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.

The Great Swedish Haircut

So I've been procrastinating on hair maintenance...severly procrastinating..since this past March procrastinating. My roots are a few inches long and my hair was down past my bra strap. I personified trailer trash and couldn't live with my greasy-looking but not greasy hair a day longer so I bit the bullet. What bullet you ask? Just book an appointment, you say.

I'm convinced hair salons in this fair country are criminal organizations. Every time I take my son or my husband or my big son to the hairstylist I want to scream at the absurdity of the prices. Average salons here charge over 250 SEK (that's like 40 CDN dollars) to cut my little boy's hair. My husband's hair, we're looking at 350+. My hair cut was gonna cost me 400 SEK..do the conversion. You don't want to know how much colour costs. But I'm gonna tell you anway...around 2000 SEK (that's $277 USD!) at an average salon.

I've been holding out because I've not-so-secretly been longing for a week's vacation back in our old home of Montenegro, where'd I'd be paying a max of 70 euro for a beautiful colour, cut and style. Focus on that last word for a moment...style. I'm still half holding out...I decided, at the very least, that I needed to CUT this shaggy mop.

When you leave the hairdresser, don't you expect to walk out feeling like a million bucks? I mean, who can do our hair better than a trained professional, right? The soft, silky, glowing, frizz-free, fresh-out-of-a-magazine hair style...ahhhhh...

I am NOT CHEAP. I tip generously too. But yesterday afternoon was a different story.

She cut my hair...quite a few inches off so now it just rests on my shoulders. And then she proceeded to finish me off. But no happy endings here. WTF was she doing? First she sat me under one of those helmet dryers. Then she comes at me with a heat-blowing curling iron. The result was a fuzzy, frizzy mess. And she has the nerve to monkey around in it with her fingers, like she's putting finishing touches on it or something! I guess her fingertips must be numb as she's obviously NOT feeling that my hair is still HALF WET.

The word "anger". "Please help me understand the hair styling process here in this country. Back *home*, when we pay for a haircut, a hair style is included in the price. Is that not the case here?" - "Oh yes," she replies. "Do you not use round brushes?" "Yes, we have them".

I honestly don't see one anywhere. If you have long hair, like I do, you fully expect the hair stylist to blow your hair out with a round brush and sometimes even use a flat iron. How else can you get it to look flawless?

What I should have said, in hindsight, was "Would YOU leave this salon with your hair looking like THIS?" There are a lot of things I should have said but I was boiling over with rage and wanted to get the hell out of there and home to my family, who experienced my wrath, and my flat iron.

Hair stylists in this country are likely the best paid and treated in the world. They get their five weeks vacation just like everyone else. They also have special chairs they sit on to cut your hair (which I think is smart because I have a lot of friends who are stylists that have problems with their backs and legs). In Montenegro, hairstylists are likely the worst paid and work the hardest and still, for 7 euro I can get an amazing wash and set from a talented girl whose arms are like steel from roundbrushing hair all daylong.

And yes, I fully expect to pay more in a country with a higher standard of living, an expensive country.

Hair stylists in this country are just plain LAZY. You're probably wondering if I encountered this before at different salons. And yes, I have. Three to be exact. So I am full justified in painting them all with the same round brush.

These pretty girls need to get their shapely butts over to Montenegro, or America for that matter, and take a few lessons. The next time I won't be walking away with pent-up frustration and without leaving a tip. The next time I will leave a tip: I will demand a round brush, a blow dryer and show them how it's done.

Whatever the reason, DO NOT BE LATE

Oh boy...One thing I've noticed since moving to this country is that Swedes are chronically ON TIME. If you're having a party, like we did for hubby this weekend and tell guests the party starts at 7pm, the guests either arrive at 6:45pm or right on the nose at 7pm. So my usual buffer of "casually late" which I've become accustomed to in North America is gone. This is not so much a problem for me, really. But my chronically-late husband needs to get his ass in gear.

So my poor son has been sick with a cold since Friday. No fever. Just a runny nose. They called from his school to suggest that I pick him up early. And sure enough, hubby and I both fell ill after our party guests left Saturday night. Today is Monday and time for school. After gauging that Joe was just fine, save for a runny nose, it was off to school for him. Last night I decided we were sleeping in. No waking up at 7am to get him to school for 8am. In fact, we woke up at 8am and my plan was to call the school (like a good and respectful parent) to advise them Joe would be late.

