Friday Night Is For Feeling The Love

I was feeling small. And this guy kept coming into the kitchen, talking about chicken and Pokemón. Stroking my arm while I made a salad, putting his arms around my waist and pretend-sighing over the fact that he could see my underwear between my jeans and my shirt. We talked and laughed and discussed the pros and cons of Fridays vs Regular days (agreeing on the Total Awesomeness of Friday night). I was feeling small and this tiny person was bigger than ever. Be still, my beating heart.

Patience

It's not that I don't have it.
It's more of having used up so much in the last months that it's now wearing very thin.
And all of a sudden I just want to snap.
I feel an actual urge not to be patient.
Yeah, I know.
It has backfire written all over it.
So I take a breath.
And then we start all over again.
It's getting old. It's really getting old.

This One's For Me

She cried so she couldn't breathe when I left her today.
And I sat in the car and I cried too.
So this post is for me.
I need to look at this picture for a while.
It will all be ok.
It will all be ok.
It will all be ok.

Here There And Everywhere (And All Over The Place)

I'm short of breath and a little off track and most definitely out of focus.
And I look at this photo and feel myself unclench.
Just like that.
And then I look at it too long and get even more out of breath, off track, out of focus.
Still worth it.

Turns Out We're Great!

Gabrielle Blair (or DesignMom) has been in Stockholm for a short stop over, visiting my friends at Polarn O. Pyret (Becks and Marylove, are you reading this?). It was great reading her report on Swedish parenting. We tend to focus on the things we don't do so well (the classic Swedish low self esteem taking over), so it was lovely hearing someone say we're doing a pretty good job! I think we are too. Yay us! (I wrote the longest comment evah evah evah on Gabrielle's post, you'll find it buried under about a million others. She has a lot of readers.) Anyway, thanks for the perspective. Much needed.

The Best Part

The best part of coming home was sneaking into my bed in the middle of the night and finding someone very small and very warm under the covers, someone who wakes up and looks at me with sleepy eyes and says "Mommy, I've missed you. I've missed kissing you." and then does just that and falls right back to sleep.

A Mother's Pledge

THIS I PROMISE YOU
I will not wave goodbye with vacuum cleaner in hand again, saying "have fun!" with scary fake-happy voice. I will not have you grow up thinking this is normal behaviour. It is not. It may be common, it may be classic motherness, but it's not normal. So there. This will not happen to us again. I will not be that person. This I promise you.

The Kind Of Mother I Am

Blanka and Wilhelm found their baby journals yesterday (another reason not to clean the house too often: everything looks very interesting and inviting afterwards). And they were delighted at first and not so much after a second when they realised that the books were more or less empty. "But Mommy, why?" Not my favourite words in the world. But what am I supposed to tell them? "You cried so much, blessed child of mine, that my head wasn't properly screwed on for the first six month of your life?" Or "You see, as child number two there really wasn't that much focus on your daily progress, my hands were full, literally speaking." I opted out for the "Hohum, tiddlepom, oh what's that out the window?"

Maybe one day I'll print this blog for them to read instead. A baby book of sorts. With a little editing.

Lady Day Waffles

We surprised the kids with waffles for breakfast on Marie Bebådelsedag/Lady Day/Annunciation. Waffles are a big deal over here, and for breakfast? Let's just say that my little heathens were very happy to hail Mary this way. Wilhelm and I had a great discussion about why we celebrate this day and where the waffles come in and how about the sperm, Mom? Does it take a lot or just a little? An educational breakfast if ever there was one.

Have a happy Friday night. Thanks for reading.

Meet The Palin's

Sometimes I fear that we are raising two Republicans.

Our kids are so conservative, they make Sarah Palin look like the Tooth Fairy. They like everything to be just the way it's always been, or was last Monday, or the first time they ever did it. If we have pancakes for breakfast one weekend, they turn into Sunday Pancakes in a second. If I need to throw out something old and broken (and I'm not talking beloved teddybears here), it immediately transforms into Beloved And Important Artefact. Not big on change, these two.

