Baby Blues

So we're sitting in McDonald's the other day...yes, we do go to the Evil Empire on occasion and make up for it during the week by my recent, step-by-step transition to organic and local foods (more on that in another post). Had to at least attempt to justify McDonald's ;-).

And Little Man, with his Happy Meal, is sitting directly across from a whispy blonde-haired baby boy, about 5 months old I'd say. And a cutie.

Little Man, assuming a very serious tone, states, loud enough for the parents of said cherub to hear: "Mommy, David (little boy the same age in his class) HATES babies."

Aghast and immediately on damage control, "Why does David hate babies?"

And to kick me when I'm down, the loud confession follows, "Actually, David AND I hate babies."

Snickering ensues from Mommy of the baby victim.

And words start pouring from my mouth simultaneously trying to figure out and quell the Baby Hate.

Mortified I am.

Turns out the "babies" (about 2 years old) at his school "chase us and we don't like it."

It was embarrassing and funny at the same time. But the other Mommy got it and so did I. He's newly five, at the age where he's questioning almost everything and sorting out his feelings on nearly everything. Hubby and I tried to explain that Little Man was once a baby and that babies don't know how to play with big boys but they want to and that's why they're chasing you around the park. etc. etc.

The next night at a party for a friend's older son, two babies (2 and 2.5) were present. And Little Man had a ball with them. About halfway through the evening, I found our Little Man in a corner crying. "The big kids are angry at me." My little baby was interrupting a video game session.

Sometimes you're the baby and sometimes you're the big boy.

Back to McDonald's. I was sitting directly across from Little Man (and right beside the Baby). "Mommy, why are you sitting THERE?"
"So I can see your gorgeous face."
Quite matter-of-factly he replies, "But you can see my gorgeous face if you sit beside me too."
You win.
I smiled, supressed a belly laugh and moved my hamburger and baby carrots to the empty seat next to my Baby/Boy.

Yay for small parenting victories

Today we went to gympa. One of the local gyms has a Parent/Child class that we used to frequent last year. 1/2 hour of "exercises" with the kid and then the parents leave for half an hour or so to exercise themselves. The latter part is newish as before, you could stay and watch the kids. We started going on the recommendation of a few parents at the little man's school.

Today, none of his classmates were in attendance and Little Man was pretty upset about it. I proceeded to hop around by myself with a sullen faced son looking on, complaining and saying he wanted to go home. My initial reaction would have been to storm out of there, child in town, stewing and slightly angered. I stayed calm long enough to assess that a little distraction, some joking around and a huge smile could be enough turn him around. Ten minutes later and victory. He even asked me to leave once the parent part was over. I obliged, grabbed some fruit and spied from above.

The whole scenario may not seem like a big deal, but for me, it was. See this post for background. If I had truly believed we would have been better off leaving, I have faith that I would have been able to do it in a constructive way. In taking a step back and taking a few deep breaths, I was able to resist my knee-jerk reaction and try something new.

I'm proud of myself. One day at a time.

My little monkey swingin' on the rings

Little Man Wednesdays

The drive home from daycare just got 5 minutes longer (again), for a total of 20ish minutes. This is all thanks to the kiddies in town being back from a week off on Fall Break. Yes, they already had a week-long break...imagine. So how do we entertain ourselves in stop and go traffic? Endless loops of AC/DC..that's how.

And the only time I've ever wished for an iPhone to replace my 3-year old pink Samsung came as Little Man belted out the entire first verse to "Shook Me All Night Long". Ok so his version goes something like, "She was a fast machee. She kep her moto keen...." which made it the ultimate YouTube video. But alas, I wasn't able to capture the rare footage on "film"....just in my brain. And because Little Man is anything but a performing monkey, asking him to do it again will always result in him almost never doing it again.

It snowed. Actually it snowSTORMED here yesterday. 2 feet of the sticky white stuff. Someone was just a tad bit excited and ready to make a snowman. Unfortunately shopping for a snowsuit obviously took precedence. I would like to thank the Swedish Mothers Association for forgetting to send me the memo that says, "Shopping for children's snowsuits starts and ends in October." By the time we got to my two favourite stores, they had the wrong colours and the wrong sizes and no sign of new shipments until next year. So instead, we spent the same amount of money on an awesome faux fur lumberjack-inspired hat, gloves and a dicky at  my most favouritest (and obviously most expensive) kids store in Sweden, Polarn o Pyret...ahhhhhhhhhhhh.........So, hand-me-down snowsuit until I find the one I want, which MUST be a red one.

And today Little Man and Dad were out the door to start building a snowman when 2 minutes later they were back inside, "My tummy hurts. I'm gonna throwed up." Great. He was pale but no fever and in an hour, just fine. And no barfing either. But that certainly didn't stop him from yelling it multiple times from upstairs, trying to get out of bedtime, "Mommy, I wanna throwed up." He got me once but I quickly caught onto his little game. Of course, I could very well be eating my words in an hour or two. Smart kid though.

Speaking of smart kid, he's baking bread at school and oh so proud of his little self. And apparently, he's been tracing his letters in Swedish too. And you should hear the kid speak. We actually have to work more proactively on his English cuz while his Swedish is unbelievable, he's a bit behind on the native tongue front.

And the new favourite movie, "How to train your dragon". He insists on watching it once a day. Actually, he insists on 3x a day, I insist on once, while I'm making dinner.

Heard from the House

Haven't been very active in the blogosphere lately. A little too much on the brain.

