First Advent

I've been complaining a lot about how lonely it is in this country and how it's so hard to make friends cuz the folks here are, to put it politely, reserved. To put it bluntly, Stuck Up.

But today I was reminded of how blessed we are to be here.

Today was the 1st of Advent. For a not-too-religious country, they sure take the four weeks leading up to Christmas very seriously. I don't know of anyone, save us, that doesn't have four advent candles (on my shopping list). Every Sunday a candle is ceremoniously lit in every house until Christmas Day; here's it's the 24th, when all four are glowing.

Swedes are big on tradition. Today we were invited to spend the day celebrating with our adopted Swedish family and their real family. We celebrated a daughter's birthday, a cousin's immigration to Sweden from Armenia and the 1st of Advent. As is customary in the weeks leading up to Christmas, the food was "Julbord", which means Christmas Table. An array of yummy foods including ham, this amazing scalloped potato dish called Jonsson's Surprise, pickled herring (it was seriously to.die.for), red beet salad and of course, meatballs. And those are just the highlights.

There were too many of us to count.

And after we feasted, we migrated along with the rest of the townsfolk, to the botanical gardens to witness the annual 1st of Advent firework display. Even amidst a heavy fog, it was impressive. The little guy was in awe.

These reserved Swedes truly astound me when it comes to preserving age-old customs and celebrating as a community. I should also mention we partook (is that a word?) in "Julmarknad", which means Christmas market, in downtown Uppsala yesterday. "Since 1287". Yup, that's how long they've been doing the Christmas market. Outdoor Christmas Craft Fair with pony rides and a petting zoo for the kiddies. Well worth shivering for.

But it wasn't the Jonssons or the fireworks or the white pony or even the wine. It was being a part of centuries worth of tradition with our Swedish family. As they have for over 10 years now, they wrapped us up in their inner circle. We were the only non-family there and that, my friends, was a very special blessing. Today we were far from lonely.

Two golden tickets in hand

for two H1N1 vaccines. You wouldn't believe it but this is the 4th time I've tried. The last time the 3 of us waited in line for 3 hours with tickets and when we finally got to the front, they had run out of adult vaccines.

I am either gonna heave a great big sigh of relief or someone will get a smack. To be continued...

Little Peter's Pink Leggings

...well NOT in this house dear friends.

I live in one of the, if not THE, most gender equal countries in the world. Dads pushing strollers and wiping bums, taking their Government-given paternity leave. Moms changing the oil and heading out for a night of drinking and dancing while Dad stays home to tend to the little ones. All the household chores and bills split right down the middle (though I'm sure they factor in who makes more money). Proof.

But with all that, chivalry is dead in the water here. No opening of doors. No ladies first. No "Dinner is on Me". Seriously. The man is not expected and the woman might even go as far as to be insulted, if the man offered to pay for dinner. (Caveat: This is a generalization, obviously. Sweden has a lot of Middle Eastern immigrants)

There was even some talk recently about all of this gender equality emasculating Swedish men?! Again, seriously. Gotta find that article for you. It's a hoot. This woman is an idiot.

Anyway, I'm more of a traditional gal and though I admire and respect all of this equality, I like to run my house. I like doors open for me. I DO NOT pay for dinner on a date. I like to be treated like a lady in the more traditional sense of the word. But that's me. And yes, I would have been standing in protest way back when for the right to vote.

Now, finally getting to my story here. The other day was an observation day at my son's school so I was able to go for the morning and be a not-so-silent observer of the day-to-day goings on at the Montesorri school. It was pretty cool to see my son in his element.

While observing, I definitely observed a little boy wearing pink tights with flowers on them. Double-take. Yup, that little boy is wearing pink tights with flowers on them. It was a cold day and some of the kids only had leggings/tights/longjohns whatever-you-want-to-call-them, on underneath their winter gear.

Were his blue or boy-coloured leggings dirty that day so Mom or in this country, Dad, decided to thrown on a pair of his sister's? Or maybe the little guy likes wearing pink flowered leggings. I do not know the story. I just know what I saw. And then there's the little boy in the park wearing his sister's hand-me-down snowsuit, a lovely purple hue and again with the flowers.

I have a little boy. I love little boy clothes. If I had a little girl, I would love dressing her up in little girl clothes.

I'm not sure who it was that decided there were boy colours, girl colours and unisex colours. But they did. And we use this colour-coding scheme with infants so that cooing adults know to say, "Oh what a beautiful little INSERT SEX you have!" Now if you dress your baby in yellow (the colour for those who don't wish to know the sex of their baby beforehand and end up getting piles of yellow clothes at baby showers), all bets are off. If I make a mistake, it ain't my fault. So anyway, pink and blue STICK. They kind of follow us through life, don't they? Again, I didn't make this decision. Someone way back in the olden days did. I, like millions of others, just live by it.

And if one day my litte man decides it's tutus, Mommy's make-up and high heels, well to quote Seinfeld, "..Not that there's anything wrong with that". I will love him just the same and stand alongside him in the Pride parade plastered in rainbows. But until such time as my little boy can decide for himself what he likes to wear, he'll be decked out in trucks, trains, aliens and cars--in all the boy colours of the rainbow. Because I control the closet and for now, he's MY little boy.

Chocolate Monster

So it's Saturday here in Sweden and that means it's National Eat Candy Day. Seriously folks, Saturdays are all about candy in this country. So I give in, as I always do, and treat the little guy to a bag of "goodis". What a mistake. The child reacts to chocolate with an insane amount of hyperactivity. I thought it was a myth. I'm here to tell you it ain't.

