Today’s quote is more of a story from when we first moved to Iceland.
Culture Shock For A Two Year Old (Feb. 2009/Reykjavik, Iceland):
Darcy has been interesting to watch lately. After we had been here in Reykjavik a week, she began to revert a little bit which is a very normal thing for kids to do in transition. She was a little more whiny, a little more needy, and began to ask if she could watch a video that we used to get from the library called “Baby Songs” because she was a baby again. I had been prepared for this kind of behavior and was warned that she may starts to have lots of accidents again.
Instead of having accidents, however, Darcy had been constantly telling us that she has to throw up. Before meals, after meals, during rest time, the constant reminder is… “But, I might throw up!” Not trusting her claims but wanting to appease her, we finally started giving her a barf bag to carry around. That, in conjunction with a little water in a medicine cup, has appeared to have a placebo affect and cure her.
She has been picking up language a lot and it is adorable to hear her bravely try new phrases. She has come a long way since our first day here when our Icelandic friends, Andres and Lilja were over. After hearing them speak in Icelandic a bit, she looked up at me smiling and remarked with perfect egocentrism/ethnocentrism, “They are saying the wrong thing…”. Anyway, pray for our little Darcy and her version of culture shock!
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The Little Girl Who Cried Wolf (March 2009/Reykjavik, Iceland):
Last night, some friends here in Iceland invited us to go out to dinner. This was a pretty exciting event since we had’t gone out at all yet. We immediately began coaching the kids on good restaurant etiquette. Anticipation was high and the kids both got dressed up, picked out necklaces and bracelets for the big event.
When we arrived and walked into the serene, candle-lit restaurant, immediately Colby and looked at each other and said at the same time, “Oh no…Were we supposed to get a babysitter?” Unsure, we walked through the quaint, fancy restaurant where our hosts were waiting. They insisted that they had intended for the kids to come, but it felt out-of-place to have small kids in such a nice, adult environment. We had another talk about how they needed to whisper and not interrupt the peaceful environment.
Things were going well, and they were being respectful and courteous as everyone ordered. The girls had finally decided on splitting a cheeseburger when my two year old began to whine. Sipping on water seemed to appease her for awhile, but then she began to complain that she had to throw up. I patiently explained to everyone about Darcy’s culture shock.
I’m not sure why Darcy always tells us that she has to throw up, but we just hand her a barf bag and go on with what we’re doing. This has been going on since we’ve moved here.
After a few minutes of hearing this repetitive phrase, I finally excused myself and took Darcy and my other daughter, Haley, to the bathroom so Darcy could “throw up.” Darcy stood with her head hanging down in the trash can while Haley took a potty break and had this conversation:
“Darcy, you don’t have to throw up…”
“YES. I. DO. HAY-LEE!!”
“No you don’t. You always SAY that you have to throw up, but you never do.”
“But I DO.”
“You are lying, Darcy.”
After one more stern talk where they were firmly instructed –for the love of God– TO NOT MAKE A SCENE, we walked out from the bathroom to the dining area where I made eye-contact with everyone from our table and winked as if to say “We took care of it”.
At that exact moment, the most horrific scene unfolded as Darcy ERUPTED with vomit all over the dining room floor. I watched, paralyzed with disbelief, as each regurgitation produced a splattering onto the antique chairs, the table legs, and the carpet.
Looking back, most mothers I know would have quickly picked up the child and rushed her to the bathroom after the first splash, but not me…I just stood frozen watching the wincing looks of the customers and the ghost-white faces of our hosts. Everything went in slow-motion as it just kept coming…one, two times.
Pause.
Colby rushed over.
Three times, four.
You could hear moans from the audience as she continued. I literally just stood there and watched it all in a state of paralysis.
Now, maybe this would not have been such a big deal if we were at a loud Applebee’s or a bustling Wal-Mart where Joe the Janitor shows up quickly to mop up the mess. But here we were at Madonna’s Ristorante where the only server they have is having to leap over the puddle to serve the other customers. He handed Colby a bucket and a rag, and might as well given him a sandwich board that read, “Yes, that was my child that just ruined your pleasurable dining experience.”
I put the dripping Darcy in the stroller and ran her home where we could escape the shame…the whole time hearing, “Mommy…you didn’t BEYEVE me!”
My favorite memory of the evening was Haley’s reaction to the whole event:
“I. CAN. NOT. BELIEVE. IT! Darcy was NOT lying. I was lying. I was LYING about LYING.”
