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.

A Day in the Life of a Stay-at-home-Mom...for the summer

Presented in quotes from the little guy:

"Mommy, it's morning time."
"Mommy, it's time to wake up."
"Mommy, WAKE UP!"
"Mommy, can we go downstairs and play?"
"Mommy, are you getting dressed?"
"I don't want cereals/toasties."
"Can I have juice?"
"I don't want cereals/toasties."
"Can I have juice now?"
"Mommy, can we play upstairs?"
"Mommy, what do ants do?"
"Mommy, I love you."
"Daddy is working."
"That lady has a baby in her belly."
"You be the kid, I'll be the Mommy."
"You be the Mama T-Rex, I'll be the baby T-Rex."
"What do tarantulas do?"
"But i don't want lunch."
"Let's go on the slide."
"Again."
"I want to look at the fishies."
"But I don't want to eat lunch."
"Can I have ice cream instead?"
"What do hippos do?"
"Mommy, you're my very best friend."
"Where are the kids?"
"Is Fernando here yet?"
"I don't want to share."
"It stinks in here (any public restroom)."
"Mama, you don't speak Swedish. YOU speak English."
"We can go home and show daddy the shark and whale book."
"Look at me."
"Not the computer!"
"When is Big Brother coming to my house?"
"This is my house."
"I'm gonna be four soon."
"Bye Nana/Nanny."
"Can we read books outside?"
"That man has big muscles."
"That baby likes my Sharks & Whales book."
"I showed that man my muscles."
"I don't want supper."
"I want chicken."
"Can you sit here with me?"
"Can you play with me upstairs?"
"You be the Mama Whale, I'll be the Baby Whale."
"I don't want to have a bath."
"I don't want to get out of the bath."
"I want water."
"Where are INSERT NAME OF GRANDPARENT?"
"Mommy, you're crazy."
"I don't want these (pointing to his nipples)."
"Mommy, I have to make a poo."
"Mommy, come see my poo!"
"I am going on an airplane to Canada/Montenegro."
"Can you sleep with me?"
"Just one more book, ok?"
"Mommy, TALK to me."

Phewfffffffff.......

But I'm lovin' almost every minute of it.

Oh and it's Weigh-in Wednesday isn't it? Same, same..low 73s but have started getting back to basics so hoping to shed a few in the next 4 weeks. Still exercising :-).

Been super busy but plan to get back to blogging on a regular basis come September. Love to you all, Jenn

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.

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?

Mommies throw me a discipline bone please!

What the heck happened? Where did my pleasant little man go? I would like him back please. But I have a feeling it will take a lot more than praying to St. Theresa (Catholic thing) to get him back.

We skipped the Terrible Twos. I sat back and watched with pity and perhaps a smidge of envy as my friends went through it with their kids. For some reason, my little guy was an angel. Not sure what we were doing right or wrong at the time. But that time has officially passed.

Cases in point:
1. The other day: In the park, little boy his age standing on some wobbly beam thing. My little guy makes a move (though not quick enough) to stealthily push him off. The horror! Same park, the kid's father standing on said beam. "Get off!" exclaims my little man while trying to push him off.
2. Parent's Tea at School: Having to leave. Him not wanting to leave. Making a big show of not wanting to leave. Me being utterly embarassed while trying to NOT get angry and exercise patience. I somehow managed to do both, but damn it was hard.
3. Friend's daughter's basketball game: Repeatedly running out onto the court DURING THE GAME. Me mortified. Him, couldn't care less. I even had this "We can't go over the red line" thing going. Not denying him totally but setting a boundary. It worked for awhile and then he broke away and made the mad dash (me with too tight jeans and a sweatshirt riding up my back exposing my flesh scrambling after him...what a sight).
4. Today: Pick up the little man from school. He doesn't want to leave. "Jag vill inte gå!!!" (I don't want to go). I manage to distract him with whatever I was saying to have him trudge alongside me towards the car. We run into a mother. I stop to chat. He keeps going. I yell after him, "Slutta nu Joseph!" (Stop now!). He looks back in defiance and smiling and makes a beeline for the road WITH CARS! I cut the conversation and start sprinting. I was pretty scared to be honest. He scared the shit out of me. A car could have easily come around the cul-de-sac and beened right into him. I was mad. No, not angry. I was MAD and frightened. The exchange went something like this:
"When Mama tells you to stop, you stop. This is dangerous. A car could have come and hit you and then we would have to call the ambulance and go to the hospital and bye-bye YOU. Mama is very angry right now. blah, blah, blah. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? (scowling face for effect and well, because I meant it)." Raised voice but not screaming because I am, after all, in Sweden. He says, "Ok Mama". He realizes I'm quite serious. We get into the car. My monologue continues and then I fall silent, unable to get the vision of my son getting hit by a moving vehicle out of my mind. He is silent, waiting for the storm to pass. Insert "cut-the-tension-with-a-knife" analogy. I told him not to bother asking for candy today because he behaved badly and boys who behave badly do not get candy (yup, I realize that whole bribing or rewarding with sweets was likely not the best move).