He LURVES chocolate. And I LOVES giving it to him. But not today. Not tonight and until next Saturday, never again.

Modern Day Manners

Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter which fork you use. ~Emily Post

We are soon headed back home to Canada to sleep on my sister-in-law's couch and join a household comprising two dogs, a teen, parents, a grandma and now, an aunt. It's crazy but we're really looking forward to it!

Even when staying with family, we never take for granted that we are in fact interrupting their lives and their home with our jolly presence. We always:
1. Bring gifts
2. Pay for groceries and booze
3. Keep the den we take over for 3 weeks as clean and tidy as possible.
4. Help with the housework
5. Fill up the car we borrow with gas
6. Treat them to a meal "out"
7. Leave money for long-distance phone calls or other expenses incurred during our stay.

Does this cost us money? Of course it does but imagine the costs if we were to stay at a hotel for that long a period of time. And even though we try to pitch in more than our share, it costs them as well. It costs them in water, electricity, gas, car wear and tear, inconvenience, time, toilet paper, and the list goes on...

Maybe you say, "Family is family. You shouldn't keep a running tab." But it's not about who pays for what at the end of the day. It's about respect. Respect for each of them and self-respect. When you notice your guests are not reciprocating, it makes everyone feel bad. And we're all supposed to be having a good time together as a family.

In my humble and well-mannered opinion and based on some recent research into the subject, I have come to the conclusion that these are the minimum obligations of a guest:
1. ALWAYS bring a host/hostess gift. Bottle of wine, flowers, chocolate, etc. Does it have to be expensive? Absolutely NOT. It's the thought that counts.
2. ALWAYS offer to help around the house, with dinner, etc.
3. ALWAYS offer to pay for gas if your host/hostess is shuttling you around.
4. Depending on your length of stay, ALWAYS offer to take your host/hostess out to a meal/for coffee to show your appreciation. If you can't afford it, you shouldn't be staying to begin with.
5. ALWAYS send a thank-you. It could very well be a thank-you email. But a personal note that expresses your appreciation is what's needed, no matter the form.
6. ALWAYS keep your living quarters tidy and clean.
7. Depending on your length of stay, ALWAYS offer to pay for groceries or just go out and buy some if you see your hosts are running low.

And before you ask, "No, the pleasure of your company is NOT gift enough."

This is a very sensitive and sore subject for me because hubby and I are usually on the receiving end of company. As many times as I can recall feeling awful due to ill-mannered guests, I choose right now to focus on the positive and name some guests who truly left an impression on me:
1. A friend would stop by on warm summer days to sit by our pool, a box of freshly-baked canollis in hand.
2. A different friend would stop under the same circumstances and bring booze and sushi for everyone.
3. My dear 21-year old cousin, a student on a tight budget backpacking through Europe, showed up with chocolates for us and a bottle of wine as a gift for my birthday. I almost cried.
4. My maid-of-honour who never forgets a hostess gift or misses a chance to help out.
5. A friend who brings beautiful flowers everytime she comes for dinner.
6. A mother-in-law on a fixed income who pitches in generously and spoils our children incesssantly.
7. So many friends and acquaintances back home in Montenegro who would turn down an invitation if they could not afford to buy a host/ess gift. These are people who have so little money compared to us "rich" North Americans.

To be frank, it took me a few years to understand etiquette and its impact. I was not raised in a barn but I started living the life of a "Woman" at a young age. I was entertaining and being entertained by "important" people at the age of 20. I was naive and ignorant in those times (not that it's all bad mind you as you're sorta suppose to be naive and ignorant at 20..ha!) But I did learn quickly after some major stumbles.

I'd like to point out that I realize etiquette rules can vary from culture to culture. Apparently farting after a meal in Asia is considered a compliment to the host...bahahahahaha. I think the universal truth is this: Be thoughtful and be respectful and if you are entering a culture different from your own, do yourself and your hosts a favour and please take a few moments to read up on local etiquette.

Right Now

Right now, I would trade...
1. Our day at the Dinosaur exhibit, to watch my toddler frolick on the beach a mere 10-minute stroll from our home
2. Real bacon for a plate of cevap (Yugoslav sausage...yum).
3. Frequent car trips through big box store parks for a stroll around a charming, war-stained old town
4. This damp, rainy, persistently gray city for the rainy season and torrential downpours in a small seaside town
5. My brewed 100% Columbian for a cup of cooked Serbian sludge at friend Connie's
6. An overpriced cocktail for a shot of homemade rekija
7. A perfectly ripened cucumber for a tomato that tastes like...a tomato
8. My 2-story house for my old mould-infested apartment
9. My son's Montessori school for an afternoon with his Nanny.
10. The reserved faces of blonde stone that surround me for the tall dark-haired beauty at the local grocer who greets my family by name.
11. Online banking for paper bills and almost no bills at all!
12. Movie theaters with popcorn for badly-copied DVDs for 2 euro and all the time in the world to watch them
13. "Normal pizza" for soggy-crusted wanna-be pizza smothered in ketchup
14. McDonalds, Thai, sushi and the choice of every ethnic or not-so-ethnic cuisine under the sun for a multi-course, homemade, slaved-over-for-days feast prepared lovingly by dear friends in a small cozy apartment.
Right now, I would trade Sweden for Montenegro in a heart beat....Though tomorrow, I could very well change my mind.

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?