Little man's upstairs in bed. And I hear, "Daddy?" "Yes Little Man?" "I'm 4 years old. Not three years old. Four years old." "Ok, Little Man."

Since Daddy has been going into the office more frequently these days, he's picking Little Man up from school more frequently. On the odd occasion that he would pick him up before, I'd hear the annoying blast of our door buzzer around 4:20 and look through the fogged out window to see Little Red Man on tippy toes reaching for the blasted bell. I'd swing the door open wide to a smirking kid, "Mommy, I got a surprise for you! Taaadaaa!" And from behind his back, he'd produce a bouquet of flowers. Say it with me: Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

This past Thursday, annoying door buzzer and beautiful flowers. A few days later, hubby had to go into the office again. Annoying door buzzer and beautiful flowers again. Problem was, the last bunch were still fresh! This was working out great before. Just when I was ready to throw out the flowers, a new bunch arrived. When I whispered this to hubby, he replied that driving home after their usual pit stop to pick up juice, Little Man exclaimed, "Daddy, we forgot Mommy's flowers!!" He tried in vain to explain that they had just got flowers a few days ago that were still good and Mommy didn't need flowers this time. There was no reasoning with him. The tears of a broken-hearted little man were enough for Daddy to pull into the nearest gas station. So "Taaadaa!", more flowers.

Lucky I was able to convince Little Man on our way home today that Daddy likes chocolate more than flowers. Not that I want to break this habit. I love that our Little Man enjoys the gift of giving.

I've crossed over to the dark side people. I am officially a Mac user. By force, not by choice. And I gotta say, it's growing on me.

Well time to strip down for some butt blasting and ab crunching. Happy Thursday!
xoxo

To my dearest little bro

I mean, I knew for the last 7 months or so it was coming but when I got the call at 5:30 this morning, it really hit me.

My little brother is a Daddy to a little girl.

And I'm just so emotional about it all, in the proudest big sister way possible.

Because I remember what it felt like when I became a Mom.

And because I have that photo of us, you: 3, me: 6 or 7, snuggling in a bed against a backdrop of floral wallpaper on Logan Street.

And because I know you. And it makes me laugh. I chuckle to think that my anal retentive, color-coordinated sock drawer, organized-to-a-fault, sleep-coveting baby brother is going to have his world turned upside down.

That this new world will be filled with power washing the poop of cloth diapers. Losing sleep even when his days-old daughter is fast asleep, just checking to make sure that she is, in fact, breathing. Stumbling outside at 4am to take his two terribly confused dogs for a pee. Doing Balki's dance for joy after she finally falls asleep after countless trips around the living room in the stroller. Falling in love with his wife all over again as she nurses the precious life you created together. Baby-proofing the baby-proofing. Hovering like a lunatic when anyone dares to pick her up. Policing the phone lines so as not to disturb his best girls while they're resting (and cursing whoever it is who dares to call).

And that's just the beginning.

And I have some advice for you dear brother of mine. Take noone's advice. Do what YOU feel is best. You will pour over "the books", you will drive yourself mad trying to weigh conflicting advice from well-meaning grandparents/siblings/friends on everything from how often to breastfeed, when/if to start sleep training, the colour of her poo, how to dress her for X weather, etc.

But in the end, you will do what's right for your daughter and your family. Every time. And I know this because I've been there and I know this because I know you.

And I love you. And I'm just so proud of both of you. And I can't wait to meet my niece and cuddle her and make silly faces at her and buy an overabundance of pink, frilly things and be her ONLY and most favouritest Auntie Jenny.

And that's just the beginning.

I love you already baby doll Audrey xo

Little Man Mondays

In case you haven't noticed, I've scrapped Weigh-In Wednesdays. #1: Because I've sorta reached my goal, hovering between 69ish and 70ish with weekly exercise and #2: Because I'm tired of focusing so much on my pant size. But that said, I may resurrect it one day ;-).

So to replace it, I'm launching Little Man Mondays! Just a way for me to more actively journal my four year-old's growth, my parenting, etc so I can look back in years to come. Wish I woulda thought about this sooner but since I'm not-so-good at the keeping his Baby Book up-to-date, this will be my little place.

He wanted to go to the library this weekend, so off we trotted to Literary Land, where the basement is reserved as a NO QUIET zone complete with toys, costumes, book reading nooks, tears, breastfeeding, snot, screaming and well, you get the picture.

Some little boys are into cars. Others into dolls. Mine LOVES animals. The front of the librarian's desk is actually a whole bunch of drawers. The minute we arrive, he's yanking them open to discover where the plastic animals (of which he has zillions at home already) are hiding. It always turns into a lesson of sharing as he hoardes them and polices their use when unfortunate toddlers come bounding around in hopes of snagging one or two.

 "Mommy, what do anteaters do?" I can't count the number of Google searches I've done trying to figure out what X animal eats, where it lives and sometimes, what it looks like. We left armed with enough animal ammunition for a couple of weeks.

Lately I've noticed little man is "playing in Swedish". And to my surprise, when I joined in the other day, he didn't stop abruptly and scold me for speaking in his language. So we played along, me the Swedish camel, him the Swedish crocodile. He's the best teacher really. But that's really where it ends. And that's fine by me.

His English skills however, compared to native English speakers his age, are behind and understandably so. He has difficulty expressing himself fully in English and translating from his school environment to his home environment. When I ask him about his day, he finds it hard to respond. The words are all there but they're in Swedish. Though we had a little breakthrough the other day. As we were driving home, he said in a low voice, filled with pride, in Swenglish, "I bakad bröd today." Translation: I baked bread today. I think he was proud of both what he had done and that he was able to tell me. I was so excited for him on both counts.

