To Katch a Kony

I had to respond to the criticism regarding the Kony 2012 campaign. Celebrity begets criticism. But really,  all I have to say about this is summed up rather perfectly by a quote from Teddy Roosevelt:

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who
points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds
could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is
actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and
blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and
again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but
who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms,
the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at
the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who
at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so
that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who
neither know victory nor defeat."

  Thanks Teddy for the perfect words.

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!

Carefree Swedish Kids

I noticed something since moving here when it comes to the wee ones. Not only are they everywhere it seems but judging by the number of pregnant bellies I saw at the local lake this past Saturday, there's another army on its way. This can likely be attributed to the amazing amount of maternity AND paternity leave parents get in this country...

So not only am I noticing the sheer number of kiddies but the lack of parental supervision of said kiddies.

We live in a very kid-friendly neighbourhood...perfect for the little guy. It's a semi-private community of "radhuses"/rowhouses/townhouses with little playgrounds in each block of housing, a larger playground nestled in trees and the whole thing backs onto a forest. We're surrounded by nature.

And the kids run free, run wild...And now that I think of it, kinda like we used to run the roads when we were their age. With our parents calling out after us, "Be home before dark." "Be home for lunch." "J O H N!!!!! S U PP ER!!!!!!!!!"

Remember those days? When words like "kidnapping", "sexual predator" and "stranger danger" were virtually unheard of?

Well that's what it's like here. Kids as young as 3 climbing trees without a parent in sight. GASP! And around dinnertime you hear names like "Rasmus, Johan, Jakob and Louisa" bouncing off the windows.

So it's freaking me out.

I keep wanting to run up to these "abandoned" children to ask them, "Where are your parents?" "Where do you live?" "Do they know you're having a tea party in the woods?" But then I might just be one of those strangers their parents may (or may not) have warned them about.

Yes, I realize some day my child will walk himself to playdates and run around the neighbourhood tearing up the pavement. He'll be 3 in a week and I cannot imagine the day when I won't be keeping a watchful eye out for him.

I'm going to be that Paranoid Parent, aren't I? The one all the Swedes mutter to themselves about, "Oh, she's from North America." The parent that embarrasses her kid on a daily basis: lurking in the bushes, peeking out the window, insisting on accompanying him to his buddy's house two doors down. "Mom, would you just go home already? I'm fine."

Is it really that safe here? Who's off their rocker? Me or them?