Over the Hill

In so many ways. Hubby turned 51. I told him he was officially over the hill and that we were gonna enjoy the ride "down" together :-). So far, it's been rather bumpy. I struggle to remember all of those motivational quotes that resonate with me lately. Try to figure out how I can apply them to our life. Don't get me wrong here. We have a great one. We're all healthy, we have what we need (and even some stuff we don't), a beautiful place to live, two great sons and a supportive extended family, and a job we're passionate about.

But sometimes it feels as though we're chasing that always elusive toy mouse. Just when we think we've caught up to him, he darts under the couch. How long will it take for that thing's battery to run out anyway? Because it seems like we're waiting for just that. For us, lately, it's been about the destination, not the journey. I need some perspective. I need a lightbulb or an Oprah-esque AHA! moment. Care to be the catalyst?

Not sure how much hard work has to do with "success" these days. No one I know works harder than my husband. Ok, I'm sure there are people but seriously, this man is a machine. Unfortunately, if he keeps going at this rate, the screws will loosen and the machine will malfunction. I feel helpless. No wisdom to impart, no real "help" to offer in the ways he really needs it (ok, I suppose I could be writing and editing some docs right now but I need my blog therapy).

My husband is passionate about what we're doing. He can get people excited and motivated. He will do whatever it takes. He's smart. He's charming. But he also can't do it all. He needs help and I feel lost as to how to help him. At the end of the day, I want the good guy to win. To get what he deserves. To be able to put his feet up (not fully, cuz he goes mad when he has nothing to do), to relax a little and to be able to say to himself, "I did it!" He has accomplished so much already and under crazy circumstances but he's not there yet. And I'm not referring to money.

Entrepreneurs are like Parents,  the greatest satisfaction comes from seeing your baby grow up and blossom into a wonderful adult. You know that you were instrumental in its development, its success, its beauty. You nurtured it, spent countless sleepless nights worrying about it, you were there when it took its first baby steps, watched as it hit milestone after milestone.

I want my husband, the Dad, the Entrepreneur to see his baby graduate, to swell with emotion as he looks back with pride. To know all the sacrifices he made, the blood, sweat and tears were worth it. He has done it as the Dad, he will do it again and he WILL do it as the Entrepreneur.

Faith, Hope and Love, Jenn xo

A letter to my son on his 5th Birthday

It seems kind of fitting that after an 8th month absence, I'm opening my blog back up with this post. The past several months I have been contemplating dusting off my little shelf in cyberspace but just couldn't seem to bring myself to do it. Until today. I'll try to explain my absence in my next post but until then...

My baby turned 5 on July 30 and this time, we were surrounded by our family back "home" in Canada to celebrate. In fact, we had two parties. One with hubby's extended family of Aunts and cousins on my stepson's 25th where we co-celebrated and another with the small group of us and my Aunt and Uncle on his actual birthday. Both days were filled with cake, presents, photos and lots of laughter.

You're a whole hand now. 5 years old. The past year has featured so many highlights including our Summer 2010 trip to your homeland in Montenegro for 3 weeks, Christmas spent in Sweden, a visit from our Russian friends, a slew of birthday parties, a weekly music class, another move to a better neighbourhood with some friendly friends, your very first performance at your school's end of the year concert (ask me if I cried with pride) and a month-long holiday in Canada (from Ontario to Nova Scotia, PEI and back to Ontario). And just a day after our arrival back home, Daddy and I surprised you by taking you to a beautiful zoo, Kolmården, here in Sweden. We told you we were going to the library and when we arrived you proclaimed, "But this is not a LIBAWEE!!!"

You're so much taller, your hair is getting darker (well except in the summertime when it lightens up), you still love anything chocolate and your passion for animals is stronger than ever. Everybody who has the pleasure of knowing or meeting you says the same thing, "He's such a great little boy!"

This year you've developed your own little spirit. You will tell someone if what they're doing bothers you. You cry only when your little heart has been injured, if a favourite toy is broken or if a friend hurts your feelings. It's hard not to cry when you do because your tears come from genuine sadness.

You surprise me with your sincere and unexpected proclamations, "Mommy, I like you." and are constantly questioning the universe so that I'm running to Google at least a few times a day. "Why does the wind blow the clouds?"

In so many ways, you're fearless. After a long time out of the water, you jumped right in to Nanny and Papa's pool and let me teach you how to doggy paddle, flat out refusing a floating device. When we took you to Canada's Wonderland with Nana, you went on every thrill ride they'd let you on. While I was screaming, you were laughing and shouting, "I want to go AGAIN!" I hope this quality stays with you as you grow so that you're never afraid to try something new. And I also hope I can learn to watch without being that freaked out helicoper Mom.