They have a program in Sweden called "Home Speak" where he can meet once/week with other English-speaking children for a few hours of English play. I will be signing him up so am hoping this will help him.

I signed him up for a "sports academy" here in Uppsala. It sounded perfect: a club that introduces young children to a variety of sporting activities that meets once/week for an hour. He doesn't like it. Maybe it's because I signed him up for Mondays. After a relaxing weekend, Monday is the first day back to a full day at school and he's likely pretty tired to be rushed through supper and out the door for 6pm. Maybe it's because the kids spend more time standing around than actually doing anything. Maybe it's because the class is too big with only two "leaders". Maybe it's because the leaders spend most of their time shushing the kids. Maybe he's too young. It seems like  waste of 798 SEK but I will drag him there again tonight and if he wants to leave, I'll take him home without a fuss.

Well off to pick up the little man soon and tell him we're headed to sports class tonight. Poor kid :-(.

Life lately

Movies meant 3D glasses with an unhealthy does of candy and popcorn. Toy Story 3 was great and worth the carb crash I experienced later that night. My favourite part of the movie was the preview of The Last Airbender...some kid who can bend air I guess and saves mankind? At the end of the trailer, my little man belts out in his loudest voice, "Mommy, I want to be like that boy." The move theater proceeded to erupt in laughter.

Little man has been uhmmm "discovering" his new uhmmm "best friend", uhmmm, you know...the one in his pants. Any advice here? Dad has been saying, "It's not a toy." But uhmmm, it is isn't it? How do we curb this behavior or do we? Advice from folks with older boys? Michelle?

Decided not to head out to the girls' weekend. My reason is purely finance-related to be perfectly honest. If we plan to head home for the holidays AND throw hubby a 50th Birthday Bash, me spending money on outfits both before and during said excurision (not to mention accomodations and meals and drinks), well, I know myself and so this weekend is better left until AFTER Christmas.

Been thinking about starting my own little business. More on that later. A hint: It has to do with Engrish. Yup, EngRish.

Still doing my exercises but with a nasty monthly visit, I've had to postpone to every other night.

Gotta run and figure out what to do today...crappy weather since we returned.

My Random Summer

T-minus 12 sleeps till Montenegro. I can't tell you how excited I am to be reunited with what I consider to be our little man's homeland. And the wonderful friends and the hopefully amazing weather.

Hubby and I celebrated 8 years together on the 3rd. We did nothing except to say that we're celebrating in Monty and uhmmm...other "stuff" ;-).

I've been a shopping fiend. This country is so freakin' expensive, except for now. Now, the sales are mind-blowing. 10 bucks for a summer dress? I'm in! Plus, we have hordes of gifts to buy for dear friends back home. Though I have been watching the spending carefully and not going overboard...need to have some money for our trip!

Our pending vacay is reminding me that summer is coming to a close here. All the kiddies go back to school the day before we leave and business starts booming again. Not necessarily the most ideal time to "get away from it all" but it is very much a necessity for hubby. The weather has been shit for the last 2 weeks but those first few weeks were amazing..well for Uppsala anyway. And I was so worried about having the little man home all this time but now I'm sad thinking about having to send him back to school. So sad, that I can't even think about it most of the time.

I got re-committed in the last short week and have been pretty strict about the carb intake and exercise. I actually saw the scale go down past 73 for the first time this morning. I won't say what I'm aiming for as I board the plane in 12 more sleeps as I don't want to jinx it ;-)

I really, really missed not seeing our family this summer, especially my parents. To think this will be the longest stretch they've gone without seeing their grandson in the flesh, 1 year come Christmas.

We've made some good friends here. Alleluia!

Hubby turns the big 5-0 on the 30th and we'll be in Montenegro. I know where he really wants to be is back home in Canada but he seriously needs the rest now so we've decided to postpone the celebration until we're, God willing, back in Canada for Christmas. Then we'll have a proper party, complete with embarassing photos, friends he hasn't seen in ages, etc.

I'm giddy with excitement, anticipation and a little bit of fear. Hooray for all three.

Hope you're all enjoying (have enjoyed) your summer wherever you may be in the world. I'll look forward to getting back to blogging once life has returned to "normal". xo

Helicopter Parenting: My thoughts and yours

I just finished reading a very timely and insighful post over at MckMama's, "Today's parent: Promoting a new kind of Nanny State".  Here it is: http://mycharmingkids.net/2010/07/todays-parent-promoting-a-new-kind-of-nanny-state/

I have noticed that parents here in Sweden, generally speaking, are much more laid-back in their parenting styles than uptight, paranoid me. Or maybe they're too careless and I'm the SuperMom. Though somehow I doubt it. I think there's a happy medium here, one that I long to achieve.

There's this cute-as-a-button 2 and half year old, let's call her Dolly, who lives a few houses down from us. The first time I met her, she was with her Mom in the park area a couple of doors down from their house. Her Mom left the park. I thought maybe she had to go check on another one of her kids for a quick sec. She didn't say a word to me. She just left. And the time ticked away. And I became increasingly agitated as I watched this beautiful blonde bubbly babe start to scale the neighbour's fence. I ran over to make sure I was there in case she fell. She didn't. She made it to the other side (something my kid would never attempt) and came back over again. She ran, she climbed, she jumped on the trampoline and then she took off on her little tricycle towards the street as a huge bus was making its way down the road. I ran like a bat outta hell (along with her older brother) towards her. In the nick of time I might add. My heart was racing for the 15 minutes her mother left her alone, in the park with no supervision (except for mine, which was not solicited but came naturally). For the record, this is so not cool.

