I am a city girl and usually happy with my lot. I like to have the buzz of the city around me, the shops, the services, the ease of life. But today, on my homeschooling quest, I stumbled upon this lovely blog: http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/Dell/. And I was seized by the desperate need to live in a place like that: where the leaves turn golden and red (and not sickly yellow); where a nature walk means spotting a squirrel on a tree or a fox by the entrance door (and not cockroaches and rats scurrying in the Tube’s tunnels); and where children are so beautiful, well-dressed and even better photographed (and not like some other children I know, who always look like little monkeys).

OK, if I had to settle for just one thing, the pictures would be it. Why do her children look so beautifully elegant and poised in a picture, while mine look like this?

Gosh, it is the first time in four days that I manage to sit down at my desk. I can barely believe it. The four days of May 1-4 are a Bank Holiday weekend in Italy, where we are at the moment. I had to work through the first two days anyway (in an rather annoying lack of sync, May 1 and 2 are not a Bank Holiday in the UK, although May 5 is, and I had two articles due in). Then I had to make up for having worked on Friday afternoon and Saturday by taking Niccolo and Caterina to every possible park and shop imaginable.

Having fun…


…in the park…


..and at home…

The end result was that they had oodles of fun—well Nicco did; Caterina slept most of the time—and I fell asleep like a rock at 9pm every evening. Or tried to, anyway. It seems that all this fresh air is tiring me out, but having no effect whatsoever on the children, especially Nicco, who last night kept asking for another read of Aladdin, two Great Explorer stories (Sir Francis Drake and Walter Raleigh), the story of how the goddess Aphrodite was born of teh sea foam and, while we were at it, the Trojan war. Mind you, it is entirely my fault. I remember that my mother’s adaptations of Homer’s Iliad were among the stories I enjoyed the most as a child, and decided to tell them to Niccolo. He clearly likes them as much as I did.

Niccolo’s one successful attempt at taking a picture

And crafting, I hear you ask? Well, I am half way through making a golden sword (guess who asked for it) but other than that…I have only been able to think of some collages I want to do in the ten seconds it takes for me to fall asleep.

Ever since turning three last July, Niccolo has displayed an increasingly competitive streak. “I am taller than Andrian because I eat more.” Or “I play football better than Uncle Paolo.” And, of course: “I paint better than you, Mummy.” Which, incidentally, doesn’t take much.

Better than Mummy’s paintings, no doubt

Lately, however, his benchmarks have become a lot more ambitious. We were reading Laurence Anholt’s Picasso and the Girl with the Ponytail a few days ago when he piped up: “I paint better than Picasso.” And yesterday he came to me, all seriousness:

“Mummy, I have to tell you something.”

“Tell me.”

“Did Leonardo da Vinci draw?”

“Yes, you see, most artists draw preparatory sketches before they paint and…”

My explanation was cut abruptly short.

“Then I draw better than Leonardo.”

Hmm, well…even a mother’s love is not that blind!