Ciccio for Congress

Seven years ago Ciccio took his first flight ever to NYC. He didn't know a drop of English, but he was anxious to see what was out there. Today with his daughter cheering him on, he stood up in the courtroom and said, "My name is Francesco Todisco. I was born in Italy and I'm proud to be an American."

Most of us can't imagine what it's like to start over in another country, learning the language, culture and leaving family and friends behind. It was a moving service watching Ciccio and  other new citizens take their oath from Somalia, Mexico, China, South America, Iran and more. I've actually never been so proud of America when I witnessed that diversity and the hopes on all their faces.

It was a long, expensive and stressful journey for Ciccio and the others to get to that moment. We must never forget that we are a country of immigrants who have come together for peace and prosperity. I don't know what the future will hold for our little family, but I'm glad he has opened my eyes to the real America and made my dreams come true!

Manchi Microphone Mamma

I hate to perpetuate the stereotype, but Ciccio and his mom are loud Italians! On one occasion I was downstairs trying to get my daughter to fall asleep and I could hear Angela screaming on Skype upstairs. I thought, 'oh I will just go up there and shut the door to muffle the sound'. When I walked up the stairs, I was stunned to find the door was already shut. What surprised me even more was that my baby girl didn't seem mind. In fact, she is already rolling her r's and making sure her voice is heard too! I don't know how many times I tried to ssssh Ciccio and Angela this summer. Yet, this week she returned to Italy after four months and the silence is sad. No more Angela singing Giro Giro Tondo, no more pots banging while preparing pesto lasagna, and no more heart-to-heart conversations via google translate. Looking back it was a loud, chaotic summer with my mamma-in-law,and new baby, but one I will always cherish.

TVB & mi manchi Angela!

Cooking Crockpot Crap

We've been blessed to welcome a bambina this summer, hence the reason why there's been a lack of posting. One of the many joys these past few months was having my mother-in-law, Angela, stay with us:her first visit to the United States. Prior to her arrival, I fantasied and scoured Pinterest for recipes I would impress her with....insert a baby and all that went to the wayside.

Angela TRIED to show me how to cook traditional Italian meals. I have shown her how American women throw a whole bunch of crap in a thing called a crockpot and call it dinner.

Tonight's meal was no exception. I tried a new sweet potato, black bean chili recipe. Love both these ingredients, but it was bland. No buono!

Part of the problem is I always try new recipes and half the time they bomb. Italians don't experiment as much and as a result know how to cook the basics perfectly.

Last night Angela made a frittata with just tomatoes, onion, eggs, milk, salt and oil. It was perfectly seasoned and cooked. Something so simple shouldn't be so good, but that is Italian cooking.

On the other side, Angela said she is shocked how much variety we have in our diet. "You even change your bread!" she observed after seeing one week we buy rye, the next whole wheat. She would have never thought to put corn and peaches together in a salad, but was a fan. My quick peanut butter cookies also received some "mmm's" so I've not been a complete failure.

If my crockpot experiments haven't horrified her, the manner in which we shovel food in has. In the south of Italy everyone gets at least a couple hours off for lunch. You sit down, have several courses. chat, chat, chat, espresso, and more chat. This summer while I've been working from home, Angela has seen me come into the kitchen, throw a slice of cheese on bread and eat it over the sink as fast as possible without choking. Voila, lunch. She always wants to set the table and I'm like no it takes too much time! Chop, Chop!

I'm just glad I've already married Ciccio and given her a granddaughter so hopefully that trumps my sometimes less than glamourous kitchen skills.

Style Up in Flames

Last Friday my friend Jessica came over for the first time to see our new home. Everything was going well. She really liked what we had done and I was proud until I took her out to my formerly cute patio and found this.......

A HUGE GREEN MONSTER! 

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs at my husband, but instead I quickly ushered Jessica inside in hopes that she wouldn't question my taste. 

Ciccio and I had been discussing a grill all summer. We had pretty much decided to get one of those retro Weber circle grills that wouldn't take up too much space and had a little style. Well, Ciccio behind my back bought my brother's grill because it was a "good deal and more practical than charcoal".

