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

The Notebook

In case you haven't noticed, I've been doing a lot of writing lately. Whether it’s company-related, the odd note on facebook, blogging or just changing my FB status, the verbal diarhea is running rampant. I can never spell that word..diarhhea? no...wait, let me check Google. D-I-A-R-R-H-E-A. Just in case you needed the spelling for this awful word. And of course now you have the visual too and are thanking me.

I love publishing Notes on Facebook the most because, depending on the topic, I always get wonderful feedback from fellow "friends". The best part is, I get to hear everyone's story. Another great part, I won't lie, is getting encouragement from friends to "write a column/an article/a novel". That just brings some pink to my white freckly cheeks. I never thought about doing it, the writing thing that is, for anything other than work or self-expression to be honest. And I only write when I have something I feel compelled to say, something I'm passionate about like oh, potty training woes or getting ID'd at the liquor store or most recently, the sex abuse scandals in the Roman Catholic Church. Or the idiot who engineered the Swedish shopping cart (that post is coming)!

So really, my writing coincides with my ADHD (which my Mom has, in all her great wisdom, diagnosed). How does anyone expect me to write something as complex, time-consuming and focus-demanding as a novel? And you also need imagination for that. I write about my life. I'm all about non-fiction, but in passionate, short outbursts. And then, I move on.

Now my husband, to his credit, has humoured me and my writing fetish. He reads what I write, offers suggestions but generally takes a backseat. He stays "mum" on the issue. Until yesterday when his actions spoke louder than my words ever could.

Yesterday he went to London to have tea and strumpets with the Queen and to discuss the state of the monarchy. No he didn't. He did go to London with a box of kanelbulle (Swedish cinnamon buns) for a meeting with a big company, whose biz dev guy has a love affair with kanelbulle from a specific bakery in Stockholm. So, of course, my charming husband brings the guy a box. It was a fly-in-and-out-the-same-day mission. I waited up. He walked in bearing gifts, mainly for the little man, who was extremely disappointed when he realized the nicely decorated box of kanelbulle we took with us in the car to the airport was NOT for him.

After going through a sweet assortment of toys and shirts, he then presented me with a sturdy baby blue gift bag adorned simply with the words "Smythson of Bond Street Est 1887" in an understated, old-fashioned font. And directly above, four emblems representing the highest offices of the monarchy, “By appointment of his/her majesty...”

The bag, tied together with a black ribbon, was impressive enough. Then a matching blue thick cardboard box inside. And inside THAT, a soft blue cloth bag nestled delicately in tissue paper. And inside that?

A fushia leather bound notebook filled with empty pale blue lined pages. It is gorgeous. It took my breath away.

On the back page of the notebook is The Story of Smythson Featherweight Paper and Bindings. It details the severe craftsmanship that goes into the manufacture of this brand of notebook, including its copyrighted floppy leather exterior (that apparently can be rolled up and squashed and will improve with age) and handmade “stitched spines and gilt-edged pages” (say THAT five times fast). And then there’s the extreme difficulty in creating a watermark on paper this thin. Who knew?

“Smythson Featherweight Books are internationally popular with many distinguished writers, journalists, travellers and explorers. Used by ‘the great and the good’ over many generations, they have been called a ‘secret social passport’. “

They have been used by Queen Victoria, Diana, Princess of Wales, Sigmund Freud and Grace Kelly to name a few.

And now, I have one.

What will fill its pages? I don’t know. I didn’t realize the impact of this notebook until I began to write about it. This gift is so precious. I both fear and revere it. So many thoughts running through my brain. Like, "Crap, I need to work on my penmanship. What if I make a mistake? white-out vs. scribble out. Should I use it for story outlines or the real deal? Where should I put it? Does this mean I'm a 'writer'? Am I worthy of owning such a coveted treasure?

One day I will open it and put pen to paper (yes, he got me two graceful pink pens too). I don’t know when this D-day will come. But what I do know is that I love my husband for this incredible symbol of his faith in me.

With this gesture, he has given me my very own, but not-so-secret, passport. "Permission to officially enter the wonderful world of prose?" "Granted."

And so begins a new chapter, in life and in love.

www.smythson.com

Saturday Randomness

1. Swine Flu, or should I say H1N1...to vaccinate or not. Here in Sweden, they're saying not to vaccinate under 3. The little guy turned 3 at the end of July. Contemplating. Some factors to consider:
- We have confirmed cases around these parts.
- Little guy goes to daycare
- We spend a lot of time with dear friends who have a daughter with a serious heart condition and they are urging all close to them to get vaccinated

2. The little guy is almost always jolly and generally well-behaved. We are truly blessed. May he stay this way. Well tonight at dinner his father told him not to play with his drink. He didn't listen, stuck his finger in the cup and...spillage. Dad raised his voice. Little man has the same reaction on the odd occassions this happens and it literally breaks your heart because his little heart is breaking. He repeats what Dad says, mimicking the same dissapointed tone and begins to cry. It's not a pity cry. It's a I-know-I-did-wrong-and-feel-so-horrible cry and it has both Dad and I with tear-filled eyes and feeling remorse. Unfortunately it can't be helped as he needs to know when he's misbehaved. But man...talk about GUILT.

