking about things and assuming they're true (whether it's where the good gelato is or what artwork is).  I got all worked up about seeing the Pieta, when Linda and Lizzy kindly reminded me it's at St. Peter's basilica.  Ah well... it was similar. 

Tomorrow we're off to the Vatican and then Trastevere. Hopefully we find a socccer ball to buy along the way as we've got a couple of new parks to test out.  

And...hopefully nobody tries to sell me a fake futbol. 😂

Going to Rome!

I have a somewhat dangerous habit of coming up with ideas that sound great but are harder to execute than I imagined. It’s probably good I have amnesia, otherwise I’d never do anything…er…fun. I’ve taught Jr. High for the last two years with Classical Conversations and wanted more than anything to take my class to a castle or ruins somewhere where they could actually see, and touch and experience all of the history and Latin they learn from (in their opinion) dusty tomes. Then I got to thinking, why not? If you look and wait long enough, you can find super cheap plane tickets to Europe, and with enough people you could rent an Airbnb and wha-la! Throw in a little help and hard work and surely it could actually happen.

And it did… or is… or will be Lord willing. Next week I’m headed to Rome with most of my Challenge B class and their parents. When I’m not panicking about losing a kid in the catacombs or winding up at the US Embassy with missing passports, I think I’ll actually enjoy myself.

Jamie keeps asking me if he can wash the windows or clean out the garage…. really anything to earn money for Rome. In CA there are no lawns to mow and no papers for teenagers to deliver. You can’t get a job at McDonald’s yet and families aren’t in the market for 13 year old male babysitters. He wanted to try a lemonade stand, but I told him to think of something more useful. Something that would actually be helpful (since no one is really dying of lemonade dehydration here, especially after the rainy winter we had).

This is what he came up with. Multiplication flashcards that are funny and quirky. Easy to remember and difficult to forget. Jamie has always been slightly dyslexic and has had to come up with creative ways to learn things that come easier for other kids. Some of the ways that help things “stick” are to make it colorful. Make it funny. Put the answer in a different color. Put both the problem and the answer on the same side so you can take a visual “picture” of them together. And to put the commutative law so you can learn two for the price of one. So here you have it: Multiplication Flashcards for those who struggle to memorize things (or for people who like classical art?)

If you like them, want them, or just want to help Jamie raise money for Rome, hit the donate button at the bottom. He’ll email you a full resolution PDF of all the multiplication flashcards 1-10. Any size donation will get you these super awesome, totally hilarious, completely appropriate flashcards.

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Hair Extensions and Object Complement Nouns

I had the hair-brained idea to get extensions (literally I guess). Sometimes I worry my thought process runs on a permanent slippery slope fallacy.  I start out thinking about homemade kefir and somehow end up eating store bought ice cream. In my head the transition is always seamlessly logical.  I barely even notice going from kefir recipes, to raw milk sources, to researching ice cream makers on Amazon to settling for Trader Joe's coconut milk ice cream, to "Oh, well Walmart is closer and I'll buy the stuff with real cream and sugar" to "oh hey, sale on the store brand."  Ho hum. 

Some people are born with the ability to know what's socially acceptable and some people have to make themselves a spreadsheet and flowchart to know whether or not it's ok to shave your legs...but not your arms.  Or fake fingernails are ok, but not fake fingers. Push-up bras are fine, but fake boobs are suspect. For whatever reason, it's perfectly acceptable to color your hair, but not add fake hair. As someone with naturally curly hair, this has never really kept me up at night until recently when I was diagnosed with a subset of health conditions that has resulted in less than stellar locks. 

So I did what any normal person does and went straight to Amazon, then coerced a sister into installing my newly purchased 100% Human Hair Remy locks.  After I had an ethical crisis imagining some sort of Gift Of The Magi situation,  I pictured myself sauntering around looking like this. 

Instead I ended up more looking like this: 

Pros: I had more hair than Ariel, Elsa and Rapunzel put together (Ok, maybe not Rapunzel).  It braided beautifully, went up in a messy bun like I was born to be a nonchalant movie star with over-sized sunglasses, and my kids kept staring at me and backing away slowly.   

Cons: It clumped up and wouldn't blend with my regular hair, itched terribly, and I couldn't sleep. For those who don't like Jamberry or other sticker nails because of the way it feels like wearing a maxi pad on your finger... skip hair extensions altogether because that's exactly what it felt like, but on your head. 

Also, note to self: If the price is too good to be true, it will probably melt like green plastic army men. 

I stubbornly stuck with it though. My fake clumpy hair extensions were fabulous. I discovered a newfound appreciation for runway models, people with naturally long/heavy hair, and anyone else who has to endure weirdness in the name of aesthetics. I was trying to teach my 9yr old the difference between a direct object and an object complement noun and after the third time picking long stray hairs off his face, he said "Mom, I can't even take you seriously right now.".  Fair enough.  

So after a day of Jordan Petersoning all of my life's goals and taking a good hard look at my narcissistic tendencies, the hair extensions went back in the box and I resumed the normal pinned up and glasses look I've been sporting for years. It's fine. Better this way. On Mondays I teach a bunch of cute little preschoolers/kindergartners, and on Wednesdays I teach a bunch of equally cute but rather tall jr. highers, so channeling my inner Professor McGonagall instead of Trelawney is probably the better way to go. 

Next I plan to shave my head and wear a different wig for every day of the week (I kid, I kid...maybe).  

Oh, and if you're in the same boat with the whole teaching nouns thing.  And "No No D.O (direct object), label verb transitive" is a common refrain in your house. You might also try "Replace? Yes. Amen, label O.C.N. (object complement noun)" or "Describe? Yes. Hooray, label O.C.A. (object complement adjective)". 