I proceed to explain to the teacher that answered the outdoor phone, to which she replied, clearly aghast, "Oh no, what happened?" I was not expecting that kind of What-terrible-thing-could-have-happened-to-prevent-you-from-respecting-the-rules-and-being-on-time reaction so I blubber, "Son's sick, I'm sick and we slept in". I then had to backpeddle a bit to explain that son was actually feeling better (really, he's well enough to come to school, I swear). "Oh, I think you should speak to Anna" (the boss).

I had composed myself again, apologized, but my son would be late. He would arrive at 9:15am. "Oh...well...you know that the children are inside at that time and that you will be interrupting things. Please make sure we make eye contact before you leave. That's very important."

Suddenly sleeping in didn't seem like a good idea anymore.

So we show up at 9:15am (on time, the new time that is). Of course, son had expected to walk down the rock path to join the children in the park and was visibly upset the routine had changed and we were going inside instead. I am not stupid. I do realize that this change of routine would impact him. But in my defense, I had planned to make it on time for the park drop-off and blame my boss for calling me with a work emergency that delayed the "getting ready for school routine". Anyway, I drag him inside and Anna comes over to greet us as the other children look on. She, of course, notices son is a bit "out of sorts".

"The reason for your lateness doesn't concern me," she states, "Please remember that it is extremely important to follow the routine and that your son is confused now because the routine was broken."

"Yes, I realize that," I try to explain. "It was a bad morning."
"I'm sure it was," she said. "But please try to be on time."

Translation: Dear Bad Mother, Get your lazy ass out of bed in the morning and get your son to school on time.

Swimming with the fishes

Little man's first ever swimming lesson was tonight. Dad was too busy to let me go shop for a bathing suit so he took the 1st turn in the pool with the 3 year old.

Little man has been in the water since he was under one, spending every day at the beach in Montenegro. Now we live in Sweden. The only beaches near us are filled with bacteria and of course, the weather rarely cooperates so...it's been awhile since he's been "swimming".

With the exception of...
1. The meltdown that occurred when he was forced under a shower before heading to the pool.
2. The fact that I got in trouble for taking photos of the little man's first swimming lesson with his Dad (yup, the teacher swam over to tell me one of the mothers was very uncomfortable with my camera. Hubby later told me I should have asked her, "Can you point out who she is so I can refrain from taking photos of her FAT ASS?")
3. The severe meltdown that occurred when the 30 minute swim session was over and he was forced to leave the pool.
...It was a great first swimming lesson! He really enjoyed all the singing, splashing, feet kicking and gallons of water swallowing.

At least now he knows what to expect so next time won't be so traumatic what with the shower scene, Mommy getting "told", and the whole "having to leave" thing. Did I mention he's in the CRAB class?

Gimme my IKEA Catalogue!

For crying out loud...

On our daily walk, where we once strolled along the boardwalk overlooking the Adriatic, we now roll past a neverending field of houses. And in front of said houses, stand POST boxes (mail boxes for those reading from the Americas). They all sort of look the same, with the word POST on the box. Most of these monochromatic POST boxes have "Ingen Reklam Tack" neatly written on them, meaning, "No flyers/junk mail please." Some even have stickers that talk about saving Sweden's trees. How typically environmentally compassionate of the Swedes.

But today I noticed a POST box with an unusual scrawl plastered over top of its Ingen Reklam Tack notice. It said, loosely translated, "Please leave the IKEA catalogue". I laughed. Out loud. I couldn't help it and I didn't care that the resident of said home just happened to be standing outside watering his flowers.

I guess all bets are off during the IKEA catalogue season. "Screw the trees, I want my 100+ page IKEA catalogue" the man seemed to proclaim loudly from the front of his POST box.

So, not only is the IKEA catalogue worth the effort of writing and attaching a notice on your POST box, but apparently, it's ok to pick and choose your junk mail in Sweden. Cool. Sorry, I have no Ingen Reklam Tack sign on my mail box. I like my flyers. Well, not all flyers. I mean, I don't need the ones from building supply stores. Come to think of it, I could do without the "Save the starving children in Africa for only 10 cents/day" ones too. I pay for enough kids already. As a matter of fact, I think I will take a few minutes today to compose a letter to our local POST person:

