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.

To my dearest little bro

I mean, I knew for the last 7 months or so it was coming but when I got the call at 5:30 this morning, it really hit me.

My little brother is a Daddy to a little girl.

And I'm just so emotional about it all, in the proudest big sister way possible.

Because I remember what it felt like when I became a Mom.

And because I have that photo of us, you: 3, me: 6 or 7, snuggling in a bed against a backdrop of floral wallpaper on Logan Street.

And because I know you. And it makes me laugh. I chuckle to think that my anal retentive, color-coordinated sock drawer, organized-to-a-fault, sleep-coveting baby brother is going to have his world turned upside down.

That this new world will be filled with power washing the poop of cloth diapers. Losing sleep even when his days-old daughter is fast asleep, just checking to make sure that she is, in fact, breathing. Stumbling outside at 4am to take his two terribly confused dogs for a pee. Doing Balki's dance for joy after she finally falls asleep after countless trips around the living room in the stroller. Falling in love with his wife all over again as she nurses the precious life you created together. Baby-proofing the baby-proofing. Hovering like a lunatic when anyone dares to pick her up. Policing the phone lines so as not to disturb his best girls while they're resting (and cursing whoever it is who dares to call).

And that's just the beginning.

And I have some advice for you dear brother of mine. Take noone's advice. Do what YOU feel is best. You will pour over "the books", you will drive yourself mad trying to weigh conflicting advice from well-meaning grandparents/siblings/friends on everything from how often to breastfeed, when/if to start sleep training, the colour of her poo, how to dress her for X weather, etc.

But in the end, you will do what's right for your daughter and your family. Every time. And I know this because I've been there and I know this because I know you.

And I love you. And I'm just so proud of both of you. And I can't wait to meet my niece and cuddle her and make silly faces at her and buy an overabundance of pink, frilly things and be her ONLY and most favouritest Auntie Jenny.

And that's just the beginning.

I love you already baby doll Audrey xo

My baby brother is a Daddy...

And it's a GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh how excited am I to run out and buy pink, frilly, bow-laden dresses and skirts and hats and...PINK!

8lbs 14 oz and delivered completely naturally on October 14th 7:48pm in Terrace, BC. No drugs. Quite the contrast to MY birthing experience. You name the drug, it was in my system and then? c-section. But it's the end result that matters. can't say that I'm not super impressed and proud of my sis-in-law and her coach though.

WE HAVE NO NAME YET! This is driving all of us bonkers. Will it be a classic name, a crunchy name, a nouveau name, a stupid name? ha! Time will tell. Hurry up clock.

The bottom line is this: I have a niece. She will be beautiful. I will love her to pieces and my baby brother is now a Daddy and I am so proud of him and his wife. They will make THE best parents. And now to wait an agonizing 10 months to meet her. Thank God for Skype. 

Welcome to the world Baby Girl and to a family who loves you. All my love, Auntie Jenn xo

Gonna be an Aunty!

My brother and his wife are on their way into the hospital to welcome their 1st born. I am already an Aunty to my husband's sister's daughter but this is a bit different. My baby brother is having a baby. Well, his wife is but you get it. How excited am I? And we don't know the sex OR the name choices yet...triple the excitement. Praying for them and a safe delivery and a healthy baby. Love, Aunty Jenn

Little Man Mondays

In case you haven't noticed, I've scrapped Weigh-In Wednesdays. #1: Because I've sorta reached my goal, hovering between 69ish and 70ish with weekly exercise and #2: Because I'm tired of focusing so much on my pant size. But that said, I may resurrect it one day ;-).

So to replace it, I'm launching Little Man Mondays! Just a way for me to more actively journal my four year-old's growth, my parenting, etc so I can look back in years to come. Wish I woulda thought about this sooner but since I'm not-so-good at the keeping his Baby Book up-to-date, this will be my little place.

He wanted to go to the library this weekend, so off we trotted to Literary Land, where the basement is reserved as a NO QUIET zone complete with toys, costumes, book reading nooks, tears, breastfeeding, snot, screaming and well, you get the picture.

Some little boys are into cars. Others into dolls. Mine LOVES animals. The front of the librarian's desk is actually a whole bunch of drawers. The minute we arrive, he's yanking them open to discover where the plastic animals (of which he has zillions at home already) are hiding. It always turns into a lesson of sharing as he hoardes them and polices their use when unfortunate toddlers come bounding around in hopes of snagging one or two.

