Dear Purple Madrid

Where are you? I'm leaving the city on Friday. You'd better be here by then. I will not do summer with hurting feet. Will not.

Oink!

My stomach is like a bottomless pit. A dark hole of hungriness. I usually eat a lot, but this is getting ridiculous. I'm a pig (a pig in a pink dress). Maybe I am unconciously missing the kids more than I think I do, and somehow try to comfort food my way to calm and happiness? It's a good thing Friday's coming closer. If they don't come home soon they won't recognize me.

Oink.

The Office Goes Home

Working from home today. Forgot I can't sit down so constructed this makeshift desk with the help of Living Etc and Vanity Fair.


Coffee's better at the office.


Lunch break.


Lunch date.


And a second lunch.

Now I've finished all my work and long for Jesper to come home. Not unlike a faithful dog. I called the kids, but they were too happy to talk. I'm hungry again. A good day, all in all.

Finally Summer

You know it's here when it's impossible to go inside, because the sun just won't set. I took this picture last night at 9.20 pm. All it's missing is a fox, then it would be pure Secret Garden. I love this time of year.

Leo would love it too. A Swedish garden at night makes wonders for any overworked stressed out world saver.

VM i Fru

Oh, to have a wife! To call her up and say "Please please please, buy me something less suffocating to wear" and know that she'll deliver. To have her take into account your every wish and desire, from long sleeves to short, from beachy to workish, from cotton to candy. To have her get everything the right size, look and feel. Oh, to have a wife!

The Office Leaves The Building

If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes more like a small town to organize a photo shoot. But it turned out lovely. Our warmest thanks to everyone, including mr Berno, happy models, fake cake makers, Spidermen, end consumers and cowgirls.

Dear Swedish Summer

I can't wait for you to kick in!

Wilhelm at Udden on the island of Möja 2005.

Little Piece Of Cheese

It's very hard to say no to a someone who sneaks up behind you and whispers "little piece of cheese? please?".

Who Needs The Midnight Sun?

We had Wivan's cake and and a Clone Commander.

The Dress And La Princesse

Many of you were seriously disappointed with my coverage from the wedding in la belle Suisse. I don't blame you. In fact I blame the camera and it's many shortcomings (like being unable to to what I asked it to and later breaking down). But two minutes ago my lovely cousin Hélène sent me this picture, asking me why the blog's been so quiet the last couple of weeks (work, sick kids, more work). And all of a sudden I was there again, outside the Greek Orthodox church in Lausanne, with my blushing and very newly wed cousin and oh, what a day that was. So here's looking at you, kiddo. You were a very beautiful bride. And you are so very lovely, my most faithful and quiet reader. Je t'adore.

Leo would have loved this dress, had he been at all into dresses. What really would have intrigued him though, would have been the whole ceremony with the crowns and all. But alas, no pictures. Or what do you say, cousine?

Meet The Missus

Dear readers, meet my wife: Maria Lindroos, art director. She may not be the star of my firmament (it's the Richard Russo I'm reading, sorry), but I definitely see her a great deal more than I see my other significant other. Sometimes I see her day and night, and though these are never truly happy times (I'm old fashioned and prefer my working hours to be 9 to 5), they would be a great deal worse if it wasn't for my wife. So let me tell you a little bit about her:

• My wife talks to herself.
• My wife likes sauce bearnaise on her pizza.
• My wife likes her children to be really warm. To the extent of making them wear longjohns in June.
• My wife lives on an island and takes a boat to the office everyday.
• My wife likes gardening.
• My wife tends to blabber when nervous (but who doesn't).
• My wife is a very talented illustrator.
• My wife likes to tell me what she's doing ("I'm doing the layers campaign now.")
• My wife likes to know what I'm doing. (I am too doing the layers campaign right now.)
• My wife was once described like this: "She's so wonderful! She'll open her mouth and you have absolutely no idea what will come out!"
• My wife has excellent upper arms.
• My wife makes me laugh out loud at least once a day.
• My wife can get really crabby and then you seriously don't want to get in her way.
• My wife puts up with me.

I am really grateful for this. Here's looking at you, Marylove!

If Leo had had a wife like mine there would never have been a second heart attack. He'd be living off an island, growing his beard, producing commercials, 'cause that's what Mary's husband does. Not a bad life. And can I add that my original wifes, Anna and Emilia and Jessica, also deserves posts of praise and that I will get there in due time? See, I'm a bigamist! So many things you didn't know about me.

Big Guy

Wilhelm graduated from pre-school yesterday. He's 5 going on 15, but with better skin and fewer hormones. He's my baby.

