The waiter at the Copenhagen cafe is both confused and forgetful. He passes our table four times before taking our orders and then he forgets to tell the coffee making staff to actually produce what we ordered. This gives me plenty of time to observe the other customers. The table next to us an older Italian couple with their grown-up daughter share a dessert to their black coffee. They are extremely well dressed, he in suit and the two women in skirts and blouses - all colours are low key and they form a nice picture together. How nice of the daughter to spend her holiday with her ageing parents!
Just ahead of me a woman sits with a teenage girl and a little child sleeping in her lap. The child has golden hair and no shirt on. She sleeps against the bosom of what I presume is her mother's. The woman and the girl talk in Norwegian and suddenly the girl gets up to look through the bags under the stroller that is parked a bit to the side. She takes out a purse and they start to exchange money. Well, the woman hands it out and the girl takes it. With some extra cash in her glitter purse the girl takes off. Oh, she is doing some girly shopping while her mother stays with the sleeping child, I think. I wonder if there is a brother somewhere or even a father? I like this picture of three women (if the sleeping child is a girl which I don't know at this point) out and about in Copenhagen on vacation.
My strawberries with cream come and Peter's eyes widen visibly. The large deep plate contains cut up strawberries in a sauce of plain cream. I giggle.
"That is how we Scandinavians eat our berries", I explain.
"Oh, right. Drinking cream. How wonderfully quirky!” he says with a sceptical look.
He watches me eat with big eyes. His family take turns to eat the lovely sweet strawberries. One spoon for Joshua, one for Maja and one for me. We are busy for a while. The children are calm. I have time to glance at the woman. She leans back in her chair and has the child tightly pressed against her body. It is a beautiful picture of a mother that takes time-out from the hectic life and fully enjoys the moment. A slice of blissful stillness in a busy town.
When my coffee comes ten minutes later the woman stands up and slowly and carefully lies the child down in the stroller and to my surprise and enjoyment I see that the little girl (for I see it is a she) is naked. The mother takes out a diaper and slips it on the sleeping child. Oh, how many times have I not done the same with Maja when she has fallen a sleep and I wanted to keep sane and protect the mattress? How great to see others do the same.
I cannot help but compare the Scandinavian mothers to the German ones. In Germany it is vital that the children wear undergarments under the shirts, socks and shoes should be worn at all times and dirt and mess are to be abolished. I have witness a German woman insisting that her to girls wear slippers in the house where I at the same time is dreaming about my bikini top at home.
Now I am a lazy person. If things can be left undone I am pleased to let it be so. But when it comes to this subject it is not only laziness why I give over the rule to Maja. Firstly she is stubborn and persistent. I much rather chose another issue to battle out with her. Secondly, I celebrate her independence (more time for me to do nothing...) and firm opinions when it comes to her appearance. I like that she dresses herself and that she has opinions on what she wants to wear. I strongly believe that she has a right to her own body and I am only there to make sure that she won't freeze to death or get burned by the sun.
Maja is more naked than not. Right now she is at the playground at nine a.m. with nothing on playing with the other children. She heard noises of the neighbour's children and left her yoghurt and milk to rush out in her pyjamas. A little later I found the pyjamas and diaper on the floor in the bathroom. She has gone naked.
In May this year, we were in Mannheim for a little shopping spree. Maja and I leave the shopping mall and as we pass the glass doors two woman stop me to ask if it is my child. I turn around a bit confused. I see Maja. The women also see Maja. What is the problem? The older woman points at Maja’s blue rain boots.
“Do you know that your daughter has the boots on wrong?”
I am dumbfounded. Then I soften. These women take time out of their sunny Saturday to inform me of something they think a) I don’t know b) I need to know.
“Well, she dresses herself and I have no say in it”, I reply with a smile.
That brightens the women’s faces. I give them credit. Although German women are more organised, have more set of rules etc – they think our ways are charming and exotic.
The Exotic Blonde
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