Our little Picasso. You have developed a love for drawing. It started with depictions of stick people with big heads and has progressed to full-out monsters and now farm animals. You get your artistic ability from your Dad, trust me on that. A year ago, we couldn't get you to make a line on a piece of paper and now you're colouring is even better than mine!



You're loving and thoughtful, often insisting on stopping off at the store to buy flowers for Mommy and hiding them behind your back for a big unveiling. Daddy can count on the doorbell ringing at around 4:30 when you arrive home from school for a big hello hug when he opens the door.

I love playing outside with your new neighbourhood friends and you definitely take after both of us with your outgoing nature. And still, we can always count on your sleepy body making its way into our bedroom early every morning for a few hours of snuggly sleep.

It's like I'm trying to remember every small detail, gesture, facial expression or new skill you've picked up just so that I can hold onto these memories and maybe, somehow, keep your fleeting smallness in my pocket for a little while longer. Your the best little boy in the whole wide world and we're so privileged to be the two people you call "Mommy" and "Daddy".

Birthday Love

My birthday unfolded just as I expected. At noon, I get a call from Little Man's school to tell me that his eyes are red, he's tired and is complaining that his "brain is broken". I rush over to pick him up, take one look at the pathetic little mess of tears and fatigue and with no fever, I'm worried. I rush him over to emergency, where, no word of a lie, I'm in and out in 30 minutes. Imagine THAT in North America...Kudos to the Swedish healthcare system on that one.

Check of his ears, nose, throat and a simple pinprick blood test and we're outta there with "It's just a virus." Thank God. But boy did I feel like a dolt. 30 minutes later and my son is back to normal. I figured out last night it was likely hayfever. dolt. But no girls over for cake as catching a virus was not on their to-do list.

And because I wanted to be around to field birthday calls, of which there were many and I'm so grateful, we made a quick trip to the mall for mall food and shopping for all the babies in my life. Came home to chocolate cake. And last night, we went out for sushi and topped the evening off with wine and a movie. Another birthday come and gone.

After returning home from the birthday trip to the ER, I noticed a bouquet of flowers all wrapped up on the kitchen table. They were sent from my dear friend in Russia. An unexpected surprise. I am humbled and grateful for my family and friends and that's the best thing about a birthday

.

34 Years on the Planet Tomorrow

Yup, it's the most wonderful time of the year....my birthday tomorrow! Waaaahoooo! I'm full of it. I'm really not that excited. I'm 34, not 19! A time for reflection? Most likely. But meh, I'll wait to do that when I hit 40. What would I like to do for my birthday? Let's see. How about a nice dinner out, expensive food and wine and maybe something sinful for dessert? Yes! What will I actually be doing?

Well hubby declared today that he and Little Man would be baking a cake in my honour. So of course that meant I had to look up the easiest chocolate cake recipe I could find online and then head out to the grocery store to try and decipher the Swedish equivalents for all the English things on my list. Like bittersweet chocolate is obviously NOT called that here, or anywhere near that. Instead there are all these percentages of cocoa in the chocolate. And I never bake. And think I could find Vanilla extract, like in liquid form in a bottle? Nope. But lots of powdered vanilla extracts. weird. And after spending exactly 20 mins in the baking aisle reading and rereading packages and moaning and asking complete strangers for advice (which is SUCH a no-no here), I simultaneously want to jump for joy and kick myself when I see CAKE MIX! Just add water and butter. SCORE!

Then I rush to a meeting and rush to pick up the Little Man and throw together an ultra fast supper and then proceed to translate the simple cake baking directions into English for my simpletons, get the ingredients and measuring utensils together and let the men make the cake themselves. What a production! They had fun, especially the licking of the beaters part, while I vacuumed. Because a birthday isn't a birthday without someone, or in this case, my friend and her 3 daughters and two cousins, coming over to eat said cake, which by now is burning in the oven. And because I don't have a maid (now there's what I should have asked for) and have to work tomorrow, ie. field birthday calls all day, I need to clean my house for my impromptu party.

