Joy Pockets #2

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

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

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

Great job little man!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

People of Sweden: Please Pick up your Sh*t

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These people are pooping all over Sweden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joy Pockets: My Very First!

I really enjoy reading Mon's Joy Pockets over at Bohemian Twilight.

To quote my favourite Guru Mon, "No matter what is going on in our lives finding the little moments that bring us some joy reminds us what we are here for...

to love life.

I find that on a tough week, reminding myself of the pockets of joy puts everything into perspective.
On the great weeks, it's worth doubling the joy with a look back."

So here are my first, coming at a great time after a rough week.

Pride, from preparing my husband's newly favourite meal for his 51st birthday

Realizing I'm relying less and less on Google Translate to read and write Swedish

The pitter patter of sleepy feet entering our room at 5 every morning

Fresh flowers delivered by happy eyes

Sweet cinnamon tea with a sweet friend

Saying No to an unnecessary expense

And finally, This:

Share your Joy Pockets!

Over the Hill

In so many ways. Hubby turned 51. I told him he was officially over the hill and that we were gonna enjoy the ride "down" together :-). So far, it's been rather bumpy. I struggle to remember all of those motivational quotes that resonate with me lately. Try to figure out how I can apply them to our life. Don't get me wrong here. We have a great one. We're all healthy, we have what we need (and even some stuff we don't), a beautiful place to live, two great sons and a supportive extended family, and a job we're passionate about.

But sometimes it feels as though we're chasing that always elusive toy mouse. Just when we think we've caught up to him, he darts under the couch. How long will it take for that thing's battery to run out anyway? Because it seems like we're waiting for just that. For us, lately, it's been about the destination, not the journey. I need some perspective. I need a lightbulb or an Oprah-esque AHA! moment. Care to be the catalyst?

Not sure how much hard work has to do with "success" these days. No one I know works harder than my husband. Ok, I'm sure there are people but seriously, this man is a machine. Unfortunately, if he keeps going at this rate, the screws will loosen and the machine will malfunction. I feel helpless. No wisdom to impart, no real "help" to offer in the ways he really needs it (ok, I suppose I could be writing and editing some docs right now but I need my blog therapy).

My husband is passionate about what we're doing. He can get people excited and motivated. He will do whatever it takes. He's smart. He's charming. But he also can't do it all. He needs help and I feel lost as to how to help him. At the end of the day, I want the good guy to win. To get what he deserves. To be able to put his feet up (not fully, cuz he goes mad when he has nothing to do), to relax a little and to be able to say to himself, "I did it!" He has accomplished so much already and under crazy circumstances but he's not there yet. And I'm not referring to money.

Entrepreneurs are like Parents,  the greatest satisfaction comes from seeing your baby grow up and blossom into a wonderful adult. You know that you were instrumental in its development, its success, its beauty. You nurtured it, spent countless sleepless nights worrying about it, you were there when it took its first baby steps, watched as it hit milestone after milestone.

I want my husband, the Dad, the Entrepreneur to see his baby graduate, to swell with emotion as he looks back with pride. To know all the sacrifices he made, the blood, sweat and tears were worth it. He has done it as the Dad, he will do it again and he WILL do it as the Entrepreneur.

Faith, Hope and Love, Jenn xo

Kraftskiva: Crayfish Party and Shit Fish

Since my blog is titled "A Blonde in Sweden", thought I'd move past the blonde moments and focus a bit on the Swedish ones for this post.

Boy you Swedes sure have invented plenty of excuses to drink yourselves (and your foreign guests) into oblivion. From The King's Birthday to Midsummer, the summer itself of course, every weekend and now we have discovered The Chaos of Crayfish that descends upon Sweden just as everyone returns from the summer hiatus of July.

I still consider ourselves newbies here but this past weekend, we were invited to not one but TWO "kräftskiva's"...that's Crayfish for you non-Swedes. These parties involve a) Bringing and eating your own crayfish, pre-packaged and available at all the grocery stores b) Wearing funny hats and c) Singing Swedish drinking songs (for which lyrics are provided!) and shooting Swedish schnapps. d) Getting really drunk, and likely equally sick, which according to Swedes is due to the crayfish juice and whatever alcoholic beverage you're consuming not getting along in your tummy.