There's a lot of challenging going on right now. Him defying us, the establishment. I remember when I did that. There was a slap on the ass. It worked. But, I don't want to take that route. I also don't want to be one of those soft Mommies who either gives in or tries to "soothingly discipline" or whatever it is when you see Mothers, whose kids soooo deserve a swift kick in the arse, say and do things you KNOW have NO EFFECT WHATSOEVER.

So please, please Mommy blogger communities, HELP ME. I need some techniques and FAST. I need something consistent because right now, I'm all over the place. Anything with a touch of "fear of God" and a smattering of "serious reasoning" sounds great!

The Not-so-imaginary ventriloquist horsy

What did I get myself into? The other day the little man and I were playing in the upstairs hallway. I was growing tired of flying our hallway airplane and watching pretend movies on the wall while constantly being disturbed by the pretend stewardess and her incessant questions about what we would like to eat/drink so I picked up a horse hand puppet and of course, got myself in deeper.

Remember Bubba from Forest Gump? "Fried shrimp, shrimp gumbo, shrimp INSERT DISH". How about Billy Bob Thornton playing that creepy slow dude in that movie, Slingblade, that's it! Well combine the two voices and you get my horsy voice. For some reason it's the only voice that will come out of my half-closed mouth when the horsy moves his mouth. Because I was obviously testing out my ventriloquist skills with said hand puppet. And with the exception of being unable to figure out how to say any words with "M" or "B" without moving my lips and giving myself away, I was pretty impressed.

The boy bought it. Three days later and he's still chasing me around the house, "Mama put it on RIGHT NOW". I think it's great my son has an imaginary friend. I don't think it's so great that it's permanently attached to my right hand. Or that it has to read books to him, watch movies with him, play Dinosaurs with him or watch him poo. In fact, the only break I get is when he's bugging my husband to play with his iPhone (they really have awesome learning games for kids in the Appstore).

The little man doesn't tear up or cry very often. But when I refuse to play horsy, he erupts. And I have to refuse. Mama has dinner to make, laundry to fold, a life that consists of me speaking in my Mama voice. My mouth is seriously sore.

So what's a cowgirl to do? This shows no signs of slowing. "WOAH Horsy!"

She just said WHAT?! Swedish radio

Oy. So we're driving on our way to school the other morning with the local Top 40 station belting out some Lady Gaga. The boy loves "Bad Romance", "Poker Face" and of course, ABBA. It was RIXX FM 105.3 I believe, out of Uppsala. Then the morning show crew comes on and the little man, like myself, gets annoyed that there's "no songs Mama".

Because I only understand about 50% of what they're saying, I rarely pay attention. I'd turn it off and stick in a CD but I hear it's good to listen to radio/watch tv in the language you're trying to learn, so I leave it on.

"Eating pussy....blah, blah, blah, Swedish blah, blah, blah. Eating Pussy. Swedish blah, blah, blah...Eating Pussy."

WTF????????? Just in case I hadn't heard it right the first time, the morning show crew was kind enough to repeat this THREE MORE TIMES in like 25 seconds.

What in God's Name were they talking about? Why had I not been paying attention. Why does my 3-year old, who repeats everything, need to be sitting in the back seat right now? WTF!!!!!!!!

Seriously, can someone please explain this to me. I've heard sexual references and inuendos on the radio before. That's nothing new. Television is full of nakedness and simulated (or not) sex acts. You seriously can't get away from it. But I don't think I have EVER heard those kinds of words uttered via public broadcasting before. Have you? Or have I just been out of North America too long?

How is this appropriate? I am speechless. Hubby tried to tell me they're allowed to say anything they wantin Sweden...the media that is. Freedom of speech to the nth degree. But really? C'MON! I need a Swede to explain this to me STAT.

Murphy's Law

or whatever that law is that says shit happens when there's already a shitload of other shit waiting to be flushed. Sorry, that was an early morning, 1/4 cup coffee attempt at a witty analogy.

Before I begin today's rant, check out my very first guest post over at Hyacynth's. Feeling all humbled and honoured and such.