Yes, the birthday calls. Let's run down the list shall we?
1. My brother, wife and new baby Audrey
2. My parents
3. Hubby's Mom, sis-in-law and family
4. Hubby's Dad and wife
5. BFF Jody
6. DFF Diana
7. DFF Connie
8. "Nanny" Tanja
9. Our oldest son
10. An assortment of friends around here
11. Facebook. There's over 300 messages right there. But I love those, don't you? Feeling the love from family, friends and friends you never should have friended.
12. Oh and maybe my Godparents and their whole gaggle
13. Co-workers

And since time zones vary, I will literally be on the phone most of the day while trying to tidy up for the Birthday Troupe arrival while checking email halfhazardly. And because when you're a Mom, your birthday is no longer about you. The cheesecake or white chocolate cake or ice cream cake (they don't have those awesome Dairy Queen cakes here) I crave will instead be replaced by a slightly burnt chocolate boxed cake made lovingly by my two sweethearts and decorated with an insane amount of sprinkles. And my birthday meal will be at McDonald's. I've already started ingesting carbs in anticipation. So the day after my birthday, I get to stare at a not-so-pretty number on the scale and maybe get a few pimples too.

So I am writing this post the day before my birthday because tomorrow, I will literally have no me-time. And although the sarcasm dripping from this post might lead you to believe I am complaining about the Fiasco that will be my birthday tomorrow, I'm not. I love birthday love, even if it means having to move the stack of papers cluttering the kitchen table and dining at the golden arches. Oh and I think Little Man might be coming down with something. So Happy Birthday to Me!

A Letter to my Son on his 4th Birthday

A Letter to my Son on his 4th Birthday

Where is the you I knew? You're drifting. Away from me. Slowly. But you're shining even brighter so that I can see you so clearly. No longer an extension of me with baby rolls and loving gazes but your own little person who can say out loud, "Mommy, I love you." Always at the most unexpected times and oh-so sincerely. You just kind of look up and that loving gaze transforms into an eloquent phrase.

When did pooping become not-such-a-big-deal? Not so long ago we had to cart that special seat around everywhere we went Just.In.Case. Now I can sit here and type as you bellow, "Mommy, I pooped. Come and see how BIG it is (and wipe my butt of course)!"

It used to be that I was your everything. But our worlds are separating and it feels like a chainsaw through my heart. I miss sitting on a stool in the bathroom for 30 minutes reading the same books over and over again waiting for that tinkle to hit porcelain. I guess you don't need me to carry you around on my hip. And you sure don't fit into the baby carrier, or the stroller anymore. And that stepstool is history. What I wouldn't give to change another diaper or take a photo to capture your first spoon of cereal. But the stained bibs are tucked away and when you need to go, you do it all by yourself.

Now you're...

* instructing me NOT to speak Swedish (cuz it's your special language), while you babble away...leaving the natives in awe of your mad skills and your father and me shaking our heads.

* questioning, everything. "What do panthers do?" "What do sloths do?" What do sperm whales do?" "What do INSERT ANIMAL NAMEs do?"

* teaching your preschool friends Swen-glish. Everyday when you leave the park, instead of shouting "Hej do", they all call out, "BYE, DO Joe."

* pushing my hands away and finding your own path

* showing us we're not doing such a bad job, by comforting a hurt friend, using your Ps & Qs, sharing your toys (ok, we're still working a bit on that one) and just being the most pleasant little four year old there ever was.

* observing the world around you, rather loudly. "Mommy, that man has big muscles. I'm gonna show that man my muscles." "Mommy, that lady is crying. Does she have a boo-boo? Should we kiss it better?" "Mommy, that boy is crazy." "Mommy, I just farted (proclaimed loudly in the middle of the grocery store)".

* remembering after a year and a half the love you have for your nanny of two and a half years.

* wondering about your grandparents, aunts & uncles, cousin(s) and your big brother  and "maybe he can come to my house tomorrow and play with my dinosaurs." And everytime you wonder, I have to hold back a tear, knowing they are all so far away...for now.

* sensing when I'm having a bad moment, "Mommy, you're not angry, are you?"

* having a bath all by yourself. Up until a few months ago, you and Dad were taking a bath together every night until you exclaimed, and much to your father's dismay, "I can have a bath by.my.self. Not with Daddy."

But when you're sleeping, Ahhhh, when you're sleeping. I can still see who you used to be. My baby. No big words like "Ankylosaurus", no long legs running, no questions like, "What do sea lions eat?" or laughing at a joke you're understanding in a movie. Just silence and that face. I now understand why your Daddy used to watch your older brother as he slept. Until he got caught and was told it was "creepy Dad!"

For some reason, this birthday is a bigger milestone than the 3 before it. You are a real, rough & tumble, beautiful little boy. I know it won't be too long from now that you'll be embarassed to wrap your arms around my neck and pucker up for a kiss. Instead of "Mommy, I want to whisper you.", you'll have secrets you don't want to share. And then a few girlfriends come and go...But that's a long time from now and for now, I'm still your favourite toy. And I'm gonna cherish it for as long as it lasts.

