By Contributing Mama Karen Palmer Bland

First off… keep this to yourself. Apparently babysitters do NOT realize that they hold the keys to the castle. That moms are out there desperate to find and connect with total strangers to watch our precious kids. When we moved to St. Louis last summer, my first order of business was finding babysitters. I mean, come on, house hunting and school visits can wait. But bikini waxes and Bikram yoga classes are a priority people.

How do I find these amazing sitters that you hear people talking about? My first thought….Washington University, a sizable school full of the elite East Coasters, was right in my own backyard. How could I penetrate this academic palace and score the sitters??? The answer? PLAY THE SORORITY CARD.

While I wasn’t much of a greek-er in college, I did pledge. And while I hadn’t really thought about Pi Phi much since 1990, the time was now. I googled away and emailed the chapter contacts at Wash U. I quickly identified myself as their “ older sister with kids” and asked if they would post a “babysitters wanted” note up at the house.

Now, I don’t know about you all, but when I was a college student at Tulane University, NO ONE WORKED and NO ONE MISSED OUT ON A NIGHT OF CHEAP DRINKS, like dollar Corona night, free drinks for ladies night and 2-for-1 Thursdays. I mean, how could we possibly justify working when we needed to hightail it to the bars to save money?

Well apparently at Wash U, there are girls who do more than drink. Within 15 minutes of my email, I had 8 emails and 6 phone calls from my long lost little Pi Phi sisters looking to babysit. Everyone from the rush chairman to the president was answering my ad. I didn’t understand it. Soon resumes were flying into my inbox. (Again, when I was in college, we couldn’t even spell the word resume.)

When my husband, Jeffrey, and I started looking through these 3-page resumes, we were stunned. They were filled with solid material – not filler crap like “Proficient in Word” and “Member of Who’s Who in High School” but really impressive positions like “Intern for Lou Dobbs at CNN” and “Participant in the Massachusetts Legislative Program.” What was up with these girls?

And then came the pre-med students – #1 in their class of 500, perfect SAT scores, science honor students, full scholarships, CPR certified and proficient in 3 languages. It was quickly apparent that these girls were more qualified than I to be home with kids! Eesh – are these girls nerds? Maybe they have social issues (i.e. no friends) and they want to babysit just to have some interaction with humans instead of fruit flies? I had two immediate thoughts. One, there is no way I could get into college today. Two, could I afford these geeks?

Turns out I was wrong (about the nerd part anyway). These girls were not nerds – they were all beautiful, East Coast 20-year old, mature, well-balanced, smarties, with boyfriends and lots of friends. They would show up to babysit in their SUVs, with their Louis Vuitton bags, their Uggs (in August), their $200 jeans – and to top it off, they couldn’t be nicer to my 3 kids under age 3.

And did they want to watch TV when the kids were asleep? No, they preferred to study for a midterm that was 10 weeks away. These girls were too good to be true.

And I enjoyed their company. We started gabbing about boys and formals and dresses and rush, and suddenly I was back in college mode. I mean, we were pretty close in age and all. They introduced me to Facebook. They told me they liked my clothes. These were my new buddies. I was on cloud 9 with my new sisters.

That is, until one day, when Jeffrey pulled back the curtain. “Do you realize that these girls are closer in age to our 3-year old, than they are to you?” he said. Eesh…was he right? Does he even know math? Did HE get a perfect SAT score?

Hmm… I am good at math, and he is right. Wow. Thanks, honey. I guess that means I’m not going to Pi Phi formal after all. All for the best really. I wouldn’t be able to find a sitter.

Midwest mama Karen Palmer Bland lives in St. Louis, Missouri – with her husband and three kids, Rory, Sawyer and Georgia. She’s a big city girl (not to be confused with a large girl who lives in a city), but right now she is “doing the right thing” and living in the middle of the country, to provide her birdies a nice backyard with their very own expensive swing set. Karen is a Tulane graduate who earned her MBA at Washington University. She is a recovering advertising agency executive, now serving the toughest clients of her life – her three kids.

I’m writing this from the balcony of our Rome hotel. And by Rome, I kind of mean New York City.

And by balcony, I sort of mean living room.

Yes. We’re home. Not that anyone cares with that attention hogging Michael Phelps around.

We spent our last night in Rome, gorging on heavenly pasta.

We even gave the girls a quick peak at the Roman Colosseum.

“Dylan, this is one of the most famous buildings in the world,” I explained.

“Is it new?” she responded.

“Oh no. Very very old. It dates back to – Well, it’s super old,” I said.

“Do people live here?” Dylan asked.

“No. It was used for shows. Like “Sesame Street Live” only sort of more geared for adults. Adults who dig gladiators,” I explained. I really am so good at this parenting thing.

Then we hailed a cab and told the Italian driver, “The Holiday Inn near the airport.”

And he apparently heard, “Airport.”

Because 25 exhilarating minutes later (holy crap, they really drive THIS-IS-GOING-TO-SHORTEN-MY-LIFE-FAST), we were delivered to Leonardo da Vinci airport… which was totally perfect except that we had no luggage and we were about 14 hours early for our flight.

So we cleared up the confusion, made our way to the Holiday Inn and paid him copious amount of Euros for our little unintended excursion.

