Consise History of my Life as a Girl

3: realise I’m a girl. Understand physical difference between sexes, know that I’m just as worthy and capable as my brother. Sorted.

4-6: first loves, both sexes. Problems separating friendship and romantic love. Decide to marry my BF Karoline and live on a big farm.

7-8: decide to marry boys instead, five to be exact (nobody specific), have 20 kids and start popping them out around 16, “so that I am young enough to remember what it’s like to be a kid”. Good strategy for raising kids is to be one, apparently.

9-12: horse girl – good times! Not worried about boys, marriage or number of kids. In fact, great dislike toward boys, starting to understand about friendship though. Realise I’m not a girly-girl (no interest in clothes/hair, not nurturing or “nice”)

13-14: try being a tomboy, aqcuire male nickname and baggy clothes, but suck at sports and have few male friends. Read Harry Potter in secret, discover and try to hide that I’m actually an awkward nerd-type girl

15-16: abort previous “marriage with children”-plan (not that I could find five guys that would want to marry me anyway). Accept that I am a girl, and try instead being The Cool Girl. Fail (not charming, pretty or disinterested)

17-18: embrace awkward and nerdy with likeminded friends – fun times! Now worry alot about boys.

19-20: revert to Cool Girl to try and attract boys more successfully. Prettier now, drink beer like Robert Baratheon, sexually active. Terrible at shots though, not funny, too moody, suck at video games. Still manage to attract a boy

21-22: promptly revert to awkward and nerdy, go to university where this is appreciated, no longer worried about boys cause I have one – fun times!

23-25: marry boy that completes me (is charming, funny and can cook). Also my BF, do everything together but our own thaang too. Still confident that I live in a society of gender equality – fun times!

26-27: pregnant. maternity leave. Realise I am a woman. Embracing household chores, motherhood and nurturing suddenly expected – not so fun times. Only like tidying and organising (nerdy), not cleaning (a sport) or cooking (an art form).

28-29: complete higher education, start work. Empowerment levels temporarily restored. Suddenly worry about pension, pay levels, sick days, future pregnancies, future career, future of my daughter. Realise I’m a feminist.

Disclaimer. Do I need to point out that Matilda is the highlight of my life and that motherhood is of course empowering in many ways? Yes, I think unfortunately I do.

Should I be worried!? The child started cleaning the wheels of her stroller on her own accord after today’s walk…

Picture this…

It’s a Saturday morning in late August. There’s been a week or two of late summer storms followed by crisp autumn mornings. Then all of a sudden, you wake up to this…

Accross the street from our house

Two sisters (and one boyfriend) are visiting and while the coffee is brewing, there’s only one thing to do…

Ready?

Steady…

Go!

Assent on the Intake

If you’re Norwegian or if you know someone who is, you might recognise this habit we have of answering a yes-no question while breathing in, a kind of gasp-like noise that many find strange. It recently came up in a conversation with a friend who have also lived abroad for a few years, and funnily enough, it is very appropriately described in a novel I was just then reading.

Astrid does her funny in-breath that means a yes. Assent on the intake, Hannah calls it.

Lauren Groff’s novel Arcadia is about Bit, who grows up in the eponymous hippie commune in the 60-70’s and eventually has to face the world Outside where he remains into the present and beyond. Here, industry, exploitation of the world’s resources and global warming are having increasingly extreme effects on society, and no viable solutions are in sight.

Like the protagonist, this is a subtle, emotional, thoughtful and intelligent exploration of the conflict between assimilating into society and staying true to your beliefs. It shows the difficulty in sustaining a community where everyone’s welcome and anything goes, despite the fact that the core values and founding ideals (self-sufficiency, community, contribution, solidarity) are genuinely good. Eventually, problems with leadership, segregation, corruption and regulation, the very issues they are trying to avoid, will start to seep into the closed community.

