Fri-yay report writing

I say
“but it doesn’t matter to me, if you want to change it you can, of course. I just wrote it that way cause I thought it made the most sense.”

I mean
“it doesn’t matter to me, but it does a little bit, only because it’s right. And you can change it, but then it’d be wrong.”

I’m really easy to work with when
a) I actually don’t care
or
b) I respect the writing skills of the people I work with enough to let go

Otherwise I’m a total bitch of a co-worker.
I can feel it. But I can’t help it.

How’s that for half full

It’s starting to get cold. On the upside, dressing your toddler in enough winter gear to handle a bike ride, only to realize she needs a clean diaper, and redo the whole thing, totally counts as getting your cardio.

For the record

I just got off the phone with Niklas, Lou’s new preschool teacher. She’s starting early November, we are going to visit the school, the teachers and the other kids next week. The school is brand spanking new. Like they moved in last week.
We rode our bikes around the playground and the outside digs last weekend and it seems absolutely great.
Ronja aka “Jinja”, Lou’s cousin and hero, goes to this school. It’s close to our apartment. You get it. We’re excited.

But.

Niklas is no Julie.
No matter how great he is, and I’m sure he’s stellar, we will always miss Julie. And love her for letting Lou, and us, into her family with open arms. So while I’m stoked that Louisa will be attending a super nice preschool for a teeny tiny fraction of what it would have cost us to have her enrol at a similar facility the U.S…. I also want to point out that she in no way will be getting better care and more love there than she did at Julie’s.
That’s simply not possible.

Fuck this day

I haven't even started working yet and my eyes already hurt from crying. And also I'm pretty sure I need glasses but we don't really have a budget for that, so.
Anyways.

Taco Tuesday

Mexican food in Sweden is tacos. All of it. It’s like the new Jimmy Fallon book “Everything is Mama”. (If you haven’t read that yet and plan to, consider this your spoiler alert) New things, like an apple, a sloth, a flower, a hippo, are introduced to a child who goes Mama!

Book: Flower!
Kid: Mama!

Book: Car!

Kid: Mama!

Book: Banana!

Kid: Mama!

You get it.

Same with Swedes and Mexican food. Picture, if you will, any Mexican food joint in the U.S and the dishes they’d have on a menu.

Restaurant: Burrito!
Swede: Tacos!

Restaurant: Chimichanga!

Swede: Tacos!

Restaurant: Enchiladas!

Swede: Saucy Tacos!

If it goes with salsa
If there's a cactus and/or sombrero on the seasoning package
If you eat it with your hands and it’s not a hot dog

It’s tacos.
And we’re having some tonight.

Old stuff, new do

Dylan loves thrift stores.

To the point of can-I-please-buy-somehing-anything-not-from-adamnthriftstoreforonceplease…. It’s not like I dislike them, it’s just that sometimes I want stuff now (like gloves), and sometimes I want stuff new (like towels).

Anyhow, yesterday we went to a giant thrift store I’d never even heard of, and f-ing cleaned house. It was pretty awesome. We each got a bike helmet, I got a new ski helmet (which I’ve been wanting and needing for years, Dylan actually got me one for xmas a few years back (bran new too, from an online sale) but since I have a giant head it didn’t fit and we had to send it back, I got gore-tex winter shoes, a pair of jeans, Dylan got a suit jacket, we found this sweet old chest, mittens, and I don’t even know what else.

And last night it didn’t even rain and we took our new old helmets out for a bike ride along the river.   

Oh, and also, Dylan shaved his head. I had to help. He has a shitload of hair that man. I thought Lou would find it traumatic to see her dad go from long-haired to buzz cut, but she just ate macaroni and watched us trim his head and didn’t care.

they grow up so fast

Dylan took her to the library and let her pick out whatever book she wanted. You leave for three days and your baby is already headed for puberty....

In other news I woke up to my alarm this morning and didn't know what it was or where I was. Then I showered without anyone sitting on the toilet waving at me. And had serious plans for a slow and peaceful breakfast. The last part was cancelled and I barely had time to inhale an egg before driving a spaceship to the train station to pick up the morning's first speaker. Anyone who knows anything about my familiarity with new, modern cars that have buttons instead of keys and my sense of directions would have assumed the schedule was changed and me and my passenger arrived after lunch some time.

But no. We made it, on time. I am still surprised.  

I went over the speed limit of course. But since every cop in town was attending training at the conference center I was leaving, no worries there. 

Monday

I don’t think the streets have been dry in weeks. The weather feels like Chile, constant bursts of “refreshments”, that is windy rain in between spots of sun and cloudy gloom. The leaves fall and turn into wet, sticky piles of yellow hazard. Slick as shit when you ride your bike. Which I do now. 25 minutes door to door. I get to work slightly sweaty. I don’t really care.  

We had a good weekend. Lou got to play with Tyra (Tyyyja!) on Saturday and big cousin Ronja (Jinja) on Sunday. We are hoping to get her into a preschool sooner than later. She craves that social stimulation, you can tell. 6 am she is standing by the door, shoes in hand, just wanting to go find kids to play with.

I leave for a three day, two night trip with work tomorrow. I’ve never been away from her for two consecutive nights before. She’ll probably handle it better than I will.

The guilt

It never stops. No matter where I am, I feel like I should be somewhere else. Or do something else. Preferably at the same time.