We are so proud of our little man because that's what you are July 30, 2010...four years after the epidural and the c-section, the outline of the man you will become. And we love you, for everything you are today and everything you will be tomorrow. Happy Birthday My Dearest Son. Sometimes I wish I could freeze this year of your life and play it on repeat forever but I wouldn't miss you growing up for the world, xoxo

Swedish Birthday Party Part 2

So we took off from the house about 10:20 for an 18-minute journey to the party location. As I didn't have an actual house number and it was somewhere outside of town, I wanted to allow for the likelihood we'd get lost.

We got lost, well sorta. Actually it was worse than that.

I followed the directions to this "township" and sure enough, we ended up in the right area. Score 1 for the Canadians! Farmland and lots of houses and little clusters of houses. But which house? Ahhhh...there! As per my previous post, it had to be this house. Balloons. Lots of balloons. Balloons off the main road, balloons marking the driveway and balloons on the front of the house. Well no wonder they didn't give me an address. How could I possibly miss the house? But it was 10:35 and much too early to make an appearance so we circle back around to the gas station to snack on candy until 10:51, when I figured it was safe to head on in and make our appearance.

I park in front of this beautiful old red barn, hop out with the man and the "cheap" gift and we make our way to the door. We're excited...first ever birthday party invite for the little man..woohoo. We ring the bell. Geez, taking awhile for someone to answer. Maybe the kids are already running around screaming. Finally a 13-year old opens the door in her PJs, with a few other kiddies in pyjamas wandering over to take a look at the visitors.

What could be worse than being lost? How about showing up at the wrong house?! "Is this Pontus' house?" "Nej" says the confused teen. Oh God.

I pry my excited toddler off the stranger's balcony trying to explain that Mommy's an idiot when I see a car pull up behind me full of kids. Another family about to make the same mortifying mistake. The little man recognizes his classmate and as she rolls down her window, I proceed to explain we are indeed at the wrong house. She bursts out laughing, "Oh I'm so glad it was you and not me." Thank you very much.

She makes the call to the party house, explaining that we're crashing the wrong party and I set off to follow her to the house I am sure we never would have found alone.

Turns out it's the little man's teacher's son whose turning 4. And we're climbing up slippery rocks into the woods to roast hot dogs in a fire pit. Cute. Did I mention hotdogs are a staple here and that the little guy hates them? Anyway, after some parents come and go and others, like me, elect to stay, we make our way inside.

Beautiful home really.

The kids are playing upstairs. And then it's gift opening time. Thank God, everyone seemed to have spent the same amount on the gifts. My first relief of the day. Then it's ice cream cake. Not just any ice cream cake. This ice cream cake is literally a square box of ice cream flipped upside down and cut into pieces. And then decorated with jam from a tube on the fly.

and that's it. Weiners on sticks and a container of ice cream. We left with a bag containing about 7 candies, "because it's Sunday" said the Mom.

Now I have seen friends with kids throw birthday parties back home. Beautiful handmade cupcakes, ornately decorated homemade cakes, party games, decorations, THEMES, t-shirts that say "Birthday Girl/Boy", loot bags chockfull of loot, jumping castles, hired entertainment, snacks galore, balloons, nice gifts. I wonder how much the average kids party cost these days back home in Canada. But I can guarantee it's a lot more than the $20 this party cost to put on.

Now I'm not saying this is what every birthday party in Sweden is like. I really don't know. And I'm not judging this party. I'm merely pointing out the differences between cultures. Hubby says we come from a culture where it's all about "Keeping up with the Joneses" and here the philosophy is, what does a three-year old remember about a kid's birthday party except that they had a good time playing with their friends? I can't help but agree with him.

However, for the little guy's 4th birthday party, you won't catch me decorating a lump of ice cream with a tube of jam and calling it "ice cream cake". I.Just.Can't.Do.It.

And if I live in the middle of nowhere and on the off chance there are other birthday parties occuring on the same day as my son's, my directions will include landmarks and uniformed officers directing traffic if necessary.

Swedish Birthday Party Part 1

So I've been to birthday parties here, but only within our close circle of friends, friends we've had for years before we moved to Sweden.

And the other day an invitation came in the mail addressed to Joseph. I seriously welled up. My son was invited to his first ever birthday party for a child in his class.