 "Mommy, what do anteaters do?" I can't count the number of Google searches I've done trying to figure out what X animal eats, where it lives and sometimes, what it looks like. We left armed with enough animal ammunition for a couple of weeks.

Lately I've noticed little man is "playing in Swedish". And to my surprise, when I joined in the other day, he didn't stop abruptly and scold me for speaking in his language. So we played along, me the Swedish camel, him the Swedish crocodile. He's the best teacher really. But that's really where it ends. And that's fine by me.

His English skills however, compared to native English speakers his age, are behind and understandably so. He has difficulty expressing himself fully in English and translating from his school environment to his home environment. When I ask him about his day, he finds it hard to respond. The words are all there but they're in Swedish. Though we had a little breakthrough the other day. As we were driving home, he said in a low voice, filled with pride, in Swenglish, "I bakad bröd today." Translation: I baked bread today. I think he was proud of both what he had done and that he was able to tell me. I was so excited for him on both counts.

They have a program in Sweden called "Home Speak" where he can meet once/week with other English-speaking children for a few hours of English play. I will be signing him up so am hoping this will help him.

I signed him up for a "sports academy" here in Uppsala. It sounded perfect: a club that introduces young children to a variety of sporting activities that meets once/week for an hour. He doesn't like it. Maybe it's because I signed him up for Mondays. After a relaxing weekend, Monday is the first day back to a full day at school and he's likely pretty tired to be rushed through supper and out the door for 6pm. Maybe it's because the kids spend more time standing around than actually doing anything. Maybe it's because the class is too big with only two "leaders". Maybe it's because the leaders spend most of their time shushing the kids. Maybe he's too young. It seems like  waste of 798 SEK but I will drag him there again tonight and if he wants to leave, I'll take him home without a fuss.

Well off to pick up the little man soon and tell him we're headed to sports class tonight. Poor kid :-(.

A Letter to my Son on his 4th Birthday

A Letter to my Son on his 4th Birthday

Where is the you I knew? You're drifting. Away from me. Slowly. But you're shining even brighter so that I can see you so clearly. No longer an extension of me with baby rolls and loving gazes but your own little person who can say out loud, "Mommy, I love you." Always at the most unexpected times and oh-so sincerely. You just kind of look up and that loving gaze transforms into an eloquent phrase.

When did pooping become not-such-a-big-deal? Not so long ago we had to cart that special seat around everywhere we went Just.In.Case. Now I can sit here and type as you bellow, "Mommy, I pooped. Come and see how BIG it is (and wipe my butt of course)!"

It used to be that I was your everything. But our worlds are separating and it feels like a chainsaw through my heart. I miss sitting on a stool in the bathroom for 30 minutes reading the same books over and over again waiting for that tinkle to hit porcelain. I guess you don't need me to carry you around on my hip. And you sure don't fit into the baby carrier, or the stroller anymore. And that stepstool is history. What I wouldn't give to change another diaper or take a photo to capture your first spoon of cereal. But the stained bibs are tucked away and when you need to go, you do it all by yourself.

Now you're...

* instructing me NOT to speak Swedish (cuz it's your special language), while you babble away...leaving the natives in awe of your mad skills and your father and me shaking our heads.

* questioning, everything. "What do panthers do?" "What do sloths do?" What do sperm whales do?" "What do INSERT ANIMAL NAMEs do?"

* teaching your preschool friends Swen-glish. Everyday when you leave the park, instead of shouting "Hej do", they all call out, "BYE, DO Joe."

* pushing my hands away and finding your own path

* showing us we're not doing such a bad job, by comforting a hurt friend, using your Ps & Qs, sharing your toys (ok, we're still working a bit on that one) and just being the most pleasant little four year old there ever was.

* observing the world around you, rather loudly. "Mommy, that man has big muscles. I'm gonna show that man my muscles." "Mommy, that lady is crying. Does she have a boo-boo? Should we kiss it better?" "Mommy, that boy is crazy." "Mommy, I just farted (proclaimed loudly in the middle of the grocery store)".

* remembering after a year and a half the love you have for your nanny of two and a half years.

* wondering about your grandparents, aunts & uncles, cousin(s) and your big brother  and "maybe he can come to my house tomorrow and play with my dinosaurs." And everytime you wonder, I have to hold back a tear, knowing they are all so far away...for now.

* sensing when I'm having a bad moment, "Mommy, you're not angry, are you?"