And then there's the two little boys, one a few weeks younger than mine whose parents let them run down to the pool (no lifejacket or floaties) while they chat out of sight, backs turned with friends. Water and kids and no supervision. Not cool.

And the many kids in the neighbourhood who run seemingly free, many around the same age as mine. Whose parents are perhaps looking out the kitchen window (or not) while their kids play in an unfenced yard.

Then there's me. I never let my kid outta my sight. Even when he's in our gated front yard, I'm there. Or hubby is. He's not allowed to run on the slippery pool deck or climb the rock mountain in the middle of the pool. Or run too far ahead of me. If I notice some questionable interaction with another child, I'm intervening on auto-pilot (protecting whichever kid needs it). Even at the indoor playpark, I'm usually right there beside him climbing to the top.

“If you take away the child’s ability to naturally explore jumping, climbing, space, their body’s response to impact and how to adjust the way their body needs to land on impact, then you are not promoting their natural development. In fact, you are hindering their innate physical development. The emotional component of development also needs the opportunity to explore how to take risks and gain confidence. Kids are made (and for natural development, required) to spin, jump, and most importantly fall…The more you restrict a child’s natural need to take risks, the more they will seek out even more risky behavior. For example, if all they hear is “no jumping off the couch”, “no jumping off the playground structure,” “no jumping off the table” etc., etc., they are only going to be forced to search out something they can jump off of when you aren’t looking and there to make sure they are safe.” From MckMama's post (a commenter)

Our natural instinct as parents is to protect our children. But I realize I am too much. It has become too much. I need to take steps back. But how far back is too far, is too close? What if I let him climb to the top of something by himself and he falls and hurts himself and I could have been there to catch him? Could have prevented it by not allowing him to climb to begin with? What if that fall could have taught him something valuable but I was too overprotective to allow it?

He comes home from his fabulous school all the time with bruises and scrapes. The same kind we got as kids. If something MAJOR happens, I always hear about it from the teachers. But otherwise, the war wounds are evidence of his being a kid. When I was a kid, I wandered around the neighbourhood devil-may-care and spent everyday of my summer at the local pool, without my Mom around (I was likely about 5 when that started).

Why can't I let go a little, loosen the apron strings? Why am I so afraid? Well obviously I have very good reason to be afraid: kidnappings, head injuries, bee stings, car accidents, etc. Is there a such thing as a balloon parent? One that rises steadily upwards without hovering like a chopper? I feel like I am stifling and smothering compared to many of the parents here who stand back or in some cases, dissapear.

I want my son to become his own little man. One who isn't afraid to take risks in life. Today's jungle gym represents tomorrow's corporate ladder.

Talk to me Moms.

Some randomness and WAJ

Hubby took little man swimming this weekend, some daddy and son time away from Mom. I got caught up on work and they splished and splashed. As hubby finished shimmying little man's head through his shirt hole, little man looked up at him and stated, "Daddy, you're a nice boy." Then he gave him a big hug. Hubby welled up recounting this heartwarming exchange to me later that day.

Little man and I were in the park the other day making sand shapes in the box when a neighbour boy the same age arrived with his Farmor (Father's Mother, a.k.a Grandma) and little sister. While he went to shoot hoops (his Dad happens to be the coach for the men's bball team here in Uppsala), little man went about his business of stomping on my sand critters. After a few minutes, I asked him, "Why don't you go over and see if Pontus wants to hop on the trampoline?" He looked over at him, then at me and replied, "Mommy, he doesn't like to talk." Alrighty then.

Evidence that I rarely wear make-up: "Mommy, your eyes are black and pretty." Thanks.

"Mommy, what's an iganimation?"

Hubby took the train to Gothenburg (Göteborg) Tuesday night as he had meetings there on Wednesday. As he made his way down the aisle to his seat on the train home, he noticed a woman was having a terrible time with her seat. He stopped to help her fix it and continued on his merry way, famished.  After back to back meetings, he didn't have time for lunch so decided to pick up a sandwich, some wine and a chocolate bar in the food car. As he went to pay with his debit card, the cashier informed him that "Sorry sir, we only take Visa or cash" (of which he had neither). He pointed out that he could pay with a debit card on the train for a ticket if he wanted to but he realized there was nothing she could do about it so embarassed, he returned everything from where he got it and went back to his seat.

A few minutes later, a woman appeared next to his chair. It was the same woman who had been sitting next to the woman whose chair he helped fix. She handed him a cinnamon bun and a can of coke and said, "Please don't say anything. I felt bad for you. You seem like a gentleman. Please take this. I'm sorry it's not wine though." My husband, clearly humbled, said "Thank you." She left abruptly. He saved that can of coke. It's sitting on his desk upstairs.

About once every 6 months, I buy a baggie of hair ties. At the end of these 6 months, the only one left has expanded to the size of a saucer, eventually snaps under the weight of my hair mass and I end up with pencils in my head until I go searching through the house for an old one. Which I never find. Then I buy another baggie and start the over.

On a related note, I have big feet. Size 10 or 40 or however you're measuring. I do not dig ditches for a living or run 5k everyday. In fact, I spend the majority of my days on my ass. Yet, somehow, I'm sitting on said ass with my feet up and hubby exclaims, "How the hell is there a hole in your sock that stretches from your big toe to your ankle? And how the hell do you not notice it?"