That was the first strike and my patio already was looking a little less European cute. It didn't take long for Ciccio to start talking about our "need" for a grill accessories. I told him to wait and it wasn't necessary to have all the bells and whistles. My husband doesn't wait for anything he wants though. This is the man that proposed after two months of dating. A day after the chill out on the grill conversation,  Ciccio purchased the cover and the accessories, but I didn't know until the moment I saw it with my friend.

the grill accessories we "needed"

The problem is not that Ciccio blatantly went behind my back, or that he spent money without consulting me. The issue is much bigger than that.... my husband is becoming American! He is losing his good eye! He's choosing practicality over looks! It's not just the grill. He lives in cargo shorts now and begs for treats from Dairy Queen. 

It's been too long since we've been to Italy and I think we need to go back so his mom can slap the style back into him.

Before my patio was destroyed by the grill

Circle SI or NO

Ciccio received a package last week and was extremely excited. When he opened it there were four brightly colored cards.

I thought, "Oh no he has ordered some stupid Italian card game or something"





"What it is Ciccio?"

"It's to vote," He explained.

Seriously look at these "ballots" above and to the right.

"Is it for a kindergarden election?" I asked.

"No. Why you take joke?" Ciccio wondered.

He explained that in Italy they put different issues on colored people so that older people can identify them. They print the SI or NO extremely big for the same reason. I guess the content of the issue is not important for them to see, just the yes or no part.

Will Ciccio's vote count: SI or NO?

Tuesdays With Ciccio

This week we have a guest blogger: my mother, Julia. 

As Ciccio's mama-in-law (as he calls me), I get the pleasure of spending Tuesdays shopping with Ciccio. I need a good night's sleep in order to survive my day with my Italian energizer bunny. But, I do not talk to him until after he has had 2 cups of coffee and has read his email. He only grunts and stares until the caffeine kicks in. But, when Ciccio's day begins, the world better look out. 

He begins his day-off duties like a shot out of a cannon. Calling repair people, ordering things, checking on the status of his payments and bills. These seem like mundane tasks, but Ciccio doesn't do anything halfway, slow or in a boring manner. if you are on the receiving end of his calls, you better be prepared. If, God forbid, you put him through a run-around, he will immediately take it to higher authorities. 

"How can people run a business like that?!" is a frequent comment on the way many businesses handle customer queries. 

Does it bother him that he has to repeat his name and address because some people can't understand his Italian accent? I asked him and he said he thinks it is funny, and he can pretend ignorance if he doesn't like what they say. Usually, the accent and the charm win whatever he was trying to accomplish.

Going to Lowe's and Target are two typical Tuesday activities and it is so much more fun with Ciccio. He now knows many of the clerks and they look a little sheepish when he asks them very precise questions. Ciccio struts through the aisles like he is the owner, picking up things, reading the labels and making commentary on them as we go. Occasionally I have to walk away out of embarrassment when he tries to haggle to get a better price. 

When the kids were little I had to bribe them to go shopping with me. Now, I just have to make sure Ciccio gets his coffee and is home in time for Italian boys' night and he will go to any store with me. I never imagined my son-in-law would become one of my favorite shopping partners, but having a Ciccio in my life has made Tuesdays my favorite day of the week.

-Mama Julia

Everyone Loves an Italian Boy

I hate to admit it, but the cliche is still true. In NYC, I met a lot of women from around the world who were equal opportunity daters. All agree, there's just something about Italian men.

This picture says it all. I was introducing Ciccio to my friends and wanted them to understand why I was planning to marry him: his pizza skills. Before the dinner, I prepped Ciccio by reminding him the names of my friends and gave him some etiquette pointers. Somehow Ciccio took that to mean a nutella face smearing would be appropriate.  Luckily my friend Kirsten (pictured in the center) was a good sport. Look at my face though. I'm smiling, but you can see in my eyes I'm wondering "Why do I put up with this?"

Only an Italian boy could get away with such a faux pas. Actually this is what makes them irresistible. They just go for it, disregarding social norms and fears in all they do.

Ciccio eats too fast, talks too loud, and makes bold statements without thinking. It drives me nuts. On the other hand, he'll call me "pumpkin pie" in Home Depot with no reservations and tell me his deepest thoughts regarding religion.

Italian boys put it all on the table and most women will take it especially if they can have pizza too.