As such, both Arcadia and the Outside are presented through their many flaws, especially when considering the different faiths of the many “kidlets” who were raised in Arcadia but only truly grow up once outside. When the two worlds intercept, a wide range of reactions take place for which both worlds are partly responsible. Additionally, the novel shifts between an exploration of the interchangeable influence the larger community and the closer bonds of family have on Bit.

Nevertheless, through the beautiful descriptions of his amazing childhood experiences and the struggles with finding his proper place outside, there is a sense that large-scale catastrophe could have been avoided had the basic principles of Arcadia (and pre-industrial revolution societies) continued to have a more central position in the world at large. By starting in an authentic past, progressing to the actual present and placing the final part of the novel in the immediate future, Groff simultaneously hints that even if we could change the ways of our society, we have already run out of time – a chilling notion that had this Norwegian gasping in assent.

Other similar novels (climate/resource/society-related dystopias):

• The Age of Miracles – Karen Thompson Walker
• The Swarm – Frank Schätzing
• Mino-triologien (Mengele Zoo, Himmelblomsttreet, Afrodites basseng) and Chimera – Gert Nygårdshaug
• Freedom – Jonathan Frantzen (not a dystopia as such, but similar in themes and tone, and a personal favourite)

The Strongest Girl in the World

It’s all well and good for me to digitally vent about the choices and changes we are dealing with right now, but Matilda is just as affected by this of course, and she has no blog, poor thing. Luckily, she is exceptionally clever and can tell me a lot about how she feels in her own words, and if all else fails, a good-ol’ tantrum will usually get my attention too!

The two of us have been on the go since the end of March, and not one day has been the same as the one before. So after starting a new preschool  last week and with a particularly eventful day for both of us on Wednesday, we decided to take the day off  Thursday and just chill out around the house. At lunchtime we sat down and watched Pippi on the Run, munching on our chocolate spread bread. Pippi is one of Tilly’s (and my) heroes, and known of course as the strongest girl in the world. She handles every situation with a laugh, but she also has incredible depth and warmth.

We sometimes ask a lot of our two-and-a-half year old and lately I’m just in awe by how well she deals with and settles in to all this newness, facing most situations with curiosity and enthusiasm but also letting me know clearly when enough is enough and rest is required, drawing comfort and security from every resource available to her. I’m impressed and inspired by how strong she seems to me, and sometimes I think I couldn’t have done this without her.

With Batman’s cape, Pippi’s socks and her bunny and dummy safely clasped in her hands, she is ready for whatever the world throws at her

Baby on Board

This is written in Norwegian because it started out as a reply to a blog post on a Norwegian blog. It’s about air travel with tiny kids and huge amounts of luggage. 

Dette begynte egentlig som et svar på dette blogginnlegget fra en blogg jeg kan anbefale på det sterkeste. Så ble jeg revet med.

Fordi vi ikke bor i nærheten av noen, har vi reist avsindig mye i løpet av Matildas korte liv. Noen reiser har gått som en drøm, andre har vært et rent helvete. De fleste har medført digre svetteringer, dyp jogapusting og på det beste vært gode øvelser i teamwork. På det værste har det satt forholdet på prøve.

Fordi vi hadde en relativt kort mellomlanding denne jula og fordi bagasje er dyrt, bestemte vi oss for å reise kun med håndbagasje, noe som endelig kunne la seg gjøre med barn i eget sete og med egen bagasje i splitter ny Trunki. Ikke vogn, bilsete, stellebag og 80 kilo innsjekka bagasje, og vi ga familien streng beskjed om at vi kun aksepterte julegaver av typen som får plass i lommeboka. Vi sjekka inn på forhånd, smatt gjennom sikkerhetskontrollen og var først på flyet. Tidsfordriv plan A: ny juleklistremerkebok med 1000 klistremerker. Plan B: fulladet iPad med fire sesonger Peppa Pig og Ole Brumm-film i tilfelle forsinkelser.

– Ikke få ketchup på babyen!

