Delivery

A man in blue rang the door and left us this. His parting words were "It needs water".

For those of you not fluent in Swedish, the tape says "Live Tropical Fish".

Here's what we found inside:


What Would Leo Do if someone sent a turtle to his office? (It would never reach his office, I know. But IF.) Freak out, probably. And have Margaret's head on a platter.

More Uptown

This place is a goldmine if you have a thing for tiny shoes.

Or mittens.


Or rubber boots (sizes 20-26).


Or fine jewellery.


Or say, grass on a roll.

Meanwhile Uptown

Today I've traded the office for some quality time with a T-Rex. All good in the hood.

It would do Leo a world of good to leave la oficina once in a while.

Thanksgiving Part 2

Have I told you lately that I love you? Dear Mataffären. Such a valued friend in a cold and lonely world. You saved my a-s today, as you have before. And for this I Thank you. I really, truly, madly, deeply love you.

Turns out the feeling's mutual, since you sent me one of these along with the celery and lamb:


What Would Leo Do with it? Is it even possible to imagine him going down the slopes on his butt, screaming his head off with joy? Yes, I think it is. I think he'd go bananas for the second time today. I know I will.

Realtor Slash Psychic

My Lundberg at Fastighetsbyran e-mailed me. Apparently she thinks that I will be single very soon, because she recommended I buy the apartment featured above. It's a little small for four people, I think. Hope she doesn't know something I don't.

If someone at Fastighetsbyran had Leo's private e-mail I'm pretty sure he'd go bananas. I'm trying to take the higher road here.

A Little Thanksgiving

Today on the Thankiest day of them all I would like to express my gratitude for not being one of the birds on our balcony.


I would also like to give thanks for the fact that I have a home full of super heroes. Littlest Spider Girl, mr Easter Dinosaur and the Monkey King, I love you very much.

Leo would like to give thanks for getting all this attention, being a dead fictional character in a finished series and all.

It's Here!

It happens every year around this time. If you're lucky you escape with nothing but a few scratches, if not... Well, it's not pretty, let's leave it at that.

It used to be called the Flu, or more precisely Stomach Flu. Then one of two things happened: Either some tabloid genius decided that we could do with more drama in November. "Maybe if we call this nasty flu something a little more disturbing?"

Or the virus itself mutated into something so vile, that medical expertise found it necessary to give it a more graphic name. Either way, The Winter-Puke-Disease was born.

And boy, do we fear it. The Winter-Puke-Disease. We talk about it endlessly, obsess over it madly. And keep fingers crossed, cross our hearts, sleep with garlic, wash our hands with gasoline. But nothing can help you if it crosses your path.

And my dad has it. My dad, the world's best dad, who spent all day watching the kids. Who fixed them dinner and then locked himself in our bathroom for two hours. And now looks like the living dead. The hero, my dad.

You may not hear from me or Leo for a while.

When In Need, Turn To Spotify

All afternoons in the heart of the family are not perfect. This is normal. And all afternoons in the heart of the family, I am not perfect. This is also normal. So what to do when all hell breaks loose an hour before dinner (B trying to peel potatoes, W trying to peel her)?

I turn to Spotify.

And W and I take turns, choosing songs. His first choice, always, Johnossi's Party with my pain. His second, Jingle Bells. And B stops playing hatchet and starts to dance. And I stop frowning and start to peel the potatoes (being over 21 months old, I'm doing a better and less dangerous job than my predecessor). And all is well in the world again.

Leo would have done exactly the same.

Cupcakes, Murder And Austen

My dream Christmas always seem to be a mix of grisly murders, cooking and BBC classics. In this, however, I am not alone. We are many that feel the importance of a serious murder investigation and some cupcakes for the holidays. So far, my Amazon wishlist consists of

3 murders
2 Jane Austen
3 edibles (cupcakes and Ruth Reichl)
1 dream of living in the English countryside

This could just as well have been my wishes for last Christmas, it could have been five years ago. It could, in fact, be my mother's wishlist. God.

I wonder what Leo wants for Christmas? Being a realist (him, not me), I don't think World Peace comes high on the list. Maybe just a quiet dinner with Potus and the missus. A nice tie? Nah. Maybe a good eggnog.

What A Girl Wants

B has strep for the gazillionth time this year. This is what she had for lunch yesterday. Yum.

Leo would never mix his drinks with icecream.

Mary Mary Why Ya Buggin

This is Mary's blog, sorry.

http://marialindroos.blogspot.com

Leo would not have made a mistake like this. But then something tells me that Leo finds the whole idea of a BLOG rather ridiculous. Not to say insane.

Healthy Hair

It's me! I'm on the internet! For realz! I don't look half this good in real life, but still. What a lovely way to be misinterpreted. And I'm seriously thinking of wearing that skirt again. For like every day of the week.

Mary, Mary, I love you.

Leo would not be happy about finding himself portrayed like this, but then Leo is more or less the most powerful man in the world and gets his kicks other ways. Me, I've always been a sucker for attention.

Visual Aid

Today W played treasure hunter under the couch. Always an exciting game. And after he emerged coughing, all covered in dust, J decided that it was time to do some cleaning.

We don't clean a lot. And vacuum under the couch? Hardly ever. Or maybe once every two years, as it turns out.

The card pictured above was the first thing to get stuck in the vacuum cleaner. It's a greeting card for W's birthday. Happy 3 years old! He turned five last week.

Leo would do nothing in this situation, this would never happen to Leo. Leo has a sweet woman named Quetzala cleaning under his couch.

Maybe we should give her a call.

A Civil Suggestion

This has been a week of rudeness. My dear friend E. was told in a meeting that everything she had written was really, really bad. This she was told not in a polite way, but rather in the I-take-pride-in-being-totally-honest-here kind of way. This she was told, I may add, by a person totally lacking in writing (and social) skills. And I know for a fact that what she had written was magnificent. At least great.

The very same day, I had a similar experience when a client called my work "lame" (I'm giving you the naked truth here, embarrassing as it may be). And a few hours later J. was snapped at in the cookie aisle at the supermarket because the kids got in the way for a lady on a mission (Maryland cookies, third shelf).

One wonders, is it time that we revaluate politeness? Could world peace be won by saying "please"? Probably not, no. So what would Leo do? Oh, he'd be forever the gentleman. Until someone trashes Mallory, that is.

So, politeness. I'm at least giving it a try for the holidays.