I recently alluded to the fact that we've become friends with a German family.
I don’t mean that to sound stereotypical, but their ethnicity is essential to my point. Not so much their German-ity, but their European-ness. Because while certain cultural groups – those who love to eat finger foods for example – can actually make me feel somewhat proper (with my preference for flatware and such), other cultural groups (i.e. Europeans) can make me feel like I was raised in a barn. And not a converted barn featured in Architectural Digest; a literal barn filled with dirty, untamed animals.
Yesterday, for example, Mrs. Deutsch had Miss Dub and me over for some girl talk/play-time for our babies. It was really fun. She lives in a town that has total
But when we went to go to the park, she asked, “Where are Miss Dub’s shoes?” Well, to be honest, while Miss Dub owns a large collection of shoewear, she prefers to go au naturel. And since she’s not walking yet, I usually let her. But I was a little embarrassed to admit that so I pretended like I’d just forgotten and borrowed the pair she kindly lent me.
Then she asked, “Has Miss Dub had her fresh air for the day?” Again, I had to admit that she hadn’t. But what I didn’t admit was that our daily excursions outside have little to do with Miss Dub’s health and more to do with my sanity. And that sometimes – though rarely in nice weather – the extent of fresh air she gets is going from the car to Target.
But what really made me wonder about my upbringing was when we ate lunch, which was a fresh zucchini/bell pepper pasta she’d made for the babies. Which didn’t really make me feel bad because most people are better cooks than I am, and I’ve long made peace with my unorganic tendencies.
“Does Miss Dub prefer a fork or a spoon?” Mrs. Deutsch asked.
Well, um, she prefers her index finger and thumb, and I prefer to feed her with a spoon so … “Spoon,” I said.
“That’s nice,” she said, “Miss Deutsch always wants to use a fork.”
Now, Miss Deutsch is 13-months-old so she has 5 developmental months on my lil’ Miss, but I was still shocked to watch her gracefully stab a few pieces of pasta and zucchini onto her fork, blow away some of the heat and put it carefully in her mouth. Then, she would stop for a few glugs of juice from her cup … a regular, handle-less, sippy-spout-less cup!
Meanwhile, Miss Dub and I were making a scene as I tried to get the pasta onto the spoon and into her mouth. Because at home I would have probably thrown a few pieces of pasta and zucchini (skip the bell peppers) onto her trough, er, highchair and let her go at them with her fingers. Some would make it into her mouth; most would end up on the floor or in her hair.
And getting her to drink from a regular cup was almost comical. While Miss Dub had surprisingly mastered the concept of holding and sipping from it, she would then tilt it all the way back and let the juice gush down her chin. Then, for her final trick, she would pour a little onto the floor for good measure.
Mrs. Deutsch thought it was funny, which was a relief. Miss Deutsch looked embarrassed for Miss Dub.
I was just surprised. Had I grossly underestimated the ability of a baby? Is it normal for a 13-month-old to eat her food with such grace that Emily Post would marvel?
After much thought, I realized that it isn’t normal for a 13-month-old American baby to do such things. We expect them to be babies. Mrs. Deutsch on the other hand told me that she lets her kids be unruly until they turn 1, at which point she enforces adult etiquette. And it works!
But we don’t even try. Shoot, we’re not even that well-mannered ourselves. We’re loud, and we’re laid back. We’re improper, and we're irreverent. We’re (often) totally oblivious to the rest of the world, its concerns and its customs. (But I’ll save that for a future HTT.)
And we love sippy cups. Because they’re easy. And Americans love easy. And maybe that’s OK?
But remind me to bring shoes next time.
p.s. My blog is having template issues. Bear with me.
