“You’re the world’s ugly.”

This is the type of thing my little host brother Lennart tells me, sticks his tongue out, and scrunches his nose as if there is no way I will ever retaliate equally. Luckily, I have the knowledge that the universe tops the world, which makes him the universe’s ugly.  I knew I was meant to be a big sister. 

On Saturday I thought he was going to a birthday party so when he asked me to watch YouTube videos with him as he often does, I sat there waiting for his mom to be like, "ok time to go!" but I guess he had already been to a birthday party, I just misunderstood. So, three hours of watching videos of the story behind his favorite video game later... (these videos are all the things you press “skip” for when you’re playing… it was a blast.) But speaking of YouTube videos.. this is Lennart's hip hop dancing debut. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1pR8Z6eY7Sw

My host parents had asked me if I'd be able to sit him earlier in the week, so I got to spend Saturday night with him! Partyyyy!! I enjoyed it more than going out. He is so funny. And simultaneously such a sweetheart. We played wii for a while, "Naruto," his favorite game. From watching three hours of their background story earlier that day, I felt like old pals with the characters. And then we watched Lizzie McGuire and a show in Danish about a girl who really wanted a dog, all the while Lennart is rearranging my arm and such to get cozy and snuggle with me. I am in heaven. When time came for bed, he seemed fine and I knocked on his door one last time to say goodnight. He opened the door, clad only in his tiny little boxer briefs and his comforter wrapped around him, his face contorted in tears, saying, "Maa.." So I layed in bed with him and rubbed his back as these heartbreaking and adorable tears streamed down his face. Then I asked he read to me, which sufficiently distracted him and then he went to bed. 

Every once in a while you do get these reminders that he is indeed a little kid, only nine, even though he acts so much more mature than that usually. On Monday evening I got the opportunity to meet the most ADORABLE two year old I have ever seen, Lennart's cousin, who, like all the other young children here, has no need for sippy cups or a baby knife and fork. He was eating with all the normal utensils, had a regular glass cup like the rest of us, and was wiping his own mouth. 

I feel like this attitude toward baby utensils reflects a lot of the Danish outlook on mistakes and failure.  My host parents were telling me that they teach the child once or twice how to use things correctly, and after that they have to take what they've learned and try it for themselves. So, maybe the child will spill his milk, but he will learn from this mistake and learn how to do it correctly or learn when to ask for help. 

This is one of the major differences I've noticed between the American mentality and the Danish one. Whereas in America we might say that mistakes are the way to learn, I don't feel that we truly embrace this idea as the Danes do. 

"A man's errors are his portals of discovery."

-- Just to throw a little Irish love into this blog. James Joyce take it away.

I realize that creating a blog makes me a certified fruitcake, but I have my fans to think about.

This is all in danish i have no idea what i'm doing.. I really hope I just titled this no canadians allowed. Funny, but mostly just the truth.

Hello to my loving public! Sooo, hello sofia because you were the one who asked that I blog, and hey mom and dad. Its 12:30 AM right now and honestly, I was a lot more inspired to do this about five minutes ago. I have such a rough life right?! Kevin, stay out of this.

This morning I woke up at the usual 6:30, got to Copenhagen around 8:45 via the tog, bought a coffee that was too much money, but it had a cute design in the foam on top. I'll take it. Today, DIS sent us on a tour of the greater Copenhagen area, which is just so beautiful. Every street you turn down is so quaint and cozy, the brightly painted buildings and the twinkling lights strung up on the cafes are a stark, but welcome contrast against the endlessly grey sky.

"Its too cold for revolution, no?"
This is one of my favorite lines from today. One of the professors showing us a building that had been rebuilt multiple times had to answer a question about why this was. At first, he told us with a completely straight face that it had had happened during a revolution. He then smiled and admitted it had burned down from being overheated some years ago.

An expedition of the city with my group, many other orientation activities, and the purchase of a bad ass 50 kroner (~ 9 dolla) metallic gold backpack later, I got home late and had some delicious vegetable soup waiting for me. This was the first vegetarian meal I've had at home, my family wasn't exactly aware I was so high maintenence/ a vegetable supremist upon my arrival. But, my god.. turkey is good. And then Lennart (age: nine, occupation: third grader/ host brother, hobbies: tickling me/ generally being hilarious/ putting his break dancing videos on youtube) was put to bed and my host parents and I watched the handball match, the third one I've seen. I'm pretty much an expert on it by now.

There's this ball, and these people throw it.

After the handball game, my host parents (who are really great, I feel quite lucky) and I talked about french arrogance, accents, the culture of language, quesadillas, pitas, all sorts of things. When I said the word "quesadilla," to them, they looked at me like I was insane. Then they tried to explain a pita to me. I say, "Oh yes, I know of those. Its a Greek thing, right?" to which my host dad responds, "I don't know. I don't talk to it. I just eat it."

truer words have never been... eaten.