Frederica

I'm not Italian. I'm Danish. However, in my everyday life, I am forced to declare myself a pseudo-Italian 40-50 hours a week in order to keep up with the chaos which is my job. The girls that I nanny for, Isabella and Gigi, do not speak Italian but this family is rightfully proud of their heritage and welcome in, "the white girl," as part of their family.

Today was no exception. Enter....Frederica.....

Frederica is 8 years old, an age which she shares in common with my oldest, Bella. Other than that, not much else was similiar. Frederica is a chubby Italian cookie flown in from Sicily. She is crusing the country on a 45 day vacation with her parents and she doesn't speak a lick of English.

I'm not sure if its a Eurpoean entitlement syndrome, but Frederica's parents (cousins of my boss) took it upon themselves to sight-see the Chicago suburbs today, sans Frederica. Instead, they decided to drop her off in my care while they perused Woodfield Mall.

Now, accepting additional kids to watch isn't something I'm a stranger to (Love you, Ang!) but this was the first time that I was subjected to a foreigner of types. Loving a child knows no boundaries, but communication does! Frederica doesn't speak English and I don't speak Italian.

Enter.....problem....

Since Frederica's arrival was a surprise, I was unprepared for what my day held. Bella, although she doesn't speak English, was a playmate for Frederica in days past; however, today, she wasn't home. So, here we sit on opposite couches just smiling at each other. Gigi (4) is in my ear reminding me that Frederica can't understand what I say. Thanks, Gig.

I figure that I will take the two of them to the park. I tried to communicate this field trip to Frederica but all I got in return was smiles, a nod, and reptition of the word, park. Okay, I will just show her what the park is. We arrive and she sets up camp on the swings and doesn't really move. I mentioned before that she is a bit chubby, and I'm quickly sensing that the park is not her bag. Well, I figure that icecream speaks universally to all children, so we hop in the car once again and sit together in the local old-fashioned ice cream parlor. This is when the conversation begins. Oye.

Bless this sweet little darling's heart, she is a doll. She has wonderful intentions, but conversation was not be had. We sat over melting icecream, desparate to understand each other. Eventually, we made a bit of a break through and using single adjectives and a grandiose game of charades, we were able to "discuss," her trip to America.

Here is what I now know about Frederica: She went to Disney World. She lives in a house. She is going to be in 4th grade. Her school is not pretty. She has not pets but her cat scratched her. She likes vanilla icecream.

I can't be sure about the accuracy of most of those "Frederica Facts." I think she will be in fourth grade this year, but then she kept counting past four to thirty. (Something we finally had in common, because, I too, can count to thirty). I also think she chose vanilla icecream because it was easier than trying to decide on a flavor.

From there, we reached a cultural understanding. We were going to bond our countries and teach eachother the language. We proceeded to point to things, for instance the washer and dryer and I would tell her what it was called in English and she would repeat it to me and then tell me the name in Italian. This satiated my teaching tendencies, but all good things must come to an end.

Gigi, I think, was stressed out and to dodge all the hardwork it took to communicate, she fell asleep on the couch. That left me and Fred. She wanted to watch tv. YES! Ohh, wait. TV-Disney Channel is in fact, in English. I turned in on anyway and quickly tuned myself out. I was quickly brought back to reality when Frederica showed up in my face, nose to nose, and relayed to me that she couldn't understand it. Oh boy. Finally, she just agreed to basically stare at the tv and admire how "beautiful," (a word in her English vocabulary, also used to describe my car) Hanna Montana is.

Finally, my Italian speaking boss arrives home and bridges the huge gap that crossed two countries. I slinked back onto the sidelines and nursed my tired Danish brain.

Lucky for me...the adventure doesn't stop here...Frederica is in town until next Thursday. Stay tuned.