Our Roman Holiday, Chapter III: My Daughter, the Art Critic

“屁股! 屁股!” shouted Sasha as we wandered through the corridors of the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. Translation: “Butt! Butt!” Which was kind of also my reaction to the incredible collection of sculptures and busts: what a lot of glorious nudity! But Sasha’s understanding and interpretation of the classics wasn’t just limited to recognizing bare bottoms. …

Our Roman Holiday, Chapter II: Sono Stanco

Rome is a city of piazzas and cobblestones, hills and catacombs, high heels and pick-up soccer games—that is, a walking city. Which is to say, if you’re there with a 3-year-old, you’re fucked. Well, that’s maybe putting it a bit strongly. Sasha has held up pretty well here, considering her jetlag and our erratic use …

Our Roman Holiday, Chapter I

About nine months ago, Jean, Sasha and I attempted to visit Jean’s family in Taiwan. The trip was an almost unmitigated disaster. The moment we got on the airplane, Sasha was scared out of her not-quite-2-and-a-half-year-old wits. “I scared! I scared! she screamed, trying desperately to climb out of her own seat and into Jean’s …