And I like traditions. I like rituals. So why I sometimes have a hard time enjoying that my children are the same is a whole other post. Let's just say that as of today I've decided to embrace their need for rituals and traditions and just roll with it. Insecure no more! I will be Conservative and proud. (I most certainly won't, but you get the picture.)

So our Friday Night Popcorn will stay Friday Night Popcorn and I will not try to turn them into Friday Night Body Paint. And on Thursday we will make waffles and celebrate Marie Bebådelsedag (the Annunciation in English, I believe), just like we did last year and the year before that.

But how about you? Do you have things in your family that you just do, always have and always will? Traditions you picked up from your parents, rituals that were important to you as a child, or new ones that you've created because you felt a need or wanted to celebrate something in a new way? Or are you reluctant traditionalist?

Thanks for reading.

(Photos above: Jesper surprised us with hidden candy for Valentine's Day, long strings attached to every piece, in criss cross all over the house. A new tradition I'd be very happy to embrace,)

It's All Good

This morning we slowly came to realize that Someone was going to have to cancel Someone's meeting and stay home, because Someone's child had a temperature. Was there drama? Nooo. Was there whining? Nooo. Did anyone utter the words "Whose job is more important, yours or mine?!" Nooooo. See, this is a New Day and miss Drama had her Happy Capitals out!

In the best of spirits we agreed on splitting the caretaking and businessmaking in two, and so here I am. At home in broad daylight with my baby sleeping upstairs, reaching for the coffee, important meeting over and done with. And there's homemade salmon burgers waiting in the fridge, courtesy of Husband of the Year. Tallyho, am luckiest girl in the world.

Have A Bite

I went to school today with Wilhelm. And I was bored. Maybe it wasn't the best day to visit, they had a fire drill and things were pretty much planned around that. But still. The first class was about What Did You Do This Weekend and What Day Is It Today? With a room full of sixyearolds, minds bursting with creativity, stories to tell, things to learn, how can that possibly be boring? It could.

But maybe it's me. Maybe it's like that time that I never told you about, when we were looking at schools for Wilhelm, and I had to lock myself in the bathroom so the other parents wouldn't see me crying? (We decided that that was not the school for us.)

Maybe I'm too naïve. Maybe I want too much. Maybe it's my own school years playing tricks with me again, wanting Wilhelm's experience to be so much better. I don't know. But it felt like such a waste, all these bright minds and no energy, no oxygen, no inspiration.

Oh, well. Maybe it was the fire drill. Maybe I have no clue. Maybe I was just being Miss Drama again.

What I Served The Kids

A clever woman once wrote a post about keeping it real. To honour her commitment I'm sharing tonights dinner menu with you:

• Four leftover meatballs, not homemade
• A bowl of leftover rice (four days old)
• Two tortilla breads (semi-thawed)
• Two fishfingers (so very not homemade)
• Peas (she ate them with her hands, straight from the bowl)
• Carrots (he didn't give them as much as an eye)

Frozen and re-heated food, peas packed in Belgium, fish on the verge of being extinct, "meat"balls full of E-this and E-that. Sharing this with you is a milestone of sorts. It doesn't qualify as inspiration. Or entertainment. Or anything else I usually aim for. But it's real.

And the kids loved it.

Now That You're Six

Now that you're six there's a lot of cool going on. Practising the "you talkin to me?" look. Wearing no scarf. Whistling through your teeth.

Now that you're six, we have our share of drama. Tears, cries, frowns, eyebrows all over the place. I always knew you had in it you, but boy. You're good. Our life right now is more of a carousel than a rollercoaster. We go 'round 'round 'round and 'round again.

Now that you're six, there's so many things you want to know and do. So many moods to try, so many people to talk to, so many species of mammals to learn, so many foods to reject, so many kisses and hugs to be had and delivered and rejected and begged for.

Now that you're six, you're not telling me everything that goes on anymore and it's difficult and amazing at the same time. To know that there's a whole other you that's just yours and yours alone, no parents allowed, no doors ajar.

