Don’t Ever Help the Local Teens When You’re Traveling on a Foreign Bus

Oh my.  I am seriously crying over here.  I was reminded yesterday that my sister, the MOST helpful woman you will ever meet, was inspired on our recent trip to Italy (#sisterchick style) to help the local teenage boys out…on the bus…at the top of her voice.

Here is how the story goes…

We were on the Pisa city bus just, very apparently, not making our way to the Leaning Tower…So there we were.  Hanging out.  Watching the city pass us by, while the locals hopped on and off.  Pushing stop buttons when wanting to exit and stamping tickets when boarding.

We knew we had to get back to the train station—so, you know, we had to basically ride the loop out.

This gave us OODLES of time to get really really really like super really bus savvy.  I mean, we were riding it for like an hour—so we did have it figured out.

Stop button meant people wanted off.  Tickets punched meant people would be riding.

The thing is…the bus was so busy that we were all scattered throughout.  From front to back—dragging our ridiculously heavy suitcases with us—carry-on luggage—and lots and lots of sweat from our over-stuffed train ride to get to Pisa from Florence (but that’s another story).

And in the midst of the bus chaos and complete separation we hear from somewhere in the middle a LOUD and TALL REDHEAD shouting in her best Italian #@$&%!

The bustling, overcrowded, LOUD bus comes to a complete moment of silence===and we, the traveling #sisterchicks, all look towards Darby (my sister) and stare.  Mouths open.

What did she just yell?????

Whatever it was, it brought Italy to a standstill.

No one…foreign or otherwise…knew what to do.

And then we hear her, “I am just trying to help stop the bus.”

All of us, however, came to the conclusion that whatever word the teenage boys were shouting on the bus was probably, very likely, absolutely without a doubt, we are sure of it…not the word STOP!

What word was it?

Well, considering it was teenage boys yelling it…let’s just say it was probably a very naughty word that my sister would most likely punish her own teenagers for saying 😉

Yes, here she was, in a foreign country, yelling it at the top of her lungs!

#$%!@##$#!

Needless to say—the bus did stop.

Talking that is.

Not in motion.

It kept rolling…

Much like our laughter to this day.

Oh, dear friends, wherever you go, if there are teenage boys shouting, keep this in mind…

Don’t repeat what they are saying…ESPECIALLY if it is in a foreign language.

And on a bus!

***

photo credit:  Laura Hocknell; photo caption:  Perspective;  photo subject:  DARBY the bus yeller!!!!!

 

#sisterchicks and what we learned traveling through Italy!

“Prego, Madam!  What do you want?  Why do you knock on the door???  IT IS CLOSED!”

An angry Italian woman yelled at my sister as we peered through the only money exchange in site.

Rule number 1:

Italy takes naps…And don’t mess with them.

***

“Brooke, what are you looking at?  That man over there???”

“Yes!” I answered.  

Holy cow, ladies.  Italy is like the land of red carpet.  George Clooney has nothing on these cobble-stone walkers!

Needless to say, cameras come out—click, click, click!

Rule number two:

Be prepared for MANY Italian masterpieces—and not all of them are centuries old or made of marble.

***

“Brooke, is this the water taxi we take back?”  

I look at the scrolling monitor, the platform, the time—and, being the European live-r, answer with confidence, “YES!  It is.  Run!”

We jump on the rocking water taxi in just enough time to be shoved, trampled, and smothered before the chain goes on and the boat pushes off…Our day in Venice is over, and all we have to do now is find the RIGHT bus off of the island and back to our hotel.

What should have been a 15 minute boat ride, however, later turned into a full-circle 1-hour water taxi ride where I REFUSED to ask for directions, because, you know, I KNOW how to live in Europe.

When we came to our original take-off platform, I swallowed my very big pride and asked the woman manning the boat if and when we would get off on our platform—

She chuckled, told us to jump off, and run to the next platform…

Where we then had no money nor tickets, ducked under the railing and hoped beyond measure that the next boat would take us home.

Well—relatively home since we still had a bus and walk in front of us.

It did—and we even ended the night with homemade spaghetti to boot.

Not bad for my ego, eh?

Rule number 3:

Don’t EVER go with Brooke when it comes to directions

***

I need to sanitize my entire body!

My sister-in-law proclaimed after our lively, full, smell-ful bus ride to the Leaning Tower of Pisa, where I—ONCE AGAIN—put us on the wrong public transportation.  A one-hour tour around the extremely lovely city of Pisa with a girlfriend nearby manning the GPS saying, “Wait, we should be at the Leaning Tower in 7 minutes…” The bus proceeds to turn left…”No, wait…now 11 minutes!”  The bus turns right “No, now 15 minutes…”

Yes.  We took a loop bus around the city and didn’t see a scant drop of the Leaning Tower until we arrived BACK at the train station and decided to take a taxi from there.

Which took approximately 4 minutes to the Leaning Tower and only cost $12 Euro for 6 of us.