35 Going On A Hundred

I am a hundred years old. We went to Fjällgatan after dinner last night. It's the best place for icecream and spectacular view in Stockholm. I had a hazelnut cone. Jesper had walnut and pistachio (the walnut was a mistake). Blanka had pear. Wilhelm had chocolate and pistachio. All very good (except the walnut).

But when I went over to hang on the rail, my stomach turned. And there was nothing wrong with the gelato.

It's me. I'm an old lady. I'm an old lady who cannot do heights anymore. WTF. I had to to stand back and watch my family happily picking out boats and rollercoasters and houses. Hence the terrible picture. I couldn't get close enough! (Well, that and the camera's still not working.)

Leo would never be afraid of heights. He's a pilot for crying out loud. But me, I'm just a little old lady of 35. Crap.

I'm Just Sayin'

It WOULD be nice if I strolled down to Söder after work tonight just to find it looking like this. Then again, it WOULD be nice if I weren't working at all, but rather had spent the night at home like a normal person, and were now sleeping like a baby with the young'ns in my arms and the mister at my side. I'm just sayin', it would.

Leo wouldn't complain though, he never leaves the office before 11 p.m. But his job is slightly more important than mine. Slightly. (Wallpaper from Grandpa.)

D-Day

Being Swedish, D-Day to me was never more than a romantic notion of Humphrey Bogarty men, smoking Gauloises and laughing with French girls, in black and white movies. We weren't even in the war, embarrassing as that may be.




So when we went to Normandie a couple of years ago, I didn't expect the impact these historic beaches would have on me. Like tourists do, we visited the many memorials. And at the Canadian cemetary, I suddenly realised I was crying. More surprisingly, so was Jesper.


We went from grave to grave, reading the last words from parents to their sons overseas, the poems, the rest-in-peace's, the forget-me-nots, hearing the voices of lovers, fathers, mothers, sons and daughters left behind.




Since then, June 6 has never been the same to me.


Dear Leo, thanks for joining the war.

Tramps Like Us

Baby, we were so born to run! My feet are still numb from all the running I did last night. Running and jumping. Jumping and dancing. Dancing in the dark, in fact ('cause you can't start a fire without a spark).


Having said that, let me share with you a picture of the elements. My God, it rained. It rained so bad. It poured, masses of water came crashing down. It was more of a waterfall than it was weather. It was massive. Grey, wet and bitterly cold.


To cheer our American guests up a bit, the Stockholm Stadion had the starspangled banner up and running. It looked very sad. It looked cold. But not us, no. We looked great. 30 000 happy maniacs, all dressed in plastic. Very pretty.


And mr Boss looked pretty good himself. Skipper says she's going to marry le Bruce. Turns out her husband wants to marry him too, so they should be in for a treat. (Throw in Patti as well, there's no end to the possibilities.)

The camera's still not fixed, hence the awful cell phone pictures. But tallyho, what a night.

Meet The Neighbours

Get ready to get blown away. This is First Aid Kit, Klara and Johanna Söderberg. They are also the big sisters of Wilhelms new friend Isak and our new neighbours, but that's really beside the point. Just listen to this. They're so good. Talent extravaganza, vocals galore. Playing at Glastonbury next, touring the world this summer. Their dad is taking a sabbatical so he can come on tour with them, which makes him a hero in my book (they are on the youngish side, they could do with having dad around). Me, I'm just loving the neigbourhood. It gets better everyday.

And maybe next time I meet them I'll be able to tell them how wonderful they are. Last time I was starstruck and started blabbering about trains with their mother.

Come Back Soon

Flat on my back, looking up, this was my view Sunday. Today I'd have to wear gore-tex from head to toe to even leave the house. But Sunday, oh, sweet Sunday. You treated us so very well. Don't hesitate to call again.

The camera's broken. I'm very frustrated. How will I capture tomorrow night without a camera? Grrr. Leo would just have it fixed. But around here, I'm pretty much the fixer. And I can't fix this!

Hey Mister

On Thursday we'll meet at last. I'll be the one in pink wellies. If you take requests, nothing would make me happier than Jersey Girl. See, I know a place where the dancing's free. And maybe No surrender?

Also, if you could fix the weather that would be great. If not, no hard feelings. Stockholm is waiting for you, arms open, sun or no sun.

Leo loves The Boss. Though he he knows betten than to ever call him that to Potus' face.

Dad’s Back

The family adventurer has returned from sailing across the Atlantic. He’s sporting a Hemingway beard. It's very becoming.

Our hero was greeted at the airport by Wilhelm, special greeting card in hand: ”Welcome back to Sweden morfar! I think you are the bravest boy in the world.”

I think so too. Hooray for Dad!