On a related note, don't any of you wonder what it is I do for a living? Was thinking about this the other day. How I don't think I ever actually TOLD any of you. Well maybe I did, sorta. I'm not keeping it from you. It's not like I'm running a drug ring or a porn site. I'm "a writer". Not THAT kind of writer (cue a post from Mon on this subject). I'm a copywriter. Actually, I'm more than that. I'm a PR/Marketing guru. I just like the copywriting part best. I can't count the number of websites, press releases, brochures, business plans, ads, speeches, EMAILS, etc. I've written in these past 13 years. Mainly high-tech stuff but have dabbled in lots of other stuff. If you're selling it, I'm writing it.

On a completely UNRELATED note, 2 more sleeps till the big royal wedding here in Sweden. Crown Princess Victoria (she's beautiful, but did you expect anything less?) is marrying some Daniel dude. It's a HUGE deal. Can't wait to tune in on Saturday as I won't be making the trek to the big city for the mayhem.

Speaking of Swedes, I get such a kick out of them when it's Sunny and Warm. They will plunk themselves down by the river...river bed, hunk of concrete, park bench, and suntan away. Or they lean up against buildings with their faces to the sun. Or they grab a beach chair/blanket, find a field (proximity to water not important), strip down to their skivvies and bake. I guess it's because fine weather is a rare occurance in these parts. Not sure. But where I'm from, suntanning is reserved for the beach or poolside. And the water needs to be water one can safely swim in.

Wednesday/Thursday WAJ
Brekky: Egg salad/Apple
Lunch: Tuna salad/Some grocery store bought salad with garlic dressing and hardboiled egg
Dinner: The absolute worst store bought hamburgers EVER (I had to throw the last one out)/Kebab + salad
Exercise: None on Wednesday night because I had a conference call at 8:00pm and hubby arrived home from a night away in Gothenburg (but for the record, I knew I wouldn't be able to and I was bummed about it / Butt Blaster, Ab workout and OUCH!!!
Comments: 72.6.....c'mon ME!

Growing Pains

This morning I was too lazy to reach for my usual mug, clean in the dishwasher, and opted for the Mickey Mouse variety from the cupboard directly above the machine.

I sat down next to the champ, slurping away on Honey Nut Cheerios and watching some crazy cartoon.
"Mama, that's Daddy's coffee."
"No, it's Mommy's. Daddy's still in bed."
"But that's Daddy's coffee."

Because Daddy always drinks his coffee from the Mickey Mouse mugs. And Mommy from the daintier variety. Gotta love how children always notice when something's out of its natural order.

Yesterday it was warm enough to set up the inflatable kiddie pool in the front yard. I realized as he ran around the yard in the buff that it's not as "cute" as it once was. Not that there's anything wrong with nudity. Just means he's growing up. His chubby little legs and arms aren't so chubby anymore.  That and try to carry his dead weight at 10pm every night from his bed to the toilet for a pee.

Ask him to do anything, from brushing his teeth to putting on his socks to going outside and the first response is a stern, "NO! I said No." Funny how he sounds just like his Mom when he responds that way? Not really. Trying to use softer tones before I get a call from the school.

Saturday and Sunday afternoons are usually reserved for Skype calls with the grandfolk. They're all so far away and it's breaking hearts. "I don't want to talk to Nanny and Papa". "But I don't want to." He doesn't quite get the concept that they're missing him like crazy and this is their once-a-week window into his little world. And why would/should he? Though I have tried to explain the situation out of desperation. Helps if we introduce all of his toys.

This Friday is the last day of regular school for the little man. Then it's two weeks of summer school and then he's off for like 6 weeks...(this is me freaking out). So of course there is a little party planned (it's my turn to bring the coffee) and also a performance associated with this event. The last three party performances have been disasters for the little guy and for us. He is, like us, rather outgoing and friendly and bubbly. But when it comes to singing with the group, he gets a bad case of performance anxiety (soooo not like us). It goes something like this:

• Parents come to the school at appointed time.
• Parents get ushered into the classroom. while kids wait (im)patiently in their hallway cubbies.
• Parents wait anxiously perched on tiny chairs or cross-legged on the floor, cameras at the ready, for the procession of kids.
• Kids file in.
• And...there's my kid at the end of the pack sobbing and holding onto a teacher's hand.
• He comes straight to me, snot dripping from his nose.
• Kids proceed to sing their Swedish songs (which our little man sings freely at home) while I try to reason/motivate/push him back into the circle.
• Hubby takes video of the class, minus our sobber.

Now, I wrote about this before. How at the Christmas concert, I sort of "lost it". I became angry. It was not a nice scene. I resolved to never, EVER do that again, EVER, EVER. The last time, even after trying to prep him for the event, it dissolved into a puddle of tears again. Although dissapointed, I didn't let on and I refused to let those toxic feelings enter my soul.

I started the week off by talking to him about the upcoming party and how much fun it will be when he sings with the kids. I think the problem might be that he doesn't like to see us go into the classroom while he has to wait outside. Any suggestions that could ensure we get to see him sing with the others AND more importantly, he gets to feel great about being a part of it?

Sorry, but you are a Big Boy

I am currently listening to a whiny soundtrack spiraling its way down the stairs, "But I'm NOT a Big Boy!" It's on repeat as I sit at my dining room table/office typing away.

