Whatever the reason, DO NOT BE LATE

Oh boy...One thing I've noticed since moving to this country is that Swedes are chronically ON TIME. If you're having a party, like we did for hubby this weekend and tell guests the party starts at 7pm, the guests either arrive at 6:45pm or right on the nose at 7pm. So my usual buffer of "casually late" which I've become accustomed to in North America is gone. This is not so much a problem for me, really. But my chronically-late husband needs to get his ass in gear.

So my poor son has been sick with a cold since Friday. No fever. Just a runny nose. They called from his school to suggest that I pick him up early. And sure enough, hubby and I both fell ill after our party guests left Saturday night. Today is Monday and time for school. After gauging that Joe was just fine, save for a runny nose, it was off to school for him. Last night I decided we were sleeping in. No waking up at 7am to get him to school for 8am. In fact, we woke up at 8am and my plan was to call the school (like a good and respectful parent) to advise them Joe would be late.

I proceed to explain to the teacher that answered the outdoor phone, to which she replied, clearly aghast, "Oh no, what happened?" I was not expecting that kind of What-terrible-thing-could-have-happened-to-prevent-you-from-respecting-the-rules-and-being-on-time reaction so I blubber, "Son's sick, I'm sick and we slept in". I then had to backpeddle a bit to explain that son was actually feeling better (really, he's well enough to come to school, I swear). "Oh, I think you should speak to Anna" (the boss).

I had composed myself again, apologized, but my son would be late. He would arrive at 9:15am. "Oh...well...you know that the children are inside at that time and that you will be interrupting things. Please make sure we make eye contact before you leave. That's very important."

Suddenly sleeping in didn't seem like a good idea anymore.

So we show up at 9:15am (on time, the new time that is). Of course, son had expected to walk down the rock path to join the children in the park and was visibly upset the routine had changed and we were going inside instead. I am not stupid. I do realize that this change of routine would impact him. But in my defense, I had planned to make it on time for the park drop-off and blame my boss for calling me with a work emergency that delayed the "getting ready for school routine". Anyway, I drag him inside and Anna comes over to greet us as the other children look on. She, of course, notices son is a bit "out of sorts".

"The reason for your lateness doesn't concern me," she states, "Please remember that it is extremely important to follow the routine and that your son is confused now because the routine was broken."

"Yes, I realize that," I try to explain. "It was a bad morning."
"I'm sure it was," she said. "But please try to be on time."

Translation: Dear Bad Mother, Get your lazy ass out of bed in the morning and get your son to school on time.

Swimming with the fishes

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

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

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

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

Of Berries, Bowls and Grass

So I have the boy home for 2 weeks with me while he transitions between old, summer and new daycare. Finding it hard to concentrate on this post as So You Think You Can Dance is on...

Anyhoo...what to do with a super active 3-year old who recently decided he was soooo over naptime! Not that I’M on vacation...still trying to hit the computer to keep up with email, writing press releases and doing all the household stuff. Boy it’ll be a nasty two weeks. Watch out men...the claws are coming out and there will be wounds...

Not sure what inspired me...likely came from a place of pure desperation. No longer could I let the son sit through another showing of Horton Hears a Who, gulping down his nth juice box...the pangs of guilt and echoes of “Bad Mommy” were too hard to ignore. I hauled out three plastic kitchen bowls, filled them with water, sat them on the deck with the newly purchased bag of dinosaurs and let him at it. Add a handful of some nameless edible berries growing on a tiny tree in our backyard and you have a recipe for a good hour of fun.

Pretty amazing how the simplest everyday items thrown together can entertain. And the shiny and expensive bicycle with training wheels sits in the storage space.

Does potty training EVER end? Six months ago I was SuperMom (in my own mind), having successfully trained my two and a half year old to poo and pee on the potty seat on the toilet. Ok, so it was an excrutiating week of him perched comfortably on the toilet, me ass on bench in front of the toilet and both of us reading and singing. Both of us waiting, him patiently and me not-so-patiently for the sound of a tinkle or a plop. Not without its challenges, we made it through sheer perseverance and determination. There have been, are and continue to be some notable setbacks. His bladder and bowel seem to be direct lines to stress for him, so accidents coincided with major changes in his life. We also figured out that his potty seat (the kind that fits under the toilet lid) is like a security blanket or a dodo. We literally have to cart the thing around with us everywhere we go. Forgetting it, even 15 minutes into a drive, results in a U-turn.

That said, someone’s Wee Wee (yes, we call it a wee, wee not a penis, sorry) is growing and when he really needs to GO, potty seat or not, it’s everywhere BUT in the toilet. So the time has come for the little boy to learn to peepee like a big man. To make a long story short, little man is traumatized at the sight of making a MESS. So attempt #1, which again, went everywhere but in the toilet, resulted in something much worse than a wee mess...a complete meltdown.

We had originally thought it was about peeing standing up. We were wrong. Little man discovered in the last day or so the joys of the great outdoors and “Mama, peepee on the GRASS”. At first, we were elated. “Look, he’s peeing standing up!” And then I recalled an episode of Super Nanny with some bat shit crazy kids, one of whom (around 4) refused to pee in the toilet and only peed in the bushes. No WAY was I going to be THAT Mom. Look, I’m already THAT Mom on a lot of fronts so I don’t need another notch in my Tsk, Tsk Mommy utility belt.

So today after a few pees outside, lamely justified by the fact that we were INDEED outside, I dug my heels in. When little man asked to “Peepee in the Grass Mommy” while inside, I took the little prince by the hand and led him to the throne room. Me kneeling on the bathroom floor, him standing on the IKEA bench, trying to step off, protesting with grunts and words, trying to hold IT in. At this point I’m supporting most of his weight and am sweating so profusely that hubby started opening and closing the bathroom door quickly to fan me off. “Just like on the grass. You can do it. Good boy.” At this point the team of us are in there trying to talk him down and the pee out. It was bad.

And just when I was about to run for the grass, a glorious stream...You never heard two big people make such a fuss over urine before, trust me. Our little Prince’s last words before lights out tonight were, “Bravo me”.

We’ll keep you posted. Pic coming for this post once i find the doohickey that connects my mobile to my laptop