"Dear Mr. or Ms. POSTAL Worker,
I received some good news today, courtesy of a neighbour: We can pick and choose our junk mail! I haven't seen an order form, perhaps it got lost in the mail. That's ok. In case you were wondering why mine was the only house that you weren't customizing junk mail for, here's my list of approved junk mail:
- Local grocery store flyers: Perhaps it would be easier to just give me the one with the best deals? We eat a lot of meat here, so make that the one from the store that has the best deals on meat. But it should be meat that's typically expensive, like T-bone steaks or Sirloin.
- High quality, high gloss flyers: I would like to support those companies that spend a lot of money to market to me. So anything you deem printed on low-quality paper, I don't need to see. Exceptions: Shoes. Anything shoe-related is approved, regardless of paper stock.
- Anything witty or funny: I enjoy a good laugh so if there's anything with a photo of a fat dude poured into a Speedo, two old ladies salsa dancing, a homeless person begging for change or anything you deem laughable, stick it in. I'll trust your judgement on this. You could also mark the ones that are REALLY funny and I certainly wouldn't mind translations. It would help you practice your English too!
- One charity leaflet per month: I would ask you to refrain from putting these in my mail box but I certainly don't want to seem ungrateful for the food, running water, electricity and malaria-free country I live in. I mean children are dying every day in third world countries so the least I can do is read about them once a month. Plus, I wouldn't want the neighbours to think us spoiled and uncaring.
I reserve the right to change this list at any time, depending on my moods and tastes but I'm sure you're a busy POSTAL person so let's agree on changes once/month.
Kindly ring the bell anytime after 10am if you have any questions. I'm here to help!
Regards for a dry winter, SwedishJenn

PS. Did I mention you can get the IKEA catalogue AT the IKEA store?
Image credit: IKEA

From Hunky Dorey to Montessori

After four weeks of summer school (where he was the only constant) and two weeks at home with Mom, the little man started his new dagis on Monday.

Boy what a difference from his first daycare experience. Background Break: The dude had a nanny for the first two and a half years of his life. Then we moved to Sweden and he started daycare at a school a 30-second walk from our front door. Convenient, yes! Then we found out the school was likely closing for a myriad of reasons, mainly financial and due to the fact that the school is housed in converted apartments not ideally suited to a daycare facility. The parents continue to battle on to keep it open and have made enough of a stink that the local media has picked up the story.

I decided I wasn't that thrilled with the school anyway so figuring we'd have to move schools, I started looking around and happened on a Montessori school. For those unfamiliar with Montessori education, in a nutshell, it's about empowering the individual child to reach his/her full potential by allowing them to be independent and building their self-esteem. Teachers don't "teach" in a Montessori environment, they guide, direct, observe and redirect. After receiving an in-depth hour-long orientation and hearing stories like, "Oh yes, the children make coffee for us." "They help teach the younger children" "They know how to multiply by the time they're ready for school", how could I say No?

For one, Montessori schools in North American are EXPENSIVE. Here, I pay the same low monthly cost of 1260 SEK for 35 hours/week, which is about 200 Canadian dollars!!! Ok, so I also have to clean the place twice a year. But hey, what's a few pee-stained potties in exchange for a super genius son? (slight exagerration on the genius expectation but not the cleaning toilets part). Anyway, I can job out the cleaning to some kid for 750 SEK.

I digress (as usual)

Anyway, today was Day #3. We won't go back to Day #2. That was the day my angelic son changed to devil spawn: saying "No" to every request made by the teacher, constantly running out into the hall screaming, refusing to listen. I was mortified. But that was Day #2 (which involved me sitting in the hall outside the classroom for an hour). Day #3 involved me dropping him off outside and leaving for almost 2 hours. He cried but apparently not for long (his teacher called me an hour later with a report). I think my mother-in-law was right. He was probably wondering on Days 1 & 2 where the heck all the kids were. The first two days, no kids, just him and the director, one-on-one.

As per strict instructions, I arrived on time and waited outside. His teacher, let's call her Anna, came out to brief me on the day's events. A play-by-play: He read a dinosaur book, he played with a dinosaur puzzle. He was consoled by another English-speaking boy when he cried after I left. He played with blocks. She must have spoken to me for a solid 10 minutes and THEN informed me that there would be up to 5 parent/teacher evenings where we'd meet with her to discuss his development. WTF?!

All this for the rock bottom price of $200/month? (yes I realize this all comes back to us in heavy taxes, but still). His last school, though the teachers were kind enough, they NEVER paid that much attention to us! In fact, they didn't pay much attention at all, as evidenced by a few incidents where I freaked out over blatantly inadequate supervision.

Digressing again...

My point is this: Cautiously optimistic about this opportunity for the little man. It's gonna be a huge change for him AND for me but we're up for the challenge. I just hope they are...

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.