Besides needing to stop trying to shoplift produce and to stop talking about multiple anuses, I have another reason to learn Italian.  I have a very beautiful child.  This isn’t just biased mom speak here, although I certainly am that.  I know that he is beautiful because the Italians keep telling me.

Irresistible to Italians since 2014

Typical scenario:  picture me huffing away pushing the double stroller.  Usually elderly Italian walks up and coos at the kids.  Sometimes they just flip me a “Complimenti” and walk on.  Other times they want more of a chat.  I just smile and nod while my brain is going a hundred miles per hour to try to keep up.  I once told the little old lady “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian.”  She nodded and just kept talking.  In Italian.  I usually try to throw in a few “Henry, say ciao” or similar to hopefully signify that I do not speak the Italian and I am not purposely trying to anger everyone here over the age of 60.

People give Henry things.  Our first time in a restaurant, the waiter rolls up with a ball of dough on a plate and sets it in front of Henry.  And then sat back just to watch what happened.  (Henry licked it and then set it down.)  We walked past a flower stall and the man pulled out a rose for Henry.  He got a free sucker at the panini place.  The kid is racking up freebies.

Henry currently draws more attention, but Mac also has a devoted following.  He had a pretty resounding cheek squishing at the pizza place and then the lady stalked him down the street for additional squishing when we paused to chat with a neighbor.  I can’t really blame her.

You can’t resist the squish

A surprising number of people have asked if they are twins.  Mac is big, but not that big . . .

Adorable? Who, us?

So here is my blanket apology to all the Italians I am not properly responding to as you compliment my children.  Learn Italian.  I’m on it.  In the meantime, I am flattered, and I hope my smile and heartfelt “grazie” do the trick.