Day 4 Part 3

Day 4. Part 3.
Tuesday June 17, 2014

You would think that I wouldn't need to break up such a low key day into 3 parts. But I do. Why?! Because Italian taxi drivers (ok, all drivers in Italy) are freaking crazy.
We catch two cabs from the Vatican and naturally the rain stops when we make our way across the river.
I am more tired than I thought I'd be. My bones are achy and there's a small part of the back of my head that is pulsating. I'm dehydrated and physically exhausted. So when my eyes begin to close it should come as no surprise.
Something startles me less than 10 minutes later. I look over and see Naomi has dozed off while Alora is slowly getting weary and is watching videos on the iPad. Her little body begins to slump against mine. I pat her hair down and kiss her forehead. She falls into a deep sleep. Italy has worn her down.
For the first time I am aware of my body sliding across the seat and my left hand reaches automatically for something to grasp. There's nothing available. So I sit there, rigid in anticipation, waiting for the next sharp turn.
I can't find Marc's taxi. We are following his driver because ours doesn't know where our hotel is located. I go into momentary panic mode. Naturally, because I am me, and if you truly know me, you know I jump to worse case scenario.
Visions of being abducted and my daughters ripped from my clutches cloud my mind and I start thinking of what I have on me I can use as a weapon. I think of all the self defense techniques and in which cases would I need them. I flex every muscle preparing myself for anything. Fight or flight.
Then we emerge from the alley, yes, we were zipping down some back alley, and I see the Prius containing the men I love most. I put my fears of being sold to the gypsies (or worse) aside and face a new fear. Car crash leading to paralysis or death.
What in the hell is going on here?!? We are zipping through alleys, racing through the people filled streets, dodging other vehicles, and narrowly escaping collisions by centimeters.
My stomach muscles are clenched and I hang on to Alora's little bobbling head to prevent whiplash.
Traffic was horrible in the beginning. Mostly from the rain but also because people were getting off work. Now we're moving at warp speed and crashing to abrupt halts every 90 seconds.
I'm not sure what route the lead driver took but I'm seeing parts of Rome I hadn't before.
Our 25 minute drive has become 45 minutes and I know two things are certain.
1) Marc is panicked that we will get too late of a start to the airport and miss our flight.
2) Marc is nerve wracked on this drive.
We arrive at Hotel Des Artistes (I still find it ironic our travel agent booked this hotel without knowing my background) and I wake Naomi. How this kid could sleep through that nonsense is a mystery to me.
I am correct in the knowledge I have of my husband. He looks like he's aged 5 years and there's a yellowish green tint to his pallor. I almost feel bad except I was the one traveling with the girls in the most sexist place on earth. Our driver barely spoke and ignored any question I asked. I was the one in the dark. I know Marc was grilling his cab driver like he was an Enterprise employee about to take his Skills test.
We get out of the cab and our driver releases a sigh of relief at the same time I do. It feels like I have done a thousand sit-ups. We look at each other and almost start to laugh. He was just as much in the dark as I was. I notice tiny beads of sweat on every pore of his face. If he just talked to me we could have made the experience more comfortable for each other. Driving while lost in Rome is not fun. Apparently not all Italians can handle it.
We grab our bags and a cab that was called arrives within 3 minutes. The driver asked what time out flight left and looks at the clock. He says it's about a 45-60 minute drive to the airport. We arrive in 35. It was a less harrowing experience than the last taxi ride but I was seated in the front and it somehow lessened the fear.
We pick up our boarding passes and head toward the passport checkpoint. We are signaled by a stern looking officer who calls every family member one by one by name. Each child is then supposed to say who they are.
He makes their names sound so sexy. Aydenn Aleksanderrrr. Alorrra Margueriteé. Nahommee Taylorrr. Brendin Dahviiid. Marrrc Dahviiid. And then...
The Boss.
Yeah, that's right. Even in a chauvinistic country they can't deny when a woman wears the pants. I thought Marc was going to pee himself laughing. He just looked up at the agent and said, "You have no idea!!"
The guy looks at Marc with a dead expression. He says, "Of course I do. Look at her! I know a boss when I see one. She. Is. De. Boss.
Arrivederci Roma. Until we meet again. Ciao!