The little man doesn't seem to want to accept my reasoning as to why I won't sleep with him. See, I made a "mistake" a couple of weeks ago. The little man was so sick and stuffy and I, not feeling much better, decided to cuddle with him until he fell asleep. At the time, it wasn't a mistake. In fact, it was just what the dr. and the patient had ordered. Little man has been great at putting himself to sleep for at least a year now. And no, there were never any "let him cry himself to sleep" methods used. Nightly prayers, a kiss, a hug and a Goodnight. But these recent bedtime cuddles soon turned into habit and someone isn't so willing to give up Mommy Blankie because, he's a big boy now. So his solution, "But I'm NOT a Big Boy!" Ah, if only that were true...

I have evidence. Forget the expanding vocabulary, height and waistline for a moment. Let's take you back to this time last week when Daddy wasn't home for your ritual nightly bathtime together. In you went alone. It certainly wasn't a first as Daddy travels frequently. The next night as I signalled it was time for you to haul all 46 of your dinosaurs into the bathtub and splash puddles all over my bathroom floor, you kept repeating, "But I want to play by myself."

"No, playtime is over. It's time for a bath."
More forcefully now, "But I want to play by MYSELF."
Huh?
(She tries it in Swedish)
Still the same thing.
In comes Daddy while simultaneously pulling off his socks.
"But I want to play IN THE BATH by myself."

Oh?
"You don't want Daddy to go in the bathtub with you?" Asks my hurt husband.
"No, I want to play BY MYSELF."

And there you have it. You are growing up. An almost nightly tradition since early 2007 has vanished. Just like that. Suddenly hubby's moans about getting soapy for the second time the same day cease and are replaced with a few sighs, and I swear, a bit of a quivering voice.

You can't fool me kiddo. You ARE a big boy and there's nothing daddy or I can do about it.

Cue Boys 2 Men song: "It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterdayyyy...yeeee."

Checking in

I've missed you blogosphere and bloggy friends. Last week, sick hubby and sick little boy. Remember I was all haughty and cocky and said I would have no problem avoiding the Easter treats? Yup, well, I suck...sucked them back that is. My 73.6 of last Tuesday has definitely been padded with squishy candy.

This week? I am getting sick. Little Man home for another week cuz the school is closed. Trying desperately to balance work, child entertaining, being sick and housework. Failing miserably on all counts.

Sorry for not commenting or writing. Still here. But just the "here" that means I have no time for anything except to wipe my snotty nose while I suffer through the chaos.

But it's not all thorns. A rose is blooming. It's called Moscow and we're going! More on that next time we meet...Jenn

Toddlerisms Volume 1

I was inspired by Hyacynth's recent post with her favourite toddlerisms from vacay. I really did LOL. And I found myself LOLing at our little boy an awful lot this week and thinking, "I gotta write that down." Here are a few special ones:

Mommy says something to the man in Swedish. Little man responds matter-of-factly in a DUH-tone, "Mamma, you're a Mamma, not a kid!" In other words, don't speak my language.

Said when I do something funny: "Mamma, you're crazy." That's pretty accurate.

"Mamma, are you happy?" Now that's deep.

"The chasm of dead." It's the chasm of death actually. Quote from Ice Age 3.

"Mamma, be a pig please." Oh, well, if you insist. Wanting my hand to assume the Pig hand puppet and proceed talking out of the corner of my mouth in my best Pig voice.

"Dada, do you want my new iPhone?" Translation: I want to play with your new iPhone, get my snotty hands all over the screen and get you sick right before your business trip this week.

"Mamma, LOOK! It's a BIG one." Pointing at whatever he just evacuated into the toilet bowl. I know...ewwwwww, but still funny.

"Mamma FARTED!" Uhmmmm...no, I most certainly did NOT fart. That was you/the washing machine/INSERT appliance/lay blame.

I just know I'm forgetting some killer quotes but will save them for Volume 2.

Confessions: Bad Mother Moments

Oy...this post will be hard to write.

This morning marked my son's first Christmas concert at his school, the Santa Lucia celebration or "Julfest".

In Sweden, today marks the celebration of Santa Lucia, some Italian Saint. The kids dress up in traditional Swedish garb: white floor length tunics or Santa Claus costumes ("Tomten" in Sweden). Many of the girls (and some boys too) wear garlands around their heads with four lit candles, marking the four weeks of advent. Modern days have battery-powered candles so little heads don't catch fire. The children sing traditional Swedish Christmas songs while proud parents look on in a candlelit room. Swedish Christmas buns and gingerbread are served following the concert.

There was one not-so-proud parent in the audience today and likely an obvious one. That embarassed, angry and defeated parent was me. And I am admitting it. Perhaps the first step towards change and healing?

You see the last little concert put on by the school involved a breakdown on the part of my little guy. The parents assembled in the classroom while the kids waited outside in the hallway to make their grand entrance. When they finally entered, he was a puddle of tears and quickly ran over to his Mom and Dad for comfort. Eventually he did join them in singing. Well I deduced that our son couldn't understand why his parents were at his school while he was forced to wait to join them. He didn't quite get it.

I had convinced myself that this concert would be different. I have been prepping him for the eventuality of the separation for over a week. "Mummy and Daddy will come to school with you and you will wait with the kids in the hall while Mummy and Daddy wait for you in the classroom." Cripes, I even practiced the Swedish words for this speech. We talked about him dressing up as Santa, how he would sing loudly with the other kids and how Daddy would take pictures. I took him through the day's events with great care, all in hopes of avoiding this meltdown. I thought it was fool-proof. I was the fool.