3. Little Man's former Nanny's birthday tomorrow. Really look forward to Skyping her with a birthday song but as the days goes by, want so badly to see her in person. Our Montenegrin Mary Poppins.

4. Hubby's working too hard. He really needs a vacation. I admire his drive and faith but worried about him and wishing we could all take off to lay somewhere in the sun.

5. My comfy pants are history. I found these amazing not lycra or spandex but some lightweightish semi stretchy, slightly baggy (depending on the weight fluctuation state) workouty kinda pants in Montenegro, made by a Serbian company called Gajic. They are the bomb. I even took to buying them for friends back home they're so awesome. But my two trusty pair are on their last legs. Some thread pulling, actual wear (where you can begin to see my actual ass) and well, they just look like I've worn them nearly everyday for the past two years (which I likely have, even if just in the mornings before I get actually dressed). I may have to send them to comfy pant heaven. But before I do, I may have to beg some Montenegrin friends to make a trip to Budva to pick me up a few more pair.

7 Secrets to a Happy Marriage

Hubby and I will be married for seven years tomorrow. Yup, I’m all stocked up on calamine lotion in case I need to douse him with it to relieve symptoms of itching! Wow, 7 years of...

bliss, fighting, vacations, separations (as in business trips, not actual on-the-way-to-divorce separations), fighting, bliss, hand holding, other intimate things, eating, housework, drinking, loving, celebrating anniversaries, motherhood, fatherhood, fighting, longing, moving, more moving, ok: country hopping, fireworks, public holidays, birthdays, friendships, fighting , kissing, hugging, strangling, dishware throwing, swimming, laughing, socializing, dinner parties, pretending you didn’t fart, blaming farts on the dog, dressing up, getting dressed, undressing, fashions, cleaning up vomit and poo, foolishness, stupidity, growing, ageing, deaths, births, presents, more presents, surprises, crying, supporting, stroking, doing dishes, doing more dishes, dancing, doing INSERT HOUSEHOLD CHORE, hair styles and colours, pets, in-law, out-laws, Vegas, Italy, Dominican, Montenegro, Croatia, Serbia, Ontario, Nova Scotia, PEI, Sweden, Vegas, airports, airport pick-ups, airport drop-offs, so many countries and cities, learning, working, pretending to be working, faking headaches or stomach cramps or INSERT SYMPTOM, pretending to be asleep, gaining weight, losing weight, gaining weight but pretending to have lost weight, gossiping, placing bets on how long your friends’ marriages will last, swearing and always, always, praying...and everything in between, for better or for worse...from that day forward, seven years ago.

So after all this, I figure I’m an expert at marriage. Yup. Have marriage problems? Drop me a line. I should hand myself a degree. Maybe I’ll whip up a quick one using PhotoShop and frame it. Here they are, the 7 Secrets to a Happy Marriage, in no particular order.

1. Never go to bed angry. Go to bed with a smile on your face as you plot how to make your spouse pay for the mistake he just made, and the duration he will pay for said mistake.
2. Share the housework equally. When that doesn’t work and his dirty socks are still at the end of the bed, just do it all yourself and play martyr.
3. Listen and respond thoughtfully to your partner’s needs. I heard what you just said and I am thoughtfully pointing out that the suitcases are in the hall closet.
4. There is no “I” in Team. But there IS an “I” in Idiot.
5. Pay your partner a compliment each day. “This is good but could use more cumin” is called a backhanded compliment and could result in the back of my hand coming into contact with your face. “You look thin in that dress” implies that I look like a lardass in every other piece of clothing I own and warrants an extremely expensive shopping trip for a new wardrobe of thin clothes.
6. Take some time out to rekindle the spark each week. Setting fire to the stash of love letters from old girlfriends he kept all this time does count.
7. Make sure your partner gets time for themselves. Privacy in the bathroom, running to the store to get milk, taking the garbage out and SLEEP do not count. Oh and neither do weekly weight watchers weigh-ins or time at the gym. Neither does surfing questionable websites. Yeah, I know the signs: Sudden increase in mouse clicking, rapid screen flashing, fast-talking while mouse clicking and screen flashing and pathetic, but often successful, attempts at distraction, “Is that the baby I hear?”

Disclaimer: Not my Real 7 Secrets. I don’t have 7 Secrets. I don’t even have 1 Secret. But I’m still happily married after 7 years, so I (we) must be doing something right. Please don’t call me or write me with your marital woes. The only certificate I’ll be Photoshopping is one that says, “We made it another year”. We’ll let you know if we ever figure out how we keep making these milestones. Happy Anniversary My Love and Here’s to Another 7! xoxo