Rushed home from Swedish lessons, started wolfing down some lunch meat, shared a few half sentences with the hubby, phone rang and got invited out to lunch by my only Swedish friend's sister (this was kind of a big deal but I couldn't go because I had a bellyful of lunch meat so we decided on tomorrow). Did I mention I work from home and that I was all pumped up to hit my to-do list hard. I hung up the phone. Ran over to the ringing house phone while giggling at how popular I had suddenly become. It was the call I had expected.

"Hi. It's Carin from the school. Joseph is not feeling very well. He seems to have a pretty bad cold. His nose is running and his eyes are very watery. I think it's best if you come pick him up before we go outside...blah, blah, blah".

Yes, I had wiped his nose a few times that morning on our rush out the door. But I reasoned, we're only supposed to keep them home if they have a fever. No fever. All clear.

Dang it. Funny how I feel perfectly comfortable using the word "shit" in a blog post but am extremely uncomfortable using the word "damn". Anyhoo, picked up my little booger and spent the afternoon wiping on command. "Mummy, my nose. Mummy my eyes." Repeat.

So my to-do list is expanding and I have a sick boy at home. But here's the rainbow: He's such a happy flem-filled booger. With the exception of leaking body fluids, nothing seems to stop my little man from smiling and carrying on with his day. God love him. I know I sure do. Now excuse me while I pop some Vitamin C and immerse my hands in sanitizer. I see a very miserable and sick Mommy in my future.

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.

Hockey starts tomorrow

Yup, he's 3 and tomorrow he will be ingratiated (sp?) into the world of hockey and me into the world of Hockey Moms. Hubby hooked up with a fellow co-worker who runs the Uppsala Young Hockey Club and even though the age for entry is 5 the men convinced themselves that our son could possibly participate. How, I'm not sure. I mean, seriously, he's 3!

So last night we got skates and a helmet and tonight hubby is taking us out for elbow and knee pads. He's 3!

I tried to warn hubby not to expect much. Did I mention he's only 3?! But he's excited for this bonding time on the ice and since hockey blood courses through his veins, why shouldn't the little man hit the ice as early as possible?

And then the little man picks up a stick and ball at the store last night and starts chasing the ball around with said stick. To hubby, this was a proud moment and sure sign we have a young Gretzy in the making. Uhmmmm...So here we go...

Maybe he'll be #3?

Understanding my son's Swenglish

I've been working with Swedes for well over 10 years now. They are extremely good English speakers, especially the younger generations, which has to do with early learning in the school system. It's very easy to be here and get by without learning Swedish. But I don't have that luxury. My son speaks Swedish.

He was just beginning to speak Serbian when we left Montenegro. He was then thrust into a completely new culture and language. Since he started his new daycare in August, he is really adapting well and speaking Swedish almost fluently. We're so proud of our little sponge.

But this has understandably delayed his English speaking skills as he's only speaking English at home with us. From 8-3 everyday he's in an all-Swedish environment and the language that surrounds him while we're out and about is of course, Swedish.

Hubby and I are finding it harder to understand him. I have a bit of an edge since I've been taking lessons once a week for the past several months. But I fear my bad Swedish grammar coupled with his toddler enunciation is compounding his inability to express himself and our inability to understand.

I know children his age back home are speaking and expressing themselves clearly. His "speak" goes something like this: "mama, make a peepee" "Juice" "Go see Dada" "It hurts" "Axel (boy's name) crying."

He pushed a child at school the other day who fell down and started crying. The teacher explained this to me when I picked him up and he then got a stern talking to in English. He was upset. He understood it was wrong.

Yesterday I picked him up from school and he started to babble about "Axel crying. Axel fall down." I asked him if he pushed Axel and he said, "yes". But I was doubtful so before giving him another stern talking to, I called the school to get the deets. Little man did NOT push Axel down. He just fell. Phewf. But do you see my problem? This is a daily occurence. I can't reach him sometimes and he doesn't have the vocabulary to explain himself.

Anyone have any advice? I try to passively correct his speech. So when he says, "Mama, make a peepee", I repeat, "Mama, I have go make a peep". I try to fill in the blanks. I've also started speaking to him in Swedish sometimes but I fear I may be hindering his English.

I'd really like to understand my little man and I fear we're lost in translation.

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.

Preschool Blues

The past week or so the little man has taken to crying rather passionately when I drop him off at Preschool. It's heartwrenching to walk away. I don't know what to do. I've tried talking to him about school, warming him up in the car, telling him we'll give kisses and hugs and then Mommy has to "go working". It doesn't matter. The meltdowns still happen.