We got there on time (a miracle really, considering my husband's chronic tardiness). I made a show (again) of explaining where the two of us were going and we would see him soon. While we waited (me impatiently), I even peeked outside to make sure a puddle of tears hadn't begun to form. And then I sat and waited some more.

The piano started and the children began to file in while singing the Santa Lucia song. And when I didn't see our son in the place he should have been, I knew where he would be: At the back of the pack, holding on to the teacher's hand and much to my dissapointment, in tears.

The only child in such a state.

He came over sobbing and I hugged him. He sat on my lap.

I stewed. My face turned to stone and the anger was palpable. I am certain the other parents and teachers in the room could sense it. I worked so hard to prepare him. How could this happen? His father and I are outgoing. What's wrong with our son?
Even after several attempts to push him into the circle with the other children, I was left wanting. Wanting for him to be the child who sang the loudest, screamed with glee, made the cutest little gestures, the center of attention. Instead I endured over six songs with a silent, shaken child...and I stewed. When he tried to get me to look at the classroom Christmas tree, I ignored him, telling him I was listening to the other children sing.

His father sensed my frustration and quickly motioned for our son to join him.

Our families back home are waiting anxiously for photos and video that will never come. I will have to tell my mother our son didn't perform. And there you have it, encapsulated in that last line: my mother.

I love my mother. But as a child growing up, I did whatever I could to gain her acceptance and love. I was the loudest, the brightest, the most animated, the teacher's pet. That's what I had to do. And if I failed to please her in one of these ways, the consequences were her disapproval, anger, resentment and bitterness.

And today, during that Christmas concert, I became my mother.

I cried all the way home while my husband told me what I needed to hear, the harsh truth: "You just want him to be the best. You are competitive. You want photographic/videographic evidence to prove to everyone what a great son he is and by consequence, what a great mother you are. It has to stop now. We don't know why he didn't want to participate. Maybe he has stage fright. You can't force him. He is not a performing monkey."

The remainder of the event, post sing-a-long, showed my son engaged with his friends, enjoying and participating in play. I just want him to belong, I keep telling myself.

But even that isn't good enough/wasn't good enough for me. I needed him to be the best. To be what I expected him to be. To live up to my standards. To be the "perfect child". He's only 3. What am I doing? What have I done?
I'm praying my husband's words were the intervention I needed. I need to break the chain here and perhaps by being aware and confessing my failure today as a mother, I might be headed in the right direction.

But please pray for me. I do not want my son to grow up constantly longing and searching for his mother's approval and love. I do not want to make him feel like a failure. I want him to know his mother loves him unconditionally and that she will not judge him, but accept and encourage his individuality.

Help. Mon, if you're reading this, I'm asking you especially.

The Father #2

It's been such a pleasure to observe my husband becoming a Father to a son all over again. His first born is 23 years old now and the bond between them is strong.

When #2 was born, it took awhile. As the Mommy, and with a Nanny, my poor Hubby never had a hope in hell. "Here, I'll do it." "I'll get up." "I'm taking him for a walk." I shut him out almost completely. He never rocked him to sleep, rarely changed a diaper and with the exception of showing him YouTube videos on the computer, I rationalized that it was "easier/faster/more efficient" for me to do it all (or the Nanny). I didn't "have the time" or more truthfully, want, to delegate any responsibility for baby care to Dad. And the thought of them going anywhere alone and the associated anxiety (what if he starts to cry? what if he poos? what if he starts to cry?) was enough for me to silence any thoughts of either a) giving myself a break or b) allowing for some bonding.

So I did almost all of it. With Dada as my wingman, on occasion. Not that he didn't love the little rascal. Not that he wasn't there capturing moments with his camera to share with our far-away family every chance he got. But in those first months, I had built up some resentment. Why doesn't he ask to take him on an outing? Why doesn't he want to spend some quality time with our son? Doesn't he love him? Looking back, I realize it was me. It was my fault. I pushed him away.

But my continued persistence at doing it all with our son did little to discourage either of them from bonding...thankfully. It started off simple enough. The little man grew too big to be bathed in the baby bath and Dad offered to bathe with him. It became a nightly ritual that still continues to this day. Every night, Dad and the Man splash around in the tub. It's their time. Together. Alone. And then I added swimming lessons to the mix. Sort of by accident because I had no time to shop for a bathing suit. And now, every Thursday tub time extends to pool time.

I honestly don't know which one of them is more excited for our weekly trip to the local watering hole. I have never seen either of them grin so much. And as the only other parent who sits poolside to observe the fun, my face is seriously sore by the time lessons are over.

"Did you see him dunk his face in the water? His back float is getting better because I hum in his ear when his ears are in the water and he likes the sound. That second time, he jumped right in. He has no fear!" All excited comments from hubby and all music to my ears.

And yesterday we dragged Dad out grocery shopping. A rather mundane chore for me and the little guy. But this morning, after lunch, over 24 hours later, "Did you hear him scream out, 'Look Dada, Lemons!'?" Yes honey, I did.

Our little tyke has had the same very early morning ritual for the past 6 months. Every day at around 5am, I can expect to see his sleepy face at my bedside. Most mornings I don't remember pulling him into bed with us. But every morning, we find him tangled up in our sheets and babbling a morning greeting. Our little rooster. Well one morning, my husband woke to find his body missing from our bed and was in full panic mode. "Where is HE?!" I rushed out of the room only to find our baby fast asleep in his own bed (due to a late night the night before).

