People of Sweden: Please Pick up your Sh*t

Any dog owners out there? Any dog owners who pick up their dog's poop on a daily basis? What about those of you who don't and leave other dog owners to grumble about it? I see lots of virtual hands going up.

Luckily, in most urban cities in developed countries, popular walking paths have little poop stops and even free poop bags, making the smelly minefields of years gone by practically a thing of the past.

Practically...You see, there's a huge, growing stink here in Sweden. And it ain't comin' from our four-legged back archers. My friends, please take a few deep breaths while you let this stink sink in...

People of Sweden: Pick up your own poop. If you read that literally, you read that right. Apparently, walk just slightly off the beaten path here and you could quite easily step in the poop of "animals" that (supposedly) have been potty trained.

And as you sit there and shake your head at the screen in disbelief, you've automatically rationalized that "these poor homeless people..." WRONG.

(Cue Sesame Street tune) These are the people in your neighbourhood. The people that you meet when you're walking down the street. The people that you meet each day.

The guy whizzing by in his super awesome Nike jogging ensemble. The girl with the tight uh, abs,  her long blonde pony-tail bouncing in step with her jiggle. That's right folks.

These people are pooping all over Sweden.

These are likely the same people that stoop and scoop their dog's logs but apparently don't brown bag their own.

"Honey, please make sure you use the potty before we go." This no longer only applies to those under 5. If you live here, you know how fit Swedes are. You see them biking, jogging, running and cross-country skiing. It's in their DNA. And apparently that DNA is forming fertilizer as I type.

I'm obviously not saying every health nut in Sweden has a newspaper and a wet wipe at the ready for their daily 10k. But enough of them do that it's a problem, so much so that signs have actually been posted in a certain park to remind people to "mind the dogs (who are eating and rolling around in it) and to please pick up their poop." Irony?

I heard about this phenomena from an old friend of mine over dinner this weekend. Not the kind of dinner conversation one hopes to be engaged in. Running can have that affect on people. Ok, I get it. When you gotta go, you gotta go. But for the love of all that is "normal", at least bring a bag! He said there was an article. He said he would send it to me. I'm waiting for it. When I get it, I will update this post. I could have waited. No, this was too juicy, to unbelievable to keep to myself.

Until then, the proof is in the pooping. And please, People of Sweden: Pick up your Sh*t. And People from countries where pooping is confined to porcelain, you're welcome for the public service announcement.

ps. If you know about this, please comment. I'm still in a state of disbelief until I get the brown envelope.

Swimming with the fishes

Little man's first ever swimming lesson was tonight. Dad was too busy to let me go shop for a bathing suit so he took the 1st turn in the pool with the 3 year old.

Little man has been in the water since he was under one, spending every day at the beach in Montenegro. Now we live in Sweden. The only beaches near us are filled with bacteria and of course, the weather rarely cooperates so...it's been awhile since he's been "swimming".

With the exception of...
1. The meltdown that occurred when he was forced under a shower before heading to the pool.
2. The fact that I got in trouble for taking photos of the little man's first swimming lesson with his Dad (yup, the teacher swam over to tell me one of the mothers was very uncomfortable with my camera. Hubby later told me I should have asked her, "Can you point out who she is so I can refrain from taking photos of her FAT ASS?")
3. The severe meltdown that occurred when the 30 minute swim session was over and he was forced to leave the pool.
...It was a great first swimming lesson! He really enjoyed all the singing, splashing, feet kicking and gallons of water swallowing.

At least now he knows what to expect so next time won't be so traumatic what with the shower scene, Mommy getting "told", and the whole "having to leave" thing. Did I mention he's in the CRAB class?

Gimme my IKEA Catalogue!

For crying out loud...

On our daily walk, where we once strolled along the boardwalk overlooking the Adriatic, we now roll past a neverending field of houses. And in front of said houses, stand POST boxes (mail boxes for those reading from the Americas). They all sort of look the same, with the word POST on the box. Most of these monochromatic POST boxes have "Ingen Reklam Tack" neatly written on them, meaning, "No flyers/junk mail please." Some even have stickers that talk about saving Sweden's trees. How typically environmentally compassionate of the Swedes.