Matilda var bare et par måneder gammel første gang vi dro på juleferie til Irland for to år siden. Da måtte vi bytte på å “do the sleepy dance” (gynge-hoppe-svinge hele kroppen og klappe rytmisk på babyrygg) i midtgangen i tre kvarter for at hun skulle sovne. Flyet var to timer forsinka og vi hadde en tre timers kjøretur i sludd og mørke fra Dublin til Cork foran oss. En halvtime før landing kom beskjeden, “due to weather conditions in Dublin, we are sorry to announce that we have been redirected to… Cork”. Gledestårene sto i øynene mine, sjelden har jeg vært så letta. Soving på fly har vi i grunnen sjelden fått til, bortsett fra ti minutter før landing da…

Sommeren etter tilbrakte vi stort sett på en liten øy i Danmark, men da vi skulle reise hjem hadde vi plutselig opparbeidet pinlig mye bagasje. Det kan ikke være mulig at to voksne mennesker kan reise i ukesvis med hver sin lille koffert og så når en pittepitteliten tass dukker opp så eksploderer det fullstendig?! Hvis ikke jeg husker feil hadde vi med oss en klappvogn slæsj bæremeis, en prampack stappfull av alt mulig crap, ett bilsete, en svær ryggsekk, to små, en mellomstor og en gedigen koffert, pluss en sportsbag. I tillegg skulle vi reise med ferge (uten bil, så klart) og buss til Aalborg. Der ble vi henta, men Steve og ryggsekken måtte ta bussen hjem til min farmor for det var ikke plass til dem i den gedigne BMWen. Vi bestilte minibusstaxi til flyplassen kl. fem neste morgen og sjåføren lo av oss. Vi mellomlandet og sjekket inn bagasjen igjen i København og tok ny megataxi hjem. På plussiden trengte vi ikke pakke ut, for vi skulle flytte i ny leilighet samma uka. Puh.

Klok av skade var vi denne gangen en velsmurt effektivitetsmaskin som high-fivea da vi ikke ble stoppa i sikkerhetskontrollen, ristet oppgitt på hodet av saueflokken på Ryanair som ikke klarte å finne seg en ledig plass og vi fikk til og med nytt hver vår velfortjente boksøl. Det gikk i det hele tatt veldig greit. Men jeg må innrømme at jeg skulte stygt på dama som leste avisa hele veien mens mannen hadde søt-liten-pludre-baby på fanget som sovna helt plutselig, av seg selv.

Og for de som lurer, når du reiser med spedbarn på Norwegian kan du sjekke inn:

• 1 prampack
• 1 bilsete
• 2×20 kg per voksen (betalt)
• 1×5 kg per barn

Og på flyet kan du ha med deg:

• 1 klappvogn (til gate)
• 1×10 kg håndbagasje per voksen
• Mat og drikke til barnet

 

A Connected Christmas

I read a lot about social media. I also spend a lot of time on it, and I discuss it with people around me. Recently, I went to lunch with my husband and two friends (one who is not even on FB) and was surprised to discover that they were very protective of their online identity, proudly announcing that they were ungoogleable. Similarly, a friend was just added on FB by someone with such a limited profile she couldn’t even work out where she lived. Contrastingly, an old friend I was virtually reacquainted with recently shares so much and so intimately I sometimes feel like we’ve spent a few hours chatting over a bottle of wine after reading her blog. I think social media is great because I never liked chatting on the phone and I prefer doing business in writing. I will also admit that I thoroughly enjoy keeping up with friends and family without it necessarily being through direct contact.

This Christmas my FB news feed has exploded with pictures of beautifully decorated trees and toddlers in holiday bliss, my own included, which is probably annoying for many. In fact, I have a FB friend who has been known to complain about new parents’ over-sharing, particularly about nappy contents, and has lately decided to get back at them by posting pics of her cats’ litter box complete with feces. Nevertheless, I relate and thus enjoy (idyllic Christmas posts, that is. I too draw the line at poo, human and animal.)

