Caution Cone Chaos

In my life, there are a dozen disasters a day. Seriously, my house should be surrounded by caution cones,.

Bathroom mishaps.

Lunchtime spills.

Lost toys.

Lost shoes.

Lost keys.

Lost children.

One minute there will be peace and harmony, and the next someone will be screaming because they were bashed in the head by a sword.

I have grown used to the chaos…okay, that may be a lie. I have grown accustomed to dealing with the chaos…that’s not really true either. How can I say it??

I have come to expect the chaos. There.

Most of the time, however, I associate the wild, crazy, every single flippin’ moment cacophony of chaos with my children. Because, in large part, it seems that they are the instigators of it.

Shockingly, I have been proven wrong.

We left them in Indiana, you see, and we came across an entire ocean for a romantic, relaxing, one-in-a-lifetime trip in Italy.

And the chaos followed us here.

I won’t try and explain it all. That would make you have a nervous breakdown. I’ll just give you the highlights.

Flights delayed.

Airport dashing.

Sleepless night.

Lost luggage.

Lost US.

Lost souvenir bag.

Spilled coffee.

The worst ferry ride ever which included 50 people vomiting from seasickness (yes, I was one of them).

More dashing (this time to catch a train rather than a plane)

And now you’re caught up.

Disaster has followed me to Italy.

Rude.

All my expertise in expecting and dealing with the chaos has been tested, and let me tell you, I haven’t been batting a very strong average.

I broke down and cried in two airports.

I am the spiller of the coffee.

I looked at my husband and said “Stop talking to me!” right before I started throwing up in a barf bag.

Enough said.

Still, as is true in my regular life, it hasn’t ALL been calamity.

We ate dinner in an ally of a small Italian town, with street musicians performing right behind us. We drank Italian wine, and ate home made pasta, and everyone around us says “chow” and “prego” and there are mountains and lemon trees and pizzerias and an abundance of little, old Italian men playing cards…

After the coffee spilling, and after the vomiting, but before we lost a souvenir bag, I stopped at a shop and had a pair of sandals made.

Made. For. My. Feet.

On the street.

In Italy.

Coolest thing ever.

The man making them was at least 150 years old, and he was adorable. Someone else who worked with him measured my feet and told me to come back in 20 minutes…

And now I have hand made Italian shoes.

So see? Not all chaos.

As I sit on a train bound for Naples, and I take stock of the past 4 days, I have come to this conclusion.

We will have at least half a dozen catastrophes a day for the rest of our stay here.

Maybe realizing and accepting and anticipating them will help me be more relaxed when they happen.

(and my husband murmurs “please God”)

The other thing I have concluded is that chaos doesn’t follow my kids.

It follows ME!

Double rude.

I should really come with caution cones surrounding myself! And a sign around my neck that says “will likely trip, or spill something, or trip AND spill something, or break down crying, or get lost, or lose something else, or get lost AND break down crying, at any moment. The faint of heart should not approach.”

When we get to Naples we will make a mad dash for a train bound for Rome.

We will probably miss the train.

But then we can eat pizza in Naples, which is where pizza was first invented, I’m told.

So there is a silver lining after all. (although, lets be honest, there is NOTHING silver lined about puking in a plastic bag on a boat surrounded by 50 other puking people.)

Look out, Rome, here I come, caution cones and all.