But today I noticed a POST box with an unusual scrawl plastered over top of its Ingen Reklam Tack notice. It said, loosely translated, "Please leave the IKEA catalogue". I laughed. Out loud. I couldn't help it and I didn't care that the resident of said home just happened to be standing outside watering his flowers.

I guess all bets are off during the IKEA catalogue season. "Screw the trees, I want my 100+ page IKEA catalogue" the man seemed to proclaim loudly from the front of his POST box.

So, not only is the IKEA catalogue worth the effort of writing and attaching a notice on your POST box, but apparently, it's ok to pick and choose your junk mail in Sweden. Cool. Sorry, I have no Ingen Reklam Tack sign on my mail box. I like my flyers. Well, not all flyers. I mean, I don't need the ones from building supply stores. Come to think of it, I could do without the "Save the starving children in Africa for only 10 cents/day" ones too. I pay for enough kids already. As a matter of fact, I think I will take a few minutes today to compose a letter to our local POST person:

"Dear Mr. or Ms. POSTAL Worker,
I received some good news today, courtesy of a neighbour: We can pick and choose our junk mail! I haven't seen an order form, perhaps it got lost in the mail. That's ok. In case you were wondering why mine was the only house that you weren't customizing junk mail for, here's my list of approved junk mail:
- Local grocery store flyers: Perhaps it would be easier to just give me the one with the best deals? We eat a lot of meat here, so make that the one from the store that has the best deals on meat. But it should be meat that's typically expensive, like T-bone steaks or Sirloin.
- High quality, high gloss flyers: I would like to support those companies that spend a lot of money to market to me. So anything you deem printed on low-quality paper, I don't need to see. Exceptions: Shoes. Anything shoe-related is approved, regardless of paper stock.
- Anything witty or funny: I enjoy a good laugh so if there's anything with a photo of a fat dude poured into a Speedo, two old ladies salsa dancing, a homeless person begging for change or anything you deem laughable, stick it in. I'll trust your judgement on this. You could also mark the ones that are REALLY funny and I certainly wouldn't mind translations. It would help you practice your English too!
- One charity leaflet per month: I would ask you to refrain from putting these in my mail box but I certainly don't want to seem ungrateful for the food, running water, electricity and malaria-free country I live in. I mean children are dying every day in third world countries so the least I can do is read about them once a month. Plus, I wouldn't want the neighbours to think us spoiled and uncaring.
I reserve the right to change this list at any time, depending on my moods and tastes but I'm sure you're a busy POSTAL person so let's agree on changes once/month.
Kindly ring the bell anytime after 10am if you have any questions. I'm here to help!
Regards for a dry winter, SwedishJenn

PS. Did I mention you can get the IKEA catalogue AT the IKEA store?
Image credit: IKEA

From Famous to FU

I miss being famous. Not the autograph, sex tape, Oprah Winfrey, serial killer kind of famous. But the notoriety that came from being one of the first North American immigrant families in a small seaside town called Herceg Novi in Montenegro. I think we were numbers 6,7 and 8 for Canadians in the entire country.

When we landed, the fame was instant. Though I didn't quite realize it at the time largely due to the fact that I couldn't speak or understand the language and thus, failed to notice the grumblings in the community.

But when, after 4 months or so in the country, we magically hooked up with another family of quasi-Canadian immigrants (fled for Canada during the Balkan Wars and returned) who became the dearest of friends, I found out just how much we were the talk of the town.

Here's the story: While I was back home in Canada recovering with my newborn, hubby and his son flew back early to set up our new apartment. Hubby was bent on having a jacuzzi tub. There was nowhere to put it so he opted for our bedroom. Having it installed was a nightmare as at this point the Russian invasion hadn't hit with its full magnitude (meaning wealth) and noone in the town seemed to know how to install the bloody thing.

Our new friends eventually told us that word on the street was we had a hot tub smack dab in our living room. What?! The first evening we invited them over for drinks, they were anxious and excited to see this living room spa we apparently had going on. They also spilled some additional gossip. We were rich, very rich, evidenced by the fact that we had a nanny for our son. Ok, by Montenegrin standards, I guess you could say we were well-off.

We were a mystery. Noone could understand why sane people would leave the comforts of the Western world for the rough of a country picking itself up after a decade-long war. One of the most exquisitely beautiful countries in the world.

