Vesuvius and Bruschetta

The rest of the country may be gearing up for Christmas, but at our house we are mainly celebrating wreckage and horror. The Mighty Spills is obsessed with volcanoes at the moment. The toy cupboard has a drawing on it of Mount Etna (with a sad face, to show that it's active) and Mount Vesuvius (with a happy face, because it's dormant and thus not hurting anyone). There is a cup with a plastic chicken leg sticking out of it, sitting on her toy stove, that represents "molten lava coming out." And she has, with Daddy's help, written the word "hospital" and stuck it up in a few places in the kitchen and living room--just in case anyone gets caught in a lava flow.

Vesuvius is her favorite. She and her Daddy have been going through National Geographic magazines finding pictures of it, along with pictures of Pompeii. Last night at the Christmas concert, she talked the school librarian's ear off about the horrible things that could happen if Vesuvius were to become active.

"It will send out MOLTEN LAVA."

"Is that so?"

Severely: "And ASH. And it is NOT GOOD for things that are alive. And it KILLED all the people in Pompeii."

Kind of killed the holiday spirit too, I must say.

This morbid fascination with Vesuvius has kind of expanded into a general interest in Italy. So we decided tonight to take her to a new Italian restaurant that had just opened a couple of blocks away from the house. The restaurant was so-so. But the bruschetta was yummo, and Spilly finished off most of the plate (leaving next to no room for her gnocchi, which resulted in various incredible contortions of boredom while Mommy and Daddy were eating; a fine parenting experience if ever there was one). She then went on to gelato for dessert--amazingly, she always leaves quite a lot of room for something sweet--and was briefly close to heaven.

Unfortunately, the slow service wore down what was left of her four-year-old enthusiasm, and even Mommy's sterling impression of what the woman in the picture on the wall might say (inventive variations on "Ooooh, I just love going to this restaurant! And I'm so happy sitting on this wall all the time! Can I have some more bruschetta, please?") did not help. The evening ended with my tiny sage saying wearily, "Mommy, I feel TIRED and OLD."

Kind of like Vesuvius must feel at this point. And definitely like I feel (especially after chaperoning a middle-school dance today).