The next day, our flight back to New York was 9 hours and 20 minutes.

Our portable DVD player battery ran for 3 hours and 0 minutes.

If you rock at math, you’ll easily understand that we found ourselves with 6 hours and 20 minutes to fill with the kids. I’m not really one to talk to strangers on planes but by the end of the flight, in a desperate attempt to just pass the time, I found myself interrogating the lovely Houston couple next to me about their lives.

But finally we landed. And it really felt good to be home.

Now I hear there has been some kind of big, fancy, international sports competition going on. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? I’m totally going to go check it out. Give me a couple days and I promise I will have resurrected my desperate desire to be a professional gymnast.

My kids are not big on breakfast foods so I am wondering what other moms give their kids for breakfast. I am up for any ideas. My daughter Mallory especially seems to get bored easily with breakfast foods. Thanks!

Ok. There’s no denying it. This is my last post from Italy.

Well, unless there is some kind of European airline workers’ strike which forces us to savor the delights of this land for a few extra days. Hmm… how do I get one of those started? Please tell me if you know a guy.

Despite the required Italy obsessions (you know… espresso, wine, gelato and orecchiette), Rick, Dylan, Summer and I all have our own individual passions here.

I’m obsessed with watching “Larry Sanders” on DVD. Did you ever catch this HBO show staring Gary Shandling in the 1990s? Nothing Italian about it. It’s a sitcom about a fictitious late night talk show. And it’s completely hilarious. I also watched it when we were in Tuscany a few years back. Apparently, I really really like Gary Shandling on Italian soil.

Rick is crazy about the same thing he loves in the United States… chicken. He found his fave chicken guy in Polignano a Mare and visits him and tasty birds faithfully.

The guy finally asked Rick, “Don’t you have chicken in America?” Or at least that’s what we think he said. Shockingly, our Italian is still a bit rusty.

As for Summer? Well, that girl can’t get enough of Andrea Bocelli. And in particular, this one song, “Con Te Partiro,” which he sang on an episode of Sesame Street. We have it on our iPod and Summer wants it played over and over again. Endlessly. Which I guess is a whole lot better than “The Wiggles” or something.

And Dylan’s obsession? Bringing new fashion trends to Italy, of course. Sure, Europe is usually on the forefront of cutting edge style but there are a few looks I’m sure they haven’t seen. Dylan INSISTED on wearing her pajama bottoms under her sun dresses. Every. Single. Day.

She even brainwashed me because I started calling them leggings.

And well, you can’t look all fancy in your pajama leggings without a proper headband.

And if it’s 10 million gazillion degrees outside (and that’s Fahrenheit, not Celsius), you should definitely wear a sweatshirt.

Oh, and make your sister wear one too.

But we are most obsessed with the Southern region of this country. Polignano, we will miss you.

And Summer will especially miss playing with the salad spinner in the bidet.

Oh, come on! You try keeping your kid away from the bidet.

Arrivederci Italia!

So at this point you may be wondering two things.

First, is Kelcey ever returning to New York City?

And secondly, is the girl ever going to stop rambling about Italian toddlers and Barty-Bart and finally show us some highlights of Southern Italy? And when I say highlights, I’m not talking about my hair – which happens to desperately need some fresh color. Of course, that will have to wait until we are back in the U.S. because despite my adventurous Italian spirit, I would never have the balls to highlight my hair in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language.

I know, I’m such a wimp.

But yes, I am indeed returning to NYC this coming Saturday.

As far as Southern Italy, we’ve taken some awesome day trips… to the magnificent, speedo-filled beaches and also to little towns like Ostuni and Alberobello.

Alberobello is famous in Italy because it’s filled with little dome shaped houses called Trulli.

The guide book says it looks like a Disney flick, and it really is super movie set cute except for all the endless drek. Every few meters, you pass a little dome shaped store selling tons of colorful junk that you definitely don’t need but you absolutely can’t keep your kids away from.

And Italian drek is still drek. So the girls did a lot of whining as we ushered them along, despite my proclamations that THERE IS NO WHINING IN ITALY.

Apparently, there is.

“Wait, I just want to see this for one second,” Dylan cried, talking about the millionth plastic horse attached to the millionth plastic handle.

“It’s the same toy you looked at two minutes ago at that other place,” we would explain. It was futile.

Oh, and you might be wondering one more thing. Well, I’m sure you aren’t but I’ll share anyway… Is Dylan using her portable potty in Italy? Not all that often. She’s predominantly using the plethora of clean, easily accessible bathrooms.

Tell me again do we only have stinky, wretched Starbucks bathrooms in New York?

But Dylan did adamantly refuse to use this one…

You know, the European kind with no seat, no toilet, no nothing but a hole in the ground and two places to put your feet. She opted for her porta potty. I wouldn’t have minded using her porta potty that day, either.

It’s just weird to squat over some hole. And if you have to go number 2, well, my gosh, you need some divine intervention to help you do that.

Dylan and Summer’s absolute fave activity is still running around the piazza at night. Everything feels so safe here, with so many children and families gathering each night to play, socialize and connect.

Of course, we can’t understand a damn word anyone is saying, but it’s still so lovely and sweet.