But the people embraced us. They took us under their wing. From boutique and local produce market workers to artists and lawyers and other prominent citizens, not to mention fellow expats from other countries, primarily the UK. They were helpful and kind and generous. They invited us over to their tiny apartments for lavish meals. They treated us like family. They included us in the most sacred family celebrations. We were humbled and grateful and honoured by each and every gesture, no matter how small.

They knew our son. They watched him grow. They loved him as one of their own.

And now we're here, in Sweden. Just a few more immigrants, another set of numbers. With the obvious exception of our dearest friends, we're alone. No friendly waves, smiles and jokes. No candy for my boy. No dinner or coffee invitations. Noone noticing if I've gained or lost weight. Noone overcharging us because they think we're rich.

Just a few more immigrants is all. Nothing to see here.

From East to West Part 2: On Men

We moved to Sweden in January, after a 2.5 year adventure in the Adriatic Beauty that is Montenegro. Bordering the jewel of the Adriatic, Croatia, Montenegro really is the best kept secret of the former Yugloslavia and in 2007 was named the fastest growing tourist destination in the world by the World Travel & Tourism Council.

Snow-capped mountains, blue waters and lush green vegetation abound. We packed up our life in Canada at the request of our dear Swedish property developer friend and headed to a country we knew virtually nothing about, excluding compulsory Internet searches of course. I was 7 months pregnant at the time but had sense and opportunity enough to fly back to Canada to give birth to the little guy.

I digress. I'll save the long story of our life in the Wild Beauty (cue Montenegro tourism commercial as seen on CNN) for another post. But after spending almost six months as a resident of Sweden, I thought it was about time to compare life in this Eastern European country (freshly independent from Serbia circa 2006) to life in one of the richest Western European countries. This will be a regular series I believe, because there's too much to say and I don't know when to stop typing. So here goes,

From East to West Part 2: On Men


Note: Proceed with caution and a sense of humour. These are my observations and they include some fun stereotypes. Obviously not all men are the same and there are exceptions. But here are the "rules" as I (and many others) see them.

The Modern Swedish Male- Enjoys his Government-given months-long paternity leave and excels at it! He can often be found pushing strollers and swings and trying in vain to stop a toddler meltdown in the middle of the grocery store.
- He shops for the family groceries
- Has dishpan hands
- Has dinner ready when his partner returns from a long day at the office
- Politely offers and often insists to help out in the kitchen during dinner parties
- He doesn't take a woman out on a date. He accompanies her on a mutually-enjoyable evening and pays for his half of the meal only, down to the cent. Because to pay for the entire meal would apparently be an insult to the woman AND perhaps insinuate he expects something special for dessert
- He doesn't actually hit on a woman unless he's extremely drunk. Otherwise, the woman usually leads the mating ritual
- He is an equal contributor to the household, from folding laundry to dressing the kids and scheduling their doctor's appointments
- A wedding and an actual marriage certificate are entirely optional and seen as an unecessary formality (by both sexes)

The Traditional Montenegrin Male
- His pastimes include working when he feels like it and spending endless hours sipping coffee, usually after a mandatory shot or three of brandy, in local cafes with his buddies
- He is served his meals by his doting wife. He plays host once a year, alongside his wife, during his slava / Saint's Day. Every Serbian Orthodox family has a patron Saint. The day-long event includes relatives and dear friends who come to celebrate, eat and drink amazing amounts of traditional foods and alcohol. It's the most important day of the year. Another exception to this rule, grilling food. Nothing more manly than roasting a lamb on a spit.
- He only goes into the kitchen when it's time for another beer and that's only if his wife is out
- He has no idea how his clothes are cleaned and pressed and doesn't care
- He loves his children and can now be found pushing strollers in public
- He is a master at the art of seduction
- He would spend his last 2 dollars before he let a woman pay for anything
- When his wife is in labour, he is not allowed in the room. If it's a boy, he's usually firing a gun on top of a mountain somewhere with a bottle of homemade brandy in hand surrounded by his newborn's Godfather and his "brothers", singing national songs, hugging and crying. Same for a girl, only no gunshots warranted.
- Grocery stores are usually for alcohol and cigarette purchases and on rare occasions, emergency household items
- Marriage proposals and weddings are sacred, celebratory and almost mandatory events. Societal dissaproval still runs rampant for those "living in sin" but mindset is slowly changing.