* having a bath all by yourself. Up until a few months ago, you and Dad were taking a bath together every night until you exclaimed, and much to your father's dismay, "I can have a bath by.my.self. Not with Daddy."

But when you're sleeping, Ahhhh, when you're sleeping. I can still see who you used to be. My baby. No big words like "Ankylosaurus", no long legs running, no questions like, "What do sea lions eat?" or laughing at a joke you're understanding in a movie. Just silence and that face. I now understand why your Daddy used to watch your older brother as he slept. Until he got caught and was told it was "creepy Dad!"

For some reason, this birthday is a bigger milestone than the 3 before it. You are a real, rough & tumble, beautiful little boy. I know it won't be too long from now that you'll be embarassed to wrap your arms around my neck and pucker up for a kiss. Instead of "Mommy, I want to whisper you.", you'll have secrets you don't want to share. And then a few girlfriends come and go...But that's a long time from now and for now, I'm still your favourite toy. And I'm gonna cherish it for as long as it lasts.

We are so proud of our little man because that's what you are July 30, 2010...four years after the epidural and the c-section, the outline of the man you will become. And we love you, for everything you are today and everything you will be tomorrow. Happy Birthday My Dearest Son. Sometimes I wish I could freeze this year of your life and play it on repeat forever but I wouldn't miss you growing up for the world, xoxo

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

Some randomness and WAJ

Hubby took little man swimming this weekend, some daddy and son time away from Mom. I got caught up on work and they splished and splashed. As hubby finished shimmying little man's head through his shirt hole, little man looked up at him and stated, "Daddy, you're a nice boy." Then he gave him a big hug. Hubby welled up recounting this heartwarming exchange to me later that day.

Little man and I were in the park the other day making sand shapes in the box when a neighbour boy the same age arrived with his Farmor (Father's Mother, a.k.a Grandma) and little sister. While he went to shoot hoops (his Dad happens to be the coach for the men's bball team here in Uppsala), little man went about his business of stomping on my sand critters. After a few minutes, I asked him, "Why don't you go over and see if Pontus wants to hop on the trampoline?" He looked over at him, then at me and replied, "Mommy, he doesn't like to talk." Alrighty then.

Evidence that I rarely wear make-up: "Mommy, your eyes are black and pretty." Thanks.

"Mommy, what's an iganimation?"

Hubby took the train to Gothenburg (Göteborg) Tuesday night as he had meetings there on Wednesday. As he made his way down the aisle to his seat on the train home, he noticed a woman was having a terrible time with her seat. He stopped to help her fix it and continued on his merry way, famished.  After back to back meetings, he didn't have time for lunch so decided to pick up a sandwich, some wine and a chocolate bar in the food car. As he went to pay with his debit card, the cashier informed him that "Sorry sir, we only take Visa or cash" (of which he had neither). He pointed out that he could pay with a debit card on the train for a ticket if he wanted to but he realized there was nothing she could do about it so embarassed, he returned everything from where he got it and went back to his seat.

A few minutes later, a woman appeared next to his chair. It was the same woman who had been sitting next to the woman whose chair he helped fix. She handed him a cinnamon bun and a can of coke and said, "Please don't say anything. I felt bad for you. You seem like a gentleman. Please take this. I'm sorry it's not wine though." My husband, clearly humbled, said "Thank you." She left abruptly. He saved that can of coke. It's sitting on his desk upstairs.

About once every 6 months, I buy a baggie of hair ties. At the end of these 6 months, the only one left has expanded to the size of a saucer, eventually snaps under the weight of my hair mass and I end up with pencils in my head until I go searching through the house for an old one. Which I never find. Then I buy another baggie and start the over.

On a related note, I have big feet. Size 10 or 40 or however you're measuring. I do not dig ditches for a living or run 5k everyday. In fact, I spend the majority of my days on my ass. Yet, somehow, I'm sitting on said ass with my feet up and hubby exclaims, "How the hell is there a hole in your sock that stretches from your big toe to your ankle? And how the hell do you not notice it?"

On a related note, don't any of you wonder what it is I do for a living? Was thinking about this the other day. How I don't think I ever actually TOLD any of you. Well maybe I did, sorta. I'm not keeping it from you. It's not like I'm running a drug ring or a porn site. I'm "a writer". Not THAT kind of writer (cue a post from Mon on this subject). I'm a copywriter. Actually, I'm more than that. I'm a PR/Marketing guru. I just like the copywriting part best. I can't count the number of websites, press releases, brochures, business plans, ads, speeches, EMAILS, etc. I've written in these past 13 years. Mainly high-tech stuff but have dabbled in lots of other stuff. If you're selling it, I'm writing it.