Me and the friend having a crayfish fight. Silly hats..check.

Optional: Cheese pie. But a special kind of cheese pie called Vasterbotten (sp?). It's yummy.

WARNING!!!!!! Please be advised that should you be attending a proper Kraftskiva, there will another "special" dish on the table. And it's not "special" in the nice way either. It's "special" in that other way. You'll know it. Not when you see it, but when you smell it. It's fermented herring "surströmming" and its scent is likely extracted from the EXCREMENT plant. "Eau de SHIT". As my hubby so lovingly commented, "The only good thing about this is that you can fart within a 50 meter radius and noone would know it was you." If someone says to you, "This is the shit." when referring to this traditional fish, they mean it literally.

One of these things is not like the other. I'll give you a hint. It's in the red can!!!!!!!!!

It was pouring rain during this first Kräftskiva and under normal circumstances I would consider the walled-in tent protecting us from the elements a welcome solution. Unfortunately, it was keeping the element in. Sorry, elementS as there were six cans of this whoop ass (again, take that literally) strategically placed on the long tables for all to uhmmm...enjoy?

Being the sports we are and no thanks to hubby's rationale of "There's no way it can taste as bad as it smells", we tried it. The idea is to grease up two pieces of flat brad, load some potatoes onto it and sandwich the fermented herring between them. Let's just say I will forever question hubby's rationalization skills from that moment forward. It.was.awful. So horrific that I had to spit it into my napkin, unapologetically I might add. I spent the next ten minutes flushing the taste sensation from my abused mouth with copious amounts of alcohol.

To be fair, according to Swedes, you either Love it or you Hate it. In my humble opinion, they need to bring back Fear Factor and put this on the menu in place of cockroaches and larvae. If I had the choice, bring on the bull testicles!

So, this was Crayfish Party #1. I refused to enter Crayfish Party #2 the next evening until I was absolutely certain red cans were nowhere in sight. I'm still having flashbacks...

You're welcome for the warning.

Bad Friend

It's been called to my attention recently, and rightfully so, that I've been a bad friend. And that got me thinking about all of you. Granted, I really don't know how many of you are out there but this January, I disappeared. And those of you who know me personally, reached out to me via Facebook asking what was up. I can only imagine how that must have felt, you regular readers getting a nice little "Access Denied" when loading my blog page. I know my first thought would have been, "Have I done something wrong?" The answer is "Nothing, I'm the one that did something wrong." I know fellow bloggers who announce an absence. I did not.

I owe you all an explanation AND an apology. I panicked when I found out that my well-meaning husband shared my blog address with a group of people this blog was not intended for and well, I shut it down until the smoke cleared. And then kept it shut down for 8 long months with nary an explanation or thought to those friendships I had developed here in cyberspace. And I have realized, thanks to this dear friend, that just because I can't see or speak to you personally, does not mean that you haven't been actual friends to me since I started this blog two or so years ago.

Many of you have cried with me, laughed with me and been there for me. And I too, had attempted to do the same for many of you. And then, one day, I discarded you all. And I'm so sorry.

The friend who called attention to my bad friend status had been a friendship that blossomed in cyberspace but also a person I had a physical friendship with. We had met, shared a wonderful day together and then for almost a year, we had little contact. My initial reaction when I read her email was to say, "Well, you didn't reach out to me either!" but if the shoe were on the other foot, I likely would have had her same reaction. "Is it something I said/did?" The answer is an honest "No." But the truth is, I left a beautiful, blossoming friendship without the nurturing it deserved and then I had the nerve to wonder how it could have died. And worse, try to "explain it away."

I've been thinking long and hard about how I could have let this happen. "I've been busy with work/parenting, etc." "They never reached out to me." "Sometimes you just drift apart". "Real friends can go long periods of time without speaking but when they do, it's like no time has passed." Excuses, excuses.