Feel free to add to these lists folks.

So which of these men would I like to date/marry if I were single (which I'm happily NOT). I'd say neither. They are both two extremes. I'd prefer a nice mix. Could I watch as my "date" for the evening breaks out his calculator to even out the bill? Not without emptying my stomach contents. But that's me...

Doohickey Mondays

“Swedish for Common Sense”. We all know where to attribute that slogan, don’t we? The birthplace, of IKEA (cool, build-it-yourself shit), Volvo (economical, fuel-efficient, last-a-lifetime cars) and of course ABBA (music everyone can shake a leg to), it’s no wonder Sweden is full of practical gadgets and gizmos. The “ooohs” and “aaaahs” followed by “That is the coolest thing.” “How come we don’t have these in Canada?” have become a regular part of my vocabulary since I started coming here almost 10 years ago.

Seriously, they have the coolest, “How come we never thought of that?” stuff in this country. So I decided every week, I’d share one of these doohickeys with the world. Alright, so maybe you’ve seen these things before outside of Sweden and I’ve been living under a rock my entire life, but that doesn’t make them any less practical and in my mind, revolutionary!

1. The Sink Peel Cleaner:

How many times have you peeled potatoes over the trash bin to end up peeling the peelings from the side after you’re done? Or maybe you peel your veggies in the sink only to be scraping leftovers up with soppy paper towel?

Introducing The Sink Peel Cleaner. Grab this flexible plastic doohickey , scoop up the peels, seeds and pits and dump into the trash bin. Even has built-in drainage holes. Ok, so it is made of plastic but look at all the trees you’re saving!

I haven’t seen a Swedish kitchen without one of these. I got so excited about it on one trip, I bought a bunch to take home and dispense to friends and family. You’d think I was giving each of them a Volvo by the way I prattled on about its functionality, design and efficiency. Judging by the artificial smiles, they weren’t as excited by the piece of plastic as I was.

No revolution happening in Canadian kitchens. In fact, I’m sure they’ve all been stuffed in junk drawers . But where they should be is occupying some coveted counter space behind the dish soap.

Carefree Swedish Kids

I noticed something since moving here when it comes to the wee ones. Not only are they everywhere it seems but judging by the number of pregnant bellies I saw at the local lake this past Saturday, there's another army on its way. This can likely be attributed to the amazing amount of maternity AND paternity leave parents get in this country...

So not only am I noticing the sheer number of kiddies but the lack of parental supervision of said kiddies.

We live in a very kid-friendly neighbourhood...perfect for the little guy. It's a semi-private community of "radhuses"/rowhouses/townhouses with little playgrounds in each block of housing, a larger playground nestled in trees and the whole thing backs onto a forest. We're surrounded by nature.

And the kids run free, run wild...And now that I think of it, kinda like we used to run the roads when we were their age. With our parents calling out after us, "Be home before dark." "Be home for lunch." "J O H N!!!!! S U PP ER!!!!!!!!!"

Remember those days? When words like "kidnapping", "sexual predator" and "stranger danger" were virtually unheard of?

Well that's what it's like here. Kids as young as 3 climbing trees without a parent in sight. GASP! And around dinnertime you hear names like "Rasmus, Johan, Jakob and Louisa" bouncing off the windows.

So it's freaking me out.

I keep wanting to run up to these "abandoned" children to ask them, "Where are your parents?" "Where do you live?" "Do they know you're having a tea party in the woods?" But then I might just be one of those strangers their parents may (or may not) have warned them about.

Yes, I realize some day my child will walk himself to playdates and run around the neighbourhood tearing up the pavement. He'll be 3 in a week and I cannot imagine the day when I won't be keeping a watchful eye out for him.

I'm going to be that Paranoid Parent, aren't I? The one all the Swedes mutter to themselves about, "Oh, she's from North America." The parent that embarrasses her kid on a daily basis: lurking in the bushes, peeking out the window, insisting on accompanying him to his buddy's house two doors down. "Mom, would you just go home already? I'm fine."

Is it really that safe here? Who's off their rocker? Me or them?