On a completely UNRELATED note, 2 more sleeps till the big royal wedding here in Sweden. Crown Princess Victoria (she's beautiful, but did you expect anything less?) is marrying some Daniel dude. It's a HUGE deal. Can't wait to tune in on Saturday as I won't be making the trek to the big city for the mayhem.

Speaking of Swedes, I get such a kick out of them when it's Sunny and Warm. They will plunk themselves down by the river...river bed, hunk of concrete, park bench, and suntan away. Or they lean up against buildings with their faces to the sun. Or they grab a beach chair/blanket, find a field (proximity to water not important), strip down to their skivvies and bake. I guess it's because fine weather is a rare occurance in these parts. Not sure. But where I'm from, suntanning is reserved for the beach or poolside. And the water needs to be water one can safely swim in.

Wednesday/Thursday WAJ
Brekky: Egg salad/Apple
Lunch: Tuna salad/Some grocery store bought salad with garlic dressing and hardboiled egg
Dinner: The absolute worst store bought hamburgers EVER (I had to throw the last one out)/Kebab + salad
Exercise: None on Wednesday night because I had a conference call at 8:00pm and hubby arrived home from a night away in Gothenburg (but for the record, I knew I wouldn't be able to and I was bummed about it / Butt Blaster, Ab workout and OUCH!!!
Comments: 72.6.....c'mon ME!

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?

Mothers Day or whatever it was

Mother's Day has come and gone. I spent the day talking to the Moms on Skype, getting groceries and making meals. See, it wasn't Mother's Day here in Sweden so apparently we'll wait for that one for: breakfast in bed, presents, a meal out, a hand drawn card from the little man. Wait, I did get flowers, the day after. Apparently they took a detour through North America on their way from Planet Idiot. Seriously though, I had mother's day in Moscow. I stayed at a luxury hotel, never had to make a meal and got treated like a queen. It was the best Mother's Day EVER and it lasted 5 days!

Speaking of Mothers. I find myself turning into mine with each passing day. I used to laugh at my Mom and her vanity full of facial creams. From Avon to Clinique, Estee Lauder, some jungle tonic, cow manure, dead sea extract..you name it, she had it. And swore by it.

"What are you using on your face?" she'd ask.
I'd laugh.
I think, at the time, 10 years ago, I had the same bottle of yellow Clinique Dramatically Different Moisturizing Lotion for at least the past 2 years. And it was half full.
I'm not laughing anymore.
I see the "fine lines". I have dreams of Botox. I went through one container of L'Oreal in two months and rushed out for a new one. "Make way fresh-face 20 somethings, the wrinkles are coming and I need to send them a one-way ticket back and STAT."
My mother used to say (and still does), "You need to take care of your skin Jennifer. You have your father's skin and that's NOT a good thing." Hubby jokes that I'll end up looking like one of those shrunken head dolls in 10 years.
F-word.
Now I'm a face cream machine. I'm always slathering something on my face and nearly veering off the road everytime I get stuck behind that bus with the ad promoting restilyn (sp?) at the local spa. Even though it's in Swedish, I'm desperately trying to read what it says. Cuz I'm hoping it says something like: "Get rid of those unsightly wrinkles forever with just one payment of $9.99."
Sigh.
Next will be the gray hair...cue designer shampoos to line the bathtub ledge.

Sorry, but you are a Big Boy

I am currently listening to a whiny soundtrack spiraling its way down the stairs, "But I'm NOT a Big Boy!" It's on repeat as I sit at my dining room table/office typing away.

The little man doesn't seem to want to accept my reasoning as to why I won't sleep with him. See, I made a "mistake" a couple of weeks ago. The little man was so sick and stuffy and I, not feeling much better, decided to cuddle with him until he fell asleep. At the time, it wasn't a mistake. In fact, it was just what the dr. and the patient had ordered. Little man has been great at putting himself to sleep for at least a year now. And no, there were never any "let him cry himself to sleep" methods used. Nightly prayers, a kiss, a hug and a Goodnight. But these recent bedtime cuddles soon turned into habit and someone isn't so willing to give up Mommy Blankie because, he's a big boy now. So his solution, "But I'm NOT a Big Boy!" Ah, if only that were true...