I chose 10am the day before the party to RSVP. The party's in Ströbylund and there was no address provided on the invitation, just "Ströbylund" so I naturally inquired as to the number of the house. "Just Ströbylund". Even when I pressed on, I got the same broken English response from said parent. And then finally, "You can call when you get here". After a quick search on GoogleMaps, I located the general vicinity of about 20small homes. I guess I'll take a page from the movie StepMom and look for the house with the balloons.

Anyway, in my excitement, I call my dear friend about this great milestone. She warns me to only spend 50 SEK (that's like $9) on the birthday gift and assures me EVERYONE does this. Swedes are practical people and I guess with the number of parties a child is invited to during the course of a school year, buying gifts can be quite expensive (not that it stops us North Americans from overspending). So I spent 90 SEK and am hoping and praying I won't be embarrassed...

Now to the other part. I am just supposed to drop my 3-year old off and...GASP... LEAVE! This is likely not going to happen. What if he needs to pee? What if he doesn't like the food? What if the supervision is inadequate and he falls down stairs or gets electrocuted? What if noone understands his special brand of Swinglish? So this is likely NOT happening. Still not sure how I'm going to force myself into their home but somehow I'll manage, maybe...

Stay tuned

A Letter to my son on his 3rd Birthday

Today you turned “fweee yeez ohd”. It seems yesterday you were but a wide-eyed pink pooping machine I had no idea what to do with. But today you are three. And Mummy is so proud of you.

Of course I’m proud that by the miracle of humanity, in the past year, you learned to run, sing, find new ways of expressing yourself and have almost mastered peeing and pooping in the potty. But I’m most proud of the little person you’re growing to become and am privileged to be your steadfast guide and comfort through this wallop of an adventure that is our life.

You’re resilient. I want to apologize to you my son. For all the change you’ve had to endure this past year. Plucked from your life with loving Mary Poppins to a school full of foreign kids and too few teachers. From daily strolls along the seashore to daily drives around town. From the warm Adriatic waters to a backyard pool. From a language planted in you from 3 months old to having to start all over again with new sounds and words. From the comfort of a loving, supportive circle of friends— who became family to, luckily, a new, smaller circle.

But I want to Thank God for your wonderful ability to adapt and thrive, lay down your roots somewhere new while still cherishing the faces from your infancy. I admire this quality most in you baby boy. So perhaps I won’t apologize fully. Your Dad and I brought you to this new country for opportunity and the way you’ve blossomed will ensure you’re that much stronger on your journey to manhood.

You’re happy. I often wonder how many parents can say their toddlers are really happy. But you truly smile from the time you jolt me out of dreams with “Mama, wake up!” to the time we say goodnight after prayers (and you continue screaming “Goodnight” “See you soon!” as I’m on my way down the stairs). You cry when “Mama, I huht maseff (I hurt myself)” or when you know you’re in deep doodoo. But God that smile...I’m thankful for it every day.

You’re smart. I had no idea you could speak Swedish until you surprised me by singing along with your little Swedish troup at your daycare performance. There you were, in the front row, covered completely in muck, in the rain, singing your little heart out. I had no idea what you were saying, but I cried anyway. You know your colours and the alphabet, your shapes and have even memorized the words to your favourite books. You’re a little parrot, repeating everything your teachers say to learn to speak their language.

You’re loving. From stopping to chase and pet the “KAT-TEN” on our nightly walks to those big open-mouthed kisses to asking where your brother is if he’s not sitting in his usual spot when you come home. You may not be an entertainer when the family Skype Shows begin, but your grandparents and far-away family should know that you ask about them at the oddest times: On the car ride to and from daycare, in the grocery store with a mouthful of ice cream cone or usually five minutes after a Skype call has ended. People are drawn to your spirit little one. I saw it today. The two high school helpers assigned to your school were waiting for YOU to arrive. You’re a little charmer, just like your Dad.

You’re beautiful. My favourite part of everyday happens sometime around 5am. I open my eyes instinctively to see your sleepy eyes hovering by my pillow. I don’t always remember the part where I pick you up and lay you next to me but I wake up every morning to you snuggled in between your Dad and I. Your hair has gone from black at birth to white blonde to a now darker shade, marking the moments of change in your life. I miss your face during the day and enjoy that very instant you see me, stop play and run with arms wide open. We could never make another one like you.
So today your father, brother and I will trek over to your school at 2:30 with a lactose, strawberry, kiwi and plum FREE “Lightning McQueen” cake and we’ll join your class in singing Happy Birthday. We won’t have your grandparents, aunts & uncles or cousin with us to celebrate, but we will have each other and best of all, we have you.
Happy 3rd Birthday my son.
Love, your Proud Mummy xoxo
July 30, 2009