In online media, the Christmas holidays is also a time for reviewing the year that is nearing its end. The FB timeline is great for this purpose, especially if you are like me and tend to share mostly good stuff. Scrolling back through 2012, I find remarkably little about my stressful and rather lonely spring semester as a distance student. Rather, I relive a fantastic trip to Rome with my bestest friends in March, family and friends visits to Prague and an unbelievably successful end to the semester in Copenhagen that started with an oral exam and ended with birthday celebrations.

I remember a looooong, isolated summer in Norway with very little money and a very hard-working husband. Nevertheless I was able to squeeze in a trip to Læsø, two fairytale weddings and a couple of trips to Ireland. Not to mention several happy days and merry nights spent with aforementioned bestest friends and family. This autumn’s thesis hardship and preschool adjustment drama all but fade, and into focus comes Matilda’s second and Steve’s thirtieth birthday parties and the highlight of 2012 – an intimate, literary gathering in the library of one of my favourite author’s, Gert Nygårdshaug.

Tantrums, viruses and bugs, stress and despair, shouting and crying, and the fact that I haven’t slept past 8 am the whole year (which aren’t apparent on FB), are but distant memories. On FB I only see how my darling Matilda has grown into a proper little girl this year. I see the three of us at playgrounds and restaurants and lounging at home and realise how lucky we are to be able to spend so much time together.

Granted, my FB profile might not give an accurate account of me and my life in 2012, but it is definitely gives me high hopes for 2013. I therefore wish you many likes in the new year!

Lambrusco Lunch with the sisters and the Ida’s in Oslo. Cheers!

Christmas Markets and Adjusting Your Expectations

Every Christmas, market places around Prague are transformed into medieval villages by the appearance of little huts where home made crafts, decorations, traditional food and drink, and of course plastic toys and souvenirs are sold. Huge trees light up the place, and not only that, December is usually cold and crispy with a chance of snow. Perfect setting for getting that warm and sparkly Christmas spirit! For a country that has more or less left religion behind, they are all the more concerned with tradition. This combination suits me very well.

All day yesterday I was waiting like a child for the sun to set so that our little family could stroll down to my favourite market at Náměstí Miru. My head was spinning with anticipation over how my two-year-old would react to the beautiful tree and the special atmosphere created by adults chatting, children running around and the smells of hot wine and trdelnik (cake-thingy similar to a cinnamon bun). The fact is, being able to feel like a child again at Christmas is one of the main reasons I wanted to have kids in the first place.

It started well. She had her boots on before I could finish the sentence, “Do you want to go outside and look at a big Christmas tree?”, and like I expected, at the sight of the tree she explaimed, “Wooooooooow!!” with an enthusiasm only available to two-year-olds. We should have turned and gone home then, all three happy and full of that Christmas glow.

“Wooooooow!”

But I wanted trdelník and Steve wanted medovina (honey wine, as delicious as it sounds) and Matilda wanted a closer look at the Christmas tree. Since her birthday in October, she has fully grasped the concept of presents. She has also gathered that there is a connection between presents and Christmas trees, don’t ask me how. We queued for our treats, the child growing steadily more impatient, and when we finally made it over to the tree, imagine our surprise when she burst out crying, “Where are all the presents!?”.

“Where are all the presents!?”

We tried distracting her with the pretty lights, but to no avail. After half an hour we were all ready to go home. “I’m disappointed”, I said to Steve. “Don’t be”, he comforted. “She is tired and overwhelmed, and this is what kids do. You can’t take it personally and you can’t get upset every time this happens.” I was planning on ending this post with something like “And this is what growing up is like. Being a parent means you will never feel the same way about Christmas again”. However, I am listening to carols and therefore choose to end on a more cheerful note. I realise that Christmas spirit doesn’t come from the tree or the market or the smells or the presents in themselves. They come from tradition, and right now, my daughter doesn’t have any. By taking her to the Prague markets and carrying on the traditions Steve and I grew up with, I will eventually get to experience Christmas through her eyes. I do believe in Santa, I do, I do!

Look at the pretty lights!