I think, depending on what kind of marriage/family you have, the bonding between father and child comes a little later on in the game. When baby is no longer breastfeeding every 2 hours and does more than discover his toes, crack a smile or accept a spoonful or pureed whatever (though the latter is always exciting for everyone). When that baby develops a personality and becomes a little person, Dad enters the picture in a much larger way. At least this is the case for our family.

And from the way my son insists on giving sleeping Dada a kiss before we leave for school, asks for him the instant I pick him up, crawls all over him looking for some wrestling and genuinely enjoys every second they spend together...I wouldn't have it any other way.

What about your family Moms? When did you let Dad join in the fun?

Moving Sucks

For so many reasons really. I mean there's the usual crap associated with any move.
1. Boxes: finding them, begging for them, buying them, never having enough
2. Thinking you really don't have all that much and it shouldn't take all that long. Then discovering you have triple what you thought you had and it takes you twice as long as you thought it would.
3. Shaking your head at the junk you accumulate in such a short period of time. I mean, who needs 3 balls of string? How many more shish kabob sticks are there in this drawer? I should have gotten rid of A, B and C years ago. How did this useless gadget make it through the last move?
4. Realizing at the last minute that things would have been sooo much easier had you decluttered PRIOR to the actual packing.
5. Finding a new place to live. That part is sucking hard right now.

In the past three years we've moved to two different countries, neither of which is an English-speaking country. So on top of all the general boxing up our lives crap, we have all these cultural adjustments to make. In Montenegro, it took me weeks to figure out exactly where and how to pay my bills (at the post office, through a very mean old lady who refused to even attempt to communicate with me). In Sweden, it's back to online banking, all in Swedish, and with the added security of this little doohickey that you have to type codes into in order to access codes to input into the computer in order to login, pay and confirm bills. It sucks.

But eventually, we get the hang of it and it's never as big a deal as it is the first few weeks.

The suckiest part about yet ANOTHER move (same country, same city this time at least), is having to explain away another upheaval in our three year old's life. In less than a year, he has lost his nanny and the 2nd language he was learning, moved, started daycare, had to go to a new daycare in the summer and started a new daycare in the fall. Just when he's finally seemingly adjusted and blossoming (turning into quite the little Swede), here we go again...

But our little man is a real trooper I tell ya. My hope is that all of these life-shaping experiences in his youngest years are building up his little character so change is never a frightening thing. As you can probably tell, it is for his Mommy.

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.

Food Fight!

"Start as you mean to go," said my wise Mommy. Well I certainly didn't when it came to eating habits for the toddler. Mealtimes have traditionally been an argument with tears (on both sides), some failed attempts at force feeding and utensil hurling.

Who's to blame? Well me naturally. The little man is typically a wonderful, all-around pleasant little fella, except when it comes to mealtimes. Then we both turn into pro Wrestlers. He holds the title and I have yet to out manoever him.

His diet consists of meatballs (can you tell we live in Sweden?), pasta, cookies, juice, chocolate and well, anything but healthy stuff. Except of course when he's at dagis, where juice is non-existant and the only sweets come in the form of apples, bananas and the like. But he has been known to skip mealtimes there too when he's not fussy about what's on the daily menu.

So what to do? I've tried to make fruit fun, have resorted to covering said fruit in chocolate sauce and have even tried holding off on anything BUT the healthy choices. It's a losing battle. He digs his heels in and I eventually relent for fear he'll starve (even though everyone assures me he won't). In a country where you can find wee ones snacking on everything from oranges to avocadoes and potatoes, I have had my fair share of dirty looks and "friendly advice" on my bad parenting.

I can trace back to the early mistakes and rap myself on the knuckles but this can't go on. I need help fellow mommy bloggers. I want my kid to be like those adorable little babes in the MyCharmingKids.net blog...the ones who eat hummus and nuts and homemade yogurt. All suggestions welcome as I try to convert my junk food junkie into a health food nut.

It's never enough is it?

When I lived in Canada, I would have given anything to live somewhere beautiful, warm and sunny with very little care in the world. Taadaa, we moved to Montenegro.

Work ebbed and flowed, I had a full-time nanny/housekeeper and many days were spent enjoying the beach, good food/drink and great friends. We flew home to family twice a year and lived a comfortable life.

Then I would have given anything to be in a more stable country, in a mouldfree apartment, in a city with a nonstop water and power supply and to be surrounded by more "civilized people". We moved to Sweden.

Here I sit in Sweden. The power hasn't been switched off since we moved here (because I guess noone owes money to Croatia), the water isn't rationed during the summer (because I guess noone owes money to Croatia) and heaven forbid anyone gets sick, we have one of the best healthcare systems in the world at our disposal. We work constantly, the weather for the most part sucks, we miss our extended family deeply and we wonder everyday if we're doing the right thing.

Now I would give anything in the world (or almost anything) for:
- either one of my child's three Grandmothers (or his former nanny) to be sitting on the couch with him reading "I was so Mad" by Mercer Mayer.
- a drink at a fancy restaurant with my hubby. Make that a Caesar waiter!
- a 3 minute stroll down to clean Adriatic waters with my son.
- the sight of my Dad taking my son into the woods behind my childhood home in search of wildlife.
- a cup of coffee with my mother-in-law
- a fit of giggles with my best friend
- my son to know and adore his aunts and uncles
and let's add...
- a stress-free life
- a cure for cancer
- an end to world hunger

Why is it that in the words of Mick Jagger, "I can't get no satisfaction?" Why are we always hungering for what we don't have? And then when we get it, we want more, or worse, we want back what we had before? I don't know the answers to these questions. But I would rather not have to ask them at all.