Joy Pockets again

Glad to be participating in Joy Pockets this week. Want to share your joy pockets? Head on over to Mon at Holistic Mama and join in the fun. We all need to find the joy in our lives, no matter how cleverly hidden at times.

Belly laughs shared over creme brulee with two special ladies.

Having my cappuccino unknowingly spiked with salt.

Enjoying the travels of friends.

Some long overdue Daddy & Little Man time involving a waterslide, with no Mommy in sight.

Working so hard my eyes close in sweet defeat, mere moments after my head hits the pillow.

Canadian Thanksgiving!

Finding the box of Halloween decorations.

Have a great week! xo

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

Crazy in Candyland

Boy the Swedes take their candy seriously. Did you know Swedes eat the most loose candy in the world? Pretty sure I've posted about the Swedish Candy Obsession in one of my earlier posts but it bears repeating. If there's one thing that's relatively cheap here in this country, it's candy.

Every grocery store has a wall of candy bins. The idea is to take a bag and fill up on loose candy from said bins, everything from Swedish fish to chocolate, gummies and more. The stuff's delicious I gotta say. The germs, with so many hands reaching in and out, are overlooked. Especially on Saturdays. Known as "Lördagsgodis" (Candy Saturdays), it's the day of the week set aside for kids (and their parents) to indulge guilt-free.

Candy is typically priced at around 79 SEK / kg (Thanks to Thomas for the correction in measurement). I've seen it on sale for 49. Well, today, they were celebrating something at our local supermarket. On a neighbour's referral, we took a trip for some shopping, pony rides and face painting (though Little Man decided at the last minute the make-up wasn't for him). Cheap Saturday entertainment. Little did I know that as part of the celebration, candy was on sale for a record 29.20 SEK/ kg. This is big folks.

People were swarming the candy bins, multiple bags in hand. Shuffling quickly back and forth between the scale to ensure they weren't over the 5kg limit per household. Staff were trying to keep supply in line with demand. It was insanity. Ok, insanity as far as a candy sale is concerned. Certainly not on the riotous scale of the recent sale at Target for some brand name that I think begins with the letter "M". But it was chaos as far as orderly Sweden is concerned.

Karamell Kungen (Candy King) is the name of arguably the best loose candy company here in Sweden. Actually, looks like this phenomena isn't a Sweden-only thing. I see the company also operates in Ireland, the UK and other Scandinavian countries.

Well time to pick some more plastiky goodness out of my teeth.

Glad Godis Lordag!

Behave Yourself! Part 1 of 2

If you're a perfect Mother, please raise your hand. Since no hands have gone up, happy to see I'm among friends.

I was raised by a mother whose love, I felt, was conditional upon how well I behaved.  If I minded my Ps & Qs, respected my elders (always addressed as Mr. & Mrs. no matter what they told me to call them), made exemplary grades and well, was a continued source of pride, all was right with the world. If I really thought hard about it, I could likely count each and every instance she told me, "I love you." Though the frequency has increased as she ages, it still sounds like a foreign language on the rare occasions when she utters those three little words. And I always cringe a little. I love my mother dearly and have accepted who she is. That said, I told myself I did not want to raise a son whose primary concern in life was to please his parents. Somedays I feel like I'm failing him.

Not everyday. Not on the days when I take him in my arms at the most unexpected moments and shower him with kisses and "I love yous". Not on the days when we're just plain silly together. Not on the days when I indulge happily in his love of animal books or sing "Thriller" at the top of my lungs in the car.

But on the day he broke down in tears when he spilled his glass of milk on the table, I knew I had failed him. "Mommy, don't be angry with me." It took everything I had not to break down into tears of shame at that moment. My loving, inquisitive, beautiful little being was upset because his automatic reaction to the spilled milk was "Mommy will be mad." I did that. I created that reaction. I know I did. And it makes me sad and disappointed in myself.

The other day, when riled up by the antics of the not-so-well-behaved neighbour boy, he pitched a toy at a painting on the wall. I cracked and suddenly let the stern "J-o-s-e-p-h!!!" fly from my mouth complete with face-tightening. He cowered and was on the verge of tears, apologies flying from his mouth. I recovered, quickly, asking him to please calm down (while asking myself the same question) and "we don't throw toys like that do we (insert rationale)?". The damage, however, had been done. To be VERY clear, he was not anticipating any physical reaction from me, but the fear of verbal disapproval.

Here's the deal: Throwing toys at things (the way he did) is not acceptable in this house. In fact, there are many behaviours that are unacceptable, particularly those that pose safety hazards. Bolting out into the street, running into a neighbour's house without knocking first, throwing a tantrum if he doesn't get what he wants (though we've never really had that issue), hitting/punching/biting other children/people in anger. I could go on.