I have evidence. Forget the expanding vocabulary, height and waistline for a moment. Let's take you back to this time last week when Daddy wasn't home for your ritual nightly bathtime together. In you went alone. It certainly wasn't a first as Daddy travels frequently. The next night as I signalled it was time for you to haul all 46 of your dinosaurs into the bathtub and splash puddles all over my bathroom floor, you kept repeating, "But I want to play by myself."

"No, playtime is over. It's time for a bath."
More forcefully now, "But I want to play by MYSELF."
Huh?
(She tries it in Swedish)
Still the same thing.
In comes Daddy while simultaneously pulling off his socks.
"But I want to play IN THE BATH by myself."

Oh?
"You don't want Daddy to go in the bathtub with you?" Asks my hurt husband.
"No, I want to play BY MYSELF."

And there you have it. You are growing up. An almost nightly tradition since early 2007 has vanished. Just like that. Suddenly hubby's moans about getting soapy for the second time the same day cease and are replaced with a few sighs, and I swear, a bit of a quivering voice.

You can't fool me kiddo. You ARE a big boy and there's nothing daddy or I can do about it.

Cue Boys 2 Men song: "It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterdayyyy...yeeee."

You're Jennifer. You have long arms.

According to my son, I'm Jennifer because I have long arms. Not sure what's up with him pointing out how long my arms are and how short his are in comparison, or the fact that I am who I am because of my arm length but it's noteworthy.

I realized he, along with the rest of Uppsala's kids, are off school all next week (Easter break). Didn't they just have a week off like 2 months ago? Ahhh..Sweden, land of the Red Day, where every other day is a holiday it seems.

All of a sudden, I have friends. Last week, I invited some of my dearest chicks over for a long overdue girl's night. Perfect timing as hubby was away on business. Now, I don't really consider these girls "friends". More like family. We ate, we drank, we laughed, we drank, we ate. The evening ended with my loopy 35-year old friend convincing her likewise loopy 24 and 26-year old pseudo-family chicks to hit the town. Some partying and a lot of post-night barfing ensued. Apparently my "parties" are now epic.

And then, we got invited over to one of those acquaintances-we-met-at-a- mutual-friend's-party-but-where-things-never-go-past-the party-location's house for dinner last night. Just so happens they have a son a couple week's shy of our son's age. And the hubby is American. And the wife is cool and also a dear friend of the new/old neighbour friends's. I know. Too much information. But just for the record. My record.

And then...I got a text from the new/old neighbour friend asking me over for coffee today. But I got it too late and the little man is home with a fever so, it was a No Go. But still...Holy "Friends" Batman!

Could I BE ANYMORE POPULAR? Bahahaha. See what happens when you stand up for yourself? No, none of them knew about that. But maybe I'm exuding some other-worldly eau de "don't f with me" that makes everyone think I could be the schoolyard bully so they all want me on their good side. Bahahaha.

Work has piled up. I am somewhere under it. And of course, the little man is sick. But thankfully not SICK, sick. Still his happy go lucky, you-be-the-Mama-Brachiosaurus-I'll-be-the-baby-TRex-and-I-will-try-to-eat-you, self with a fever and a runny nose. I dreaded calling the school this morning. Cuz I'm scared of The School. Cuz they will ask me, "Does he have a fever?" and I will want to lie because if he does have a fever, he will need to stay home until it's gone and then one EXTRA day on top of it for good measure. And I will want to lie. But I won't. And I didn't.

So I have two press releases to write, some stupid document to serve as a foundation for all other documents, a bunch of leads to Google and a dozen other tasks. Plus, I have just been made the Master of Hubby's crazy schedule. But right now, the main task is playing hide-and-go-seek with a Spider Man costume wearing kid who only has two hiding places: under the covers of our bed or under the covers of his bed.

We're in...random look at my life

I told my husband that this is the LAST TIME we're renting. Seriously.
So tired of being forced to move and having nothing "permanent". Don't care where it is in the world...just a "home" that's mine. Yeah, yeah, I know "home is where the heart is" but still...MINE, MINE!!!