I know they're good to him there. That's not the issue. If I have to guess I'd say that:
a) There's been a lot of change in his little life this year: new country, new language, new school, new summer school, at home with Mom for 2 weeks, another new school...
b) It's the language barrier. Though it never seemed to bother him quite so much before, I think he's finding it increasingly frustrating that he can't quite communicate with the children his age at school. He has reverted to baby talk and playing with the younger ones, who also can't quite communicate yet. But I think he's outgrown the little ones and doesn't quite fit in with his peer group yet. He's lonely.

The teachers keep a very close watch on him. So much so that at yesterday's 45-minute parent/teacher conference, I got the full rundown on "A Day in the Life of my Son". From his washroom habits to his eating habits and playing habits. They are looking for solutions to the challenges and I'm trying to provide them with as much insight as possible.

But I feel helpless. Short of taking him out of school (which is not an option at this stage in our lives), I really don't know what to do. Everyone says "It will pass", just as it has on so many other occasions but this time seems different. It's a delayed reaction to his new environment...quite delayed. Any suggestions?

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.

A Letter to my son on his 3rd Birthday

Today you turned “fweee yeez ohd”. It seems yesterday you were but a wide-eyed pink pooping machine I had no idea what to do with. But today you are three. And Mummy is so proud of you.

Of course I’m proud that by the miracle of humanity, in the past year, you learned to run, sing, find new ways of expressing yourself and have almost mastered peeing and pooping in the potty. But I’m most proud of the little person you’re growing to become and am privileged to be your steadfast guide and comfort through this wallop of an adventure that is our life.

You’re resilient. I want to apologize to you my son. For all the change you’ve had to endure this past year. Plucked from your life with loving Mary Poppins to a school full of foreign kids and too few teachers. From daily strolls along the seashore to daily drives around town. From the warm Adriatic waters to a backyard pool. From a language planted in you from 3 months old to having to start all over again with new sounds and words. From the comfort of a loving, supportive circle of friends— who became family to, luckily, a new, smaller circle.

But I want to Thank God for your wonderful ability to adapt and thrive, lay down your roots somewhere new while still cherishing the faces from your infancy. I admire this quality most in you baby boy. So perhaps I won’t apologize fully. Your Dad and I brought you to this new country for opportunity and the way you’ve blossomed will ensure you’re that much stronger on your journey to manhood.

You’re happy. I often wonder how many parents can say their toddlers are really happy. But you truly smile from the time you jolt me out of dreams with “Mama, wake up!” to the time we say goodnight after prayers (and you continue screaming “Goodnight” “See you soon!” as I’m on my way down the stairs). You cry when “Mama, I huht maseff (I hurt myself)” or when you know you’re in deep doodoo. But God that smile...I’m thankful for it every day.

You’re smart. I had no idea you could speak Swedish until you surprised me by singing along with your little Swedish troup at your daycare performance. There you were, in the front row, covered completely in muck, in the rain, singing your little heart out. I had no idea what you were saying, but I cried anyway. You know your colours and the alphabet, your shapes and have even memorized the words to your favourite books. You’re a little parrot, repeating everything your teachers say to learn to speak their language.

You’re loving. From stopping to chase and pet the “KAT-TEN” on our nightly walks to those big open-mouthed kisses to asking where your brother is if he’s not sitting in his usual spot when you come home. You may not be an entertainer when the family Skype Shows begin, but your grandparents and far-away family should know that you ask about them at the oddest times: On the car ride to and from daycare, in the grocery store with a mouthful of ice cream cone or usually five minutes after a Skype call has ended. People are drawn to your spirit little one. I saw it today. The two high school helpers assigned to your school were waiting for YOU to arrive. You’re a little charmer, just like your Dad.

You’re beautiful. My favourite part of everyday happens sometime around 5am. I open my eyes instinctively to see your sleepy eyes hovering by my pillow. I don’t always remember the part where I pick you up and lay you next to me but I wake up every morning to you snuggled in between your Dad and I. Your hair has gone from black at birth to white blonde to a now darker shade, marking the moments of change in your life. I miss your face during the day and enjoy that very instant you see me, stop play and run with arms wide open. We could never make another one like you.
So today your father, brother and I will trek over to your school at 2:30 with a lactose, strawberry, kiwi and plum FREE “Lightning McQueen” cake and we’ll join your class in singing Happy Birthday. We won’t have your grandparents, aunts & uncles or cousin with us to celebrate, but we will have each other and best of all, we have you.
Happy 3rd Birthday my son.
Love, your Proud Mummy xoxo
July 30, 2009