BUT…we did get to see the otherwise lovely city of PISA—trampled by bus-goers and smothered by no ventilation and holding on for dear, careening life as the bus driver drove like a cowboy.

Rule number 4:

Remember Rule #3!

***

Should we go see the original Masterpiece David or are we okay with the copy????  We all kind-of wondered…

But, HEY…In Florence, so close to a Michelangelo Masterpiece, we decided we better put on our walking shoes and try to make a way…

BEST DECISION EVER!

And, along the way, we got distracted by lovely shopping, open marketplaces, amazing architecture, and couple Dutch college kids that proceeded to point us in the WAY WRONG direction to the David.  Thankfully, we asked a few other joggers for a second opinion…

Where we made it.

I was in awe.

From his feet to his piercing eyes—Michelangelo’s David was probably one of the most magnificent man-made creations I have ever seen.  And I have lived in Europe a long time, have seen beautiful cathedrals and divine paintings.  I have even dined next to original Monet’s …

Upon leaving the university which houses the David, I bought my parents an awesome Florence reconstructed book and what I thought was the most decent (not showing all body parts of David) bookmark…

Upon my sister returning home and giving my parents the gifts, her 11-year-old son flips the bookmark over where David is fully revealed and proclaims, “WELL!  That is highly inappropriate!”

Hahahahahaha!

Gotta love kids!

Which brings me to my final rule of this #sisterchicksposting…

Rule number 5:

See the David…even in all his glory!  It’s a must.  From the gentle way that David is holding the stone in his right hand, to the way the sling is draped over his back…

From the way his feet lead to his legs and the muscles of youthful strength are perfectly carved …

To the way that his eyes are glancing to the left…

To know that a young 26-year-old man carved this masterpiece out of ONE piece of marble…centuries ago in the days when today’s technology did not exist.

SEE THE DAVID!

And, spend way more time in Florence than we did.  It is worth every single drop of your time and days!

***

Well, we #sisterchicks finished our trip strong (the luggage at the cheap airport I’ll address another day)…

And we had a blast.

I can’t wait until these #sisterchicks abandon their husbands and children again where we will then head to ROME!

OR THE WORLD!

Because traveling with #sisterchicks is well worth every drop of time and energy.

Just remember to never follow my directions!

 

What Real Life 40 Actually Looks Like!

Man…Today was my HILL moment!  And it just seemed far too plain and lovely.  I didn’t feel the climb at all.  So that must mean that I am in better 4-0 year old shape than I originally thought, eh?

No.  Really.  Today was the day that I was having a super hard time approaching.  I know—many are in the club.  Many say it’s the best time in life.  Many have many things to say.

But this day for me was a VERY reflective day.

My life.  It’s halfway.  I am at the marker.

Yes.  Technically with the genes that run in my family, I may live to be 100.  God willing.  But I may not.  And, so, as I approached this day, I did so with great reflection of every day—every year—and every moment that led up to this moment.  The first half of my life…

It’s a big deal to know that you have accomplished a milestone such as the First Half of Your Life.

My daughter asked me if I felt any older today.  I said, “No.  I still feel 18.”

And she laughed and said when she turned a decade  (this is how old she calls herself) she still, also, felt only 9.

That’s the thing.  I don’t feel the 4-0.  When I was pregnant just a couple years ago…I felt the 9-0—but, not pregnant, I feel rather GREAT.  And yet I still must pause and actually realize that I am at a HUGE point in my life.  A point that says, “You have completed half of  your life…Now, the question is, what are you going to do with the rest of it?”

It’s making me REALLY think hard!

Yes.  A four-door-jeep would be my mid-life crisis car…So I hope to have one of those one day.

I am not a cougar—nor do I ever want to “TRAIN” another husband.  Therefore, I’ll keep the hottie that is the better half of this blog’s title 😉  (Oh—and I believe in God’s gift of marriage—therefore, I shall stick with working it out with the one that I got 😉 😉 😉 ).

We are finally in the process of owning our very own FIRST home in our married life.  15 years in.  That is a huge woot-woot from our side of the world.

And I am tied up and not expecting any more storks to come by—so my first half of life completed any NEW life that might pop right out of me.

So where do I go from here?

My friends…up!

Looking up.

You know—although I am a bit freaked about forty (no matter how great you tell me it is), I pray with my entire heart that as I travel through each new day on my new side of the mountain, that I will always look up.

God has carried me, dragged me, and walked next to me for the first 40—and I am so thankful.  I can’t imagine the new path without my same hiking companion.

So, where do I go from here?????

Anywhere He directs me to go.

And I look forward to that adventure!

God bless your side of the mountain, no matter which side that may be.

Always,

b

Oh, yeah…Enjoy my REAL day of 40 with my messy kids and lumberjack husband that built me just the BEST 40th birthday present a girl could hope for—a tennis wall!

Breakfast and Coffee…my husband knows the way to my heart!!!