Oh Canada! We beat the Russians. We're happy. Sweden lost to Slovakia. Kinda sad. I mean, I do live here so I do cheer for them. And they're doing GREAT this Olympics!
They're dominating any event that involves cross-country skiing! NO surprise. My kid cross-country skies at his school. Pick any random winter day and everyone is skiing everywhere. Nevermind winter. In the summer, people walk with the assistance of their poles. Swedes have a habit of doing that, taking a season's activities and transferring them to seemingly inappropriate seasons. Take bicycling for example. How many of you can look out your window in the run of a day and see someone bicycling through the snow? These people are freakn' crazy! A friend whose Dad is a doctor said there are loads of bicycle-related injuries in the winter. No kidding. For every 10 cyclists I see braving the elements, one is always wiping out.

I ate bread today. Pizza crust. I had no choice. It was that or die from starvation. Ok, that was extreme. Let's go with headache and spins.

Oh and I'm down 2 more pounds...so that's four! woot, woot.

Our little guy is such a trooper. He just rolls with the punches on the surface. He does feel stress though, with change, it manifests in his bowels. Poor guy hasn't pooed in I don't know how long. Time for an intervention.

I was blown away today. Took the little man for a long overdue visit to his international Godmother's house where his "sisters" live. He was chatting away to them...in Swedish. He was answering questions perfectly, questions I have been asking him in English that he couldn't answer. He couldn't answer them because they made use of vocabulary he uses in school...in Swedish (not in English). They were amazed. I was flabergasted. Who knew he was such a chatter box? Not me. Fire.under.ass.to.get.serious.about.learning.Swedish.

He woke up when I came home from my upteenth trip to the old house (and hopefully my last). He just wanted me to lay down with him. So I did. And he wrapped his arms around my neck and he fell asleep while we embraced.I loved it. In those moments, I thought about how much I loved him. I remembered the baby I nurtured. I admired the little boy he is becoming. I realzed these moments will soon be replaced by him pushing me away, embarassed....So I was reminded to cherish this.

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!"

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.

From StepMom to Mom

It's an interesting job, that of a step mom. You don't own the rights to the child through a birth canal and you often enter their lives in later years. You long to become accepted, part of someone else's already established family unit. And when you're a young stepmom, like me, you wonder how you can provide the guidance and nurturing necessary when you're only beginning to experience adulthood yourself.

And how much "parenting" can you really do? Will they let you do? Do you have the right to do? You walk a fine line.

But if you're lucky, like me, you end up with a wonderful stepson, one who warmly welcomes you into his heart and into his family. One who respects you, loves you and accepts you. One who talks to you openly and confides in you without fear.

Though you may not have changed his diapers, sang him lullabies or pushed him on a swing, you've witnessed his voice "crack", experienced his first girlfriend, cried as he spoke eloquently at your wedding, saw him take his first drink (ok, maybe not that part), and watched him trip and fall. And sometimes you let him make stupid mistakes and fall on his face. Because you remember very clearly it was only a short time ago you made, and learned, from the same ones.

And it's because of the way your husband is with him, the unbreakable bond they have and the kind-hearted and talented soul he has grown to become, that you make the brave decision to have one of your own.

You then worry how your relationship will change once you officially cement the status of "mother". Will you love #1 less? Will you have room in your heart for two? And then a few hours after #2 arrives, your husband gives you a special gift. A handcrafted gold necklace in the shape of a heart. And inside that big heart are three little hearts, one for him, one for #1 and one for #2. So you see, you do have a place in your heart for all three of the men in your life.

Not only do you not become less of a "mother" to #1, but you become a better one. You suddenly have an instinct you never quite had before. The desire to nurture and protect and love becomes so much stronger. And saying goodbye and letting go becomes harder than it's ever been.

Nana's Sauce

Let me start this post by admitting the following, I am not a good cook. I generally need a recipe and not just any recipe, a step by step guide with definitions for thing such as "whip lightly" or "sautee" or "fold in X ingredient". When I was back in Canada, I had a trusty beginner's cookbook and relied heavily on any recipe based on a Campbell's soup. Sure there were times I got adventurous and attempted cheesecake. And to my surprise, it turned out amazing. I even had my photo taken with it and constantly prodded tasters with questions like, "No, really, how good is it?"

But then I moved to Montenegro with no Campbell's soup in sight, surrounded by authentic homemade goodies and a serious lack of easy-peezy ingredients. Luckily, around that time, I decided to become an Atkins girl, which meant I had a free pass from kitchen creativity and cooked lumps of meat with stir-fried whatever veggie.