However, I need to learn to teach/model behavior so that my child does not make decisions solely from a fear of disapproval. I have created that. I need help undoing it. Can you help me?

I love the little man my son is becoming but I want him to be his own little man, not the little man Mommy expects him to be. Even if it means he's not "well behaved". I don't want his primary motivation in life to be "gaining acceptance/approval". Not the way mine was for so long. And still is, to a certain extent. How is he going to have confidence to break the rules and take risks when he's older if he's afraid to do it now? Where do we draw the line between teaching them right from wrong (developing some form of moral compass) and giving them some freedom to grow? Ultimately, I need him to know to the depths of his soul that his Mommy does and will love him unconditionally.

This is part 1. Best to take this topic in baby steps...
ps. I keep reading this over and over again and wondering if I'm even making any sense or if I'm asking the right questions.

Joy Pockets #2

I really have to dig deep for Mon's Joy Pockets this week. It's been one of those hell weeks with the business and that usually translates to marriage strain as we work together to try and build up our little empire. But as usual, we always come through...that is a joy pocket itself!

The randomness and innocence of a 5-year old brain, "Why did God make Chinese people?" followed up immediately with, "Do hedgehogs live in Sweden?"

Pride (mine and his) in perfecting an Anteater drawing (with a sloth on his back!)

Great job little man!

Sitting through a two-hour parents meeting at preschool and understanding well over half of it!

Resisting the temptation of the junk shelf at home AND the apple pie and ice cream at the parents meeting.

My little boy's genuine excitement at new clothes, meticulously arranging them on the floor for display.

A friend's positive reaction to her family's sudden and severe financial loss.

The gift our dear Nanny T gave to herself (and to us!) by booking herself for a 2-week trip here.

Little Man pictured with his Montenegrin Nanny and her granddaughter, blowing out candles for her birthday, exactly 1 year and 2 days ago today :-)

 Share your joy pockets this week with me. And sign-up to participate in Joy Pockets.

People of Sweden: Please Pick up your Sh*t

Any dog owners out there? Any dog owners who pick up their dog's poop on a daily basis? What about those of you who don't and leave other dog owners to grumble about it? I see lots of virtual hands going up.

Luckily, in most urban cities in developed countries, popular walking paths have little poop stops and even free poop bags, making the smelly minefields of years gone by practically a thing of the past.

Practically...You see, there's a huge, growing stink here in Sweden. And it ain't comin' from our four-legged back archers. My friends, please take a few deep breaths while you let this stink sink in...

People of Sweden: Pick up your own poop. If you read that literally, you read that right. Apparently, walk just slightly off the beaten path here and you could quite easily step in the poop of "animals" that (supposedly) have been potty trained.

And as you sit there and shake your head at the screen in disbelief, you've automatically rationalized that "these poor homeless people..." WRONG.

(Cue Sesame Street tune) These are the people in your neighbourhood. The people that you meet when you're walking down the street. The people that you meet each day.

The guy whizzing by in his super awesome Nike jogging ensemble. The girl with the tight uh, abs,  her long blonde pony-tail bouncing in step with her jiggle. That's right folks.

These people are pooping all over Sweden.

These are likely the same people that stoop and scoop their dog's logs but apparently don't brown bag their own.

"Honey, please make sure you use the potty before we go." This no longer only applies to those under 5. If you live here, you know how fit Swedes are. You see them biking, jogging, running and cross-country skiing. It's in their DNA. And apparently that DNA is forming fertilizer as I type.

I'm obviously not saying every health nut in Sweden has a newspaper and a wet wipe at the ready for their daily 10k. But enough of them do that it's a problem, so much so that signs have actually been posted in a certain park to remind people to "mind the dogs (who are eating and rolling around in it) and to please pick up their poop." Irony?

I heard about this phenomena from an old friend of mine over dinner this weekend. Not the kind of dinner conversation one hopes to be engaged in. Running can have that affect on people. Ok, I get it. When you gotta go, you gotta go. But for the love of all that is "normal", at least bring a bag! He said there was an article. He said he would send it to me. I'm waiting for it. When I get it, I will update this post. I could have waited. No, this was too juicy, to unbelievable to keep to myself.

Until then, the proof is in the pooping. And please, People of Sweden: Pick up your Sh*t. And People from countries where pooping is confined to porcelain, you're welcome for the public service announcement.

ps. If you know about this, please comment. I'm still in a state of disbelief until I get the brown envelope.