Having lived in two different countries in the last five years, I've gone through periods of loneliness, complaining about my lack of flesh and blood friends. You've all read the posts. Well, after 2 and a half years here in Sweden, I have developed some dear physical friendships but have ignored those more "virtual ones", the ones that sustained me and held me up during those periods of loneliness. And that's wrong and makes me feel sad, guilty and shallow. But it's not about "me, me, me" and how I feel and I don't expect anyone to pat me on the back and say "there, there". Not after this long absence. I don't expect anything in return for this post. But it is an apology. And it's up to all of you if you accept it or not.

I am asking for your forgiveness but do not expect it. Today I will reach out to those bloggy friends individually, who have been there for me and apologize personally.

Thank you for reading and thank you for your friendship.
Sincerity, Honesty and Love, SwedishJenn

A letter to my son on his 5th Birthday

It seems kind of fitting that after an 8th month absence, I'm opening my blog back up with this post. The past several months I have been contemplating dusting off my little shelf in cyberspace but just couldn't seem to bring myself to do it. Until today. I'll try to explain my absence in my next post but until then...

My baby turned 5 on July 30 and this time, we were surrounded by our family back "home" in Canada to celebrate. In fact, we had two parties. One with hubby's extended family of Aunts and cousins on my stepson's 25th where we co-celebrated and another with the small group of us and my Aunt and Uncle on his actual birthday. Both days were filled with cake, presents, photos and lots of laughter.

You're a whole hand now. 5 years old. The past year has featured so many highlights including our Summer 2010 trip to your homeland in Montenegro for 3 weeks, Christmas spent in Sweden, a visit from our Russian friends, a slew of birthday parties, a weekly music class, another move to a better neighbourhood with some friendly friends, your very first performance at your school's end of the year concert (ask me if I cried with pride) and a month-long holiday in Canada (from Ontario to Nova Scotia, PEI and back to Ontario). And just a day after our arrival back home, Daddy and I surprised you by taking you to a beautiful zoo, Kolmården, here in Sweden. We told you we were going to the library and when we arrived you proclaimed, "But this is not a LIBAWEE!!!"

You're so much taller, your hair is getting darker (well except in the summertime when it lightens up), you still love anything chocolate and your passion for animals is stronger than ever. Everybody who has the pleasure of knowing or meeting you says the same thing, "He's such a great little boy!"

This year you've developed your own little spirit. You will tell someone if what they're doing bothers you. You cry only when your little heart has been injured, if a favourite toy is broken or if a friend hurts your feelings. It's hard not to cry when you do because your tears come from genuine sadness.

You surprise me with your sincere and unexpected proclamations, "Mommy, I like you." and are constantly questioning the universe so that I'm running to Google at least a few times a day. "Why does the wind blow the clouds?"

In so many ways, you're fearless. After a long time out of the water, you jumped right in to Nanny and Papa's pool and let me teach you how to doggy paddle, flat out refusing a floating device. When we took you to Canada's Wonderland with Nana, you went on every thrill ride they'd let you on. While I was screaming, you were laughing and shouting, "I want to go AGAIN!" I hope this quality stays with you as you grow so that you're never afraid to try something new. And I also hope I can learn to watch without being that freaked out helicoper Mom.

Our little Picasso. You have developed a love for drawing. It started with depictions of stick people with big heads and has progressed to full-out monsters and now farm animals. You get your artistic ability from your Dad, trust me on that. A year ago, we couldn't get you to make a line on a piece of paper and now you're colouring is even better than mine!



You're loving and thoughtful, often insisting on stopping off at the store to buy flowers for Mommy and hiding them behind your back for a big unveiling. Daddy can count on the doorbell ringing at around 4:30 when you arrive home from school for a big hello hug when he opens the door.

I love playing outside with your new neighbourhood friends and you definitely take after both of us with your outgoing nature. And still, we can always count on your sleepy body making its way into our bedroom early every morning for a few hours of snuggly sleep.

It's like I'm trying to remember every small detail, gesture, facial expression or new skill you've picked up just so that I can hold onto these memories and maybe, somehow, keep your fleeting smallness in my pocket for a little while longer. Your the best little boy in the whole wide world and we're so privileged to be the two people you call "Mommy" and "Daddy".