Mendelssohn and Spaceships

On the orders of an urgent care doctor who gave me instructions to de-stress my life , I'm attempting to start writing again (perhaps dubious advice since it came from inside a very glass house, the doctor being a self-professed stressed out mom herself... ahem),  Like half the country this year, we've spent the last two months in bed, coughing our lungs up, puking, blowing out radioactive gunk or trying to recover long enough to catch whatever new virus is trending that week.  All New Year's resolutions have been traded in for survival tactics.  Sometimes when we've eaten cold cereal for all three meals, gone through three loads of towels in a day, and bought stock options in paper plates and Clorox wipes, I wonder how anyone ever survived in the pre-Costco/Walmart days. 

It's embarrassing.

I cope with the guilt by pinning healthy things on Pinterest and liking Instagram pictures of beautiful people lifting weights and running on the beach.

But today we were all well enough to go on the symphony field trip and it was healing balm... literally, since the techno base in the spaceship piece was so heavy and vibratorious it worked as a legit medical procedure.  And for the first time William was able to sit through the whole thing which makes me feel like we hit a major milestone. He's been cracking us up lately. Ever since he started bawling his eyes out whenever he heard Pentatonix's "Hallelujah" we realized that he's super sensitive to music.  I'm not sure what career requires the ability to slowly choke up and sob on demand, but so far we have a repertoire of Brahms lullaby,  Gershwin's "An American in Paris", the Getty hymn "In Christ Alone", and Disturbed's "Sound of Silence". He can also keep a beat and count a rhythm better than any of his older brothers, but we seem to have been shortchanged when musical genes were being passed out, so there are no expectations on him to be some sort of prodigy.  Still, it was nice to sit in Copley auditorium and watch him laugh, cry and sit wide eyed through the whole performance. 

The grammar and theory of music is just starting to click for my two older kids. I think they're finally reaching the age where explanations make sense to them.  The San Diego symphony put out a great lesson pack for their current concert and it's a fantastic resource just as a quick dive into any sort of musicology. I highly recommend it.  You can find all of the pieces on YouTube. And you can download the Symphony curriculum for free here.

In the 21st century it's so easy to feel like everything is at your fingertips all of the time, but there is really no comparison between hearing Mendelssohn via an electronic device and hearing it played right in front of you in a large hollow space with hundreds of pieces of wood, stretched out sheep guts, and oddly shaped metal. 

It seeps into your actual bones. 

The Samson Toddler

My childhood brain nearly imploded once when I overheard a learned adult hypothesize Samson was actually a scrawny guy. Blasphemy! Didn't they see the super accurate pictures on my Sunday School coloring page? But in a way, it kinda makes sense. Would everyone have been amazed by his strength if he looked like the Hulk with muscles rippling out like four Dwayne Johnson's stacked two high and two wide? Or would they have been more shocked if he had the typical dad-bod yet could swing a lion around like a small cat and go on a mass murdering spree with nothing but a donkey jaw?  

That sums up how I feel about my two year old right now.  He's a bit tiny for his age, although he does actually grow occasionally because I noticed recently his belly was starting to stick out of his 9-12 month shirts (which is unacceptable because we don't allow immodest crop tops in this household, so I promptly took it off and let him go shirtless). But despite having three other boys whose antics were very similar, I can't seem to help but marvel at the sheer insanity that is me trying to keep up with my youngest. But since we wrote down his older siblings' stories it would be remiss not to also chronicle his shenanigans: In a way, he's both easier and more difficult than Jamie was. Easier because I already survived one child who never sleeps and climbs everything, so I can sit this one out from the lofty towers of complacency. But it's harder because I don't have the time, energy or desire to train this last one or work as hard as I did with the first one. It really is true the youngest is more spoiled. I thought maybe it was just my jaded perspective as a firstborn, but unless everyone else is doing a much better job with their caboose child (don't answer that), I'm thinking this can safely move from theory to fact.  

When Jamie climbed out of his crib, Jim and I waited in the dark below his crib, rose up and went all Walking Dead whenever he attempted to climb out.  That didn't work so well with William because a) it kept his brothers awake more than it served as a compelling reason to stay in his crib  and b) like all strict parenting books tell you, you CAN train a child to be obedient, but while he did eventually learn to go to bed at bedtime, that didn't stop him from getting up in the middle of the night and raiding the pantry and fridge like a raccoon. c) no amount of training kept him from getting up for the day at 4:30/5:00 am.  

So we bought a sleep tent for the tidy sum of $100 (which I blogged about before) but was guaranteed to give exhausted parents a safe place to put their child during sleeping hours.  Within a week he broke the front panel out...just pushed his finger through the rip proof nylon until he got enough of an indentation to get a good grip, rip it open and emerge victorious in the baby game of Survivor.  We fixed that which earned us a whole month of sleep before he figured out how to wiggle the zipper down enough to make quick work of the rest (if he was smart, he would have figured that out first).  We used a carabiner after that to lock the zipper shut and that got us all the way to last night when Jim and I had just settled on the couch for a relaxing evening of Sherlock, bourbon and sewing projects when we heard a suspicious amount of bumping and activity going on in the back bedroom.  Jim went to go check and discovered our small son razing havoc like a small Tasmanian devil ping-ponging around the room.  

We assumed he'd just busted the carabiner lock (which had happened before), but no...he had ripped the entire tent off its base.  I assume, judging by the five star reviews, that this is not a common occurrence for other owners of this tent. And he seriously looks too small to do anything remotely that powerful, which is why I'm henceforth dubbing him my Samson toddler.  He may not talk very well, and he may not be super well behaved, but just to be on the safe side, I'm going to lock up the donkey jawbones.  

It's a good thing children look so angelic when they're sleeping?