His day off is Tuesday every week.  Happy for me that my birthday fell on a Tuesday this year!  He spent the entire day making my tennis wall outside.  I love my lumberjack—he knows me so well!!!!

4-0 year old me!

Messy kids running around in underwear holding signs that say “Lordy Lordy Brookie Cookie’s 40!”

Max orchestrated the entire cake:  not owie, Barbie mermaid, yummy pink frosting, and taste testing throughout!

This is what a 3-yr-old’s Barbie cake looks like for his mommy’s birthday!

Get it?  40!

My 5-Star birthday dinner by my hubs!  Including homemade stuffed mushrooms with Brie cheese!

This love missed the entire party.  But she is so cute it doesn’t matter!

And this love insisted on taking his Daddy shopping so I could have a special robot present for my big day.  Needless to say, I have not been able to play with it much 😉

 

Celebrating in Poland!

Okay.  I am not kidding.  Tonight was my rockstar moment.  Forget that I am a 4-0 mother of 3, two of those being toddlers, I mean…really…this just happened!

For my 40th, people, basically my family in this foreign land, joined us at a restaurant where you eat in complete darkness.  It is an awe-experience because you can’t even see your finger on your nose if you touch it—you get to feel your food, taste it in the extremes, and understand others lives as you experience only a sightless celebration.  It is a must try.

And, in the atmosphere of the dark, you also communicate with great fun as you “hear” your friends more keenly.

Anyhow, after your meal, you return to the semi-light in an outer room while the chef comes and shares what you ate.  Oh. Yeah.  You don’t know what you’re eating in the dark!  Plain cool.

After the chef shared and we all laughed through our obvious culinary know-nots, we gathered for a group photo where the girls—yes, the girls—hoisted me in the air, singing Sto Lat, and then throwing me up and down.

Beasts they are!

You go, Ladies!!!!

It definitely made for a rockstar ending to a fantastic 40th birthday celebration night.

Here’s to 40+ more!

Sto Lat to me 😉

My Rocky Balboa…I hope it’s not insulting.

Today is a GREAT day. It’s my sister’s Golden Birthday. November 16th. Except she did not just turn 16. She just turned…

Ah, what’s that expression?

I think it’s 40.

Over the hill.

Lordy, Lordy, Darby’s 40!

But she doesn’t look a day over 38. I would say 25, but I pretty much think all 25-year-olds look like kids at this stage of my life, so I will simply stick with the fact that she still looks like a lady in her 30s.

And who is this great 40-year-old lady with this wonderful name Darby?

Why, this woman is my Rocky Balboa. I really hope that’s not insulting.

Here. Let me explain.

My sister and I are 16 months apart in age.

If you have children, you understand. That’s close in age. So close, in fact, that at times you feel as if you have an extension of who you are.  Almost like a twin.

Except, I am not sure she feels the same way.  And this is why…

Before we returned to Poland, Darby and I were having a fabulous late-night chat.  You see, my husband left for Poland a month before we did, so I had the immense privilege of living with my sister and her wonderful husband and fabulous kids.  Which was also RIGHT next door to my amazing brother, his awesome wife and fantastic kids.

It truly was a dream month.

But back to my conversation…

My sister looked at me and said, “Do you remember all of those times you had to fight to wear makeup or high heels or pantyhose?”

“Do you remember all of those times you had to fight to go on a date or stay up late?”

“Do you remember all of those times you had to fight to drive a car or go to a movie with your friends?”

And I simply answered, “No.”

Because I don’t.

“Exactly.” She replied.

My sister.  She is the eldest in our family.  She was our Rocky Balboa.  She entered the ring first and fought all of those battles for us.

And for Darby, they were battles.

For my brother, Casey, and I, they were simply victories.

So, to my sister.  The one that turned 40 today, I just want to say…

I thank you.

I admire you.

And I love you.

Thank you for being the most amazing sister in the world.  An example as a wife.  A brilliant auntie.  A stupendous daughter.  And the most fabulous mother.

You are my Rocky.  And I thank you for being ahead of me.  Not just because you jumped in the ring for me, but because you have always been my steadfast fighter.

On your knees, before our awesome God, praying for me.  For my life—in health and uncertainty.  In my marriage.  And for my children.

I will never forget when you told me that God spoke to you in a dream and said, “Brooke, God told me you would have another baby.”

And then we had Max.  Miracle Max.

You, my sister, you are being celebrated a world away today because of a date that marks the birth of the start of your life here on earth.

But a world away, I will celebrate you.  Not because of your birth—but because of your life.

Thank you, my sister.

Forever I thank you.

And, to end it all, “Yo, Adrienne!”  Just because I couldn’t resist.

I love you, my Rocky.

Forever and always,

your B

***

Just for fun.  In case you have never had the chance to read another rather emotionally charged battle we had.  Except this time we were both in the boxing ring.  The opponents?  The other sister 😉  Enjoy a throwback blog posting.  xo b

Knockdown Drag out Fight in Costco