My mother-in-law is an amazing cook. Well, duh. All those Ukranian, Croatian and Italian inspired bellywarming dishes. Cabbage rolls, homemade chicken soup and the all-time family favourite...Nana's spaghetti sauce.

Nana is Ukrainian/Croatian but was married to an Italian for some years and obviously picked up a talent for Italian cuisine. There isn't an Italian on this planet that can compete with her sauce and the Italian side of the family have admitted it.

Whenever we go home, you can bet there's a pot of sauce on the stove..tomato based with hearty meatballs bouncing around on the surface.

I've never attempted to make said sauce and for two reasons: 1. It's Nana's claim to fame so I vowed not to attempt it until the day she can no longer make it. 2. Fear of failure or perhaps worse, what if by some miracle, it's better that the original?

Circumstances have changed.

I find myself with no Nana around, a pack of nostalgic boys AND a tribe of preteens about to enter my house tonight for dinner and a sleepover (one with an allergy to gluten). And the Nana is thousands of miles away. The last time the girls came over, I served up some yummy homemade burgers and this time, I'm super busy and need to make something fast and "easy" and different. I broke my vow, called Nana on Skype and asked her for THE recipe.

I was only half paying attention as she was giving it to me as flashbacks for a particular "Everyone loves Raymond" episode were running through my head. Do you remember the one I'm talking about? Well here's the synopsis. Deborah, like me, sucks in the kitchen. Marie, like my mother-in-law, is always cooking up generous portions of hearty soulfood. Deborah decides she wants to learn how to cook Marie's famous sauce. They spend a day of bonding over the stove making the sauce together, with Marie telling her the most important ingredient is LOVE. It's beautiful. These two frenemies finally becoming friends. It's suppertime at Ray's house and they all sit down to Deborah's attempt at Marie's sauce. She's excited. They're scared. The sauce, as you may have guessed, is awful. Marie spends the evening wondering what could have possibly gone wrong, thinking she doesn't have the LOVE. She checks and rechecks her recipe, breaks into Marie's house and checks the original recipe. Nothing. Then she sees a spice jar label losing its grip. Marie switched the ingredients! She actually sabotaged Marie's sauce. Deborah's fuming. To make a long story short, Marie did in fact do this deliberately. She did it because she believes her food is all she has and she didn't want Deborah to take it away from her. Kinda sad and funny. They made peace, which I believe included Deborah promising never to make THE sauce.

Back to today. I don't have the Marie/Deborah relationship with my mother-in-law THANK GOD. But regardless, here I am making HER sauce. A recipe, which like all Nana recipes, calls for a can of this, a dash of that and no measurable amounts of ANY ingredient. Perfect for someone who ONLY follows recipes.

So there it sits on the stove waiting for a hungry brood. I've watched her make it a hundred times. And the meatballs have NOT fallen apart, small victory for the daughter-in-law. But my mother-in-law has nothing to worry about. It's not the LOVE I'm missing but personal control over dispensing of SALT. Looks like they'll be LOTS of water glasses to refill tonight...

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.

Dearest Mommy Bloggers

I love being a Mom. Here are a few things you should know about me and my now 3 year old:
1. I was never a baby-wearer
2. I tried breastfeeding only to have to stop after 3 months due to short milk supply
3. I vaccinated my child
4. My child sat in a forward-facing stroller (studies have shown it increases stress in babies?)
5. Among other things, he eats chocolate, ice cream, cookies and occassionally stuff from a can
6. I use(d) disposable diapers
7. My baby didn't "sign"
8. He watches movies (I've lost count of the number of times he's seen Ice Age or Finding Nemo or INSERT DISNEY MOVIE)
9. He drinks juice, a lot of juice (though I have been trying to cut back)
10. He's had some form of childcare since he was 3 months old.
11. I have been known to bribe my child to do my bidding.


I appreciate all of you who have done the opposite of all of the above and I've learned a lot about parenthood from your thoughtful, educated words and posts. But if you've come here to learn about the latest baby wearing sling, research on vaccinations or recipes for homemade, eco-friendly baby food, it's time to click "Next blog". I don't subscribe to any particular parenting philosophy either.

I'm just a Mom enjoying the journey and learning as I go. Come along for the ride. You're sure to find something to make you nod knowingly, giggle, gasp or gag. None of us are perfect. We learn from our own upbringing, each other and from the plethora of information readily available thanks to the Web.

I feel honoured to be a part of the mommy blogosphere. J