Now that you're six you want me to sing you a new song every night, preferably about a lion but a cat will do. And when I close the door and turn off the lights I can hear you be quiet for thirty seconds and then the lights come on and you start talking to Stella The Polar Bear and the rest of the gang and the party's just getting started.

Now that you're six, you have faith. Like yesterday, when you sighed heavily from the backseat: Mom, it takes forever to grow up! I'm waiting for my big moment, you know. When I'm going to save the world.

I know you will, min älskling. And until you do, we'll be riding that carousel with you. Round and round and round again. Now that you're six. And when you are seven. And all the years to come.

I Think She's A Spring

Seems that Blanka's keen on colour analysis. With a permanent marker, nevertheless. Yay.

Be Good Now, Little Piglets

So a visit to the doctor's office confirmed that we quite possibly have (or in Jesper's and my case have had) the swineflu, or H1N1 as I believe it's called in the big world. But don't be alarmed, we're all in pretty good shape. Well, at least better than we were Friday. We haven't slept in a while and we still have the weird aches and the whiny voices (sorry about that), but so far it hasn't been worse than any other the-whole-family-sick-at-the-same-time-and-Jesper-hurt-his-back-and-I-have-a-deadline-ordeal that we've survived before. For this I'm very grateful. I'm not a worrier, but this time I've been more chicken than pig.

Tomorrow my parents will come to town and yet again save the day, so that hopefully – if all goes well and everybody's ok and I meet my deadline and all is well and Wilhelm's temperature goes down and all is well – me and Mom can go to London together on Thursday.

Yup. That's the kind of mother I am. The leaving-home-and-sick-children-in-arms-of-sick-father to have tea at Liberty's.

So if you felt sorry for me at first, don't. I'm just your regular pig.

The Holy Grail

The Holy Grail of the modern family: To do a good job and be a great parent at the same time. Have energy to have fun and be relaxed. Prepare and share a nutritious meal. All this while being present in the moment and enjoying ourselves, possibly singing a catchy tune and wearing a becoming apron.

We were this close yesterday.

This last year we've been trying new things to make everyday life a little bit more Grailish. I've started working part time, we've left the city, we've learned to ask for help and accept it. It's made a big difference. And yesterday we celebrated another milestone in our quest for The Grail: Jesper's now working part time as well.

Which means two of everything. Two pick uppers (children, groceries, tooth paste). Two cooks. Two footballers. Two painters and singers. Two dancers. Two grown ups doing things together at the same time. Hallelujah, it might just be that we've found it! I'm feeling positively Sir Percivalian.

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.

Dear Cesar Millan

If I get one of your "Pack leader" t-shirts and wear it constantly, do you think my kids will get who's top dog?

Or do I have to do the calm and assertive thing as well? Maybe I'll just stick to my old routine of tender love, lost temper and excellent meatballs.

Leo thinks dogs are a nuisance. Or does he? I will shower whoever gets this right with a Swedish gift bonanza. Good luck!

Sweet Codependence

Brands and the relationships we have with them are fascinating things. I'm a copywriter, so obsessing and agonizing over this is pretty much how I pay the bills. But am I any wiser for being in the business? Sadly no. When H&M finally, after months of dark blues and browns, makes a pink t-shirt for boys, I feel a moral obligation to buy it. Yep, you heard me. A moral obligation. Because if I don't buy this, who will? If I don't dress my boy up in pinks and yellows and rainbows, who will?

So strong is the grip of the fashion giant that I feel like I'm doing them a favour when buying a t-shirt. "Awww, did you see that enormously talented and good hearted and intelligent and funny Anna Ander bought the pink t-shirt for her son? The one we were so unsure about? Now we must make more bright clothes for boys and never be stuck in that oldfashioned boy-girl thinking again!"

Yes, that's probably exactly what will happen.


I just hope that this little fella is cool enough for my little fella to wear. His sister really doesn't need another pink top.

Leo is a suit and tie guy and has never sat foot in an H&M store. And if I were Chief of Staff I'd probably shop elsewhere too.