Just In Case You Wondered...

Christopher, please clean up your room. Your friends are coming over and this place is a pigsty!

Mamma, all boys' rooms look like this. Trust me. I know.

Christopher's Last Day

How To Plan A Goodbye Party for Grade 5 Students

In advance:
Buy cups, plates and napkins - check
Buy fruit and drinks - check
Buy present and flowers for teacher - check
Beg sister to bake famous chocolate cake for the second time in four days - check
Order pizzas for pickup at 10:45 am - check

Morning of:
Pop popcorn - check
Cut up fruit - check
Carry drinks, present, flowers and snacks to car - check
Pick up pizza - check

During:
Feverishly replenish drinks while marvelling at the amount of pop children can consume in 5 seconds flat - check
Make sure everyone has access to pizza and kick yourself because you ordered too many 'nacho' pizzas and not enough of the plain pepperoni pizzas - check
Prepare slices of chocolate cake without accidentally eating too much for the yummy frosting - check
Take tens of pictures of your boy wonder with his friends, amazed at how seamlessly and easily he fits in after only a few months in the class - check
Try hard not to cry when the class presents your son with an album of personal messages, photos and mementos for him to bring back home to Canada - check

After:
Shed a tear as you walk home again, relieved at how well everything has worked out, but sad that it is coming to an end - check
Wonder how come your son never mentioned any of the cute girls in the class, when they all seemed very taken with him - check

Attached

I looked at the computer clock as I clicked Enter to see that it was 9:03 pm on Friday evening. Then I plonked myself on the couch to continue watching 'Mr. and Mrs. Smith' (yes, the last person in the Universe to see it - and how come no one told me not to bother?).

10 minutes later, the first text message came in. Followed by another, and another and yet another. I checked my emails an hour later, and there were 5 replies. The landline rang at 10:30 pm.

Clearly we'd seriously underpriced the trampoline in the online ad.

The text messages, emails and calls kept coming all weekend long.

Using the 'first come first serve' principle, the trampoline will be picked up this evening. I'm planning on keeping Christopher inside and safely ensconced in the basement, in front of his beloved computer.

The less he knows, the better for him. Judging from the teary drama he put on when I tried to get him to throw out the holey socks he was wearing the other day ("But these are my favourite socks"), I don't know how he'll react if he finds out his trampoline is gone.

Better to just leave him believing it's still safely stored in the garage. It's not like we'll be able to put it up before we leave anyway, what with all the snow that fell yesterday, and more in the forecast for this upcoming week.

But that knot in my tummy? It just grew another few centimeters.

Moving sucks.

Treat Time!

We had raclette for dinner last night. Christopher has been waiting for this ever since he had it in the UK at New Year's. He was so excited, which is a good thing, considering how ridiculously unimportant food is to him.

I've mentioned this before -- but he's 11 and he is still not eating more than a sparrow. A sparrow on a protein-only diet, that is.

Despite his infectious excitement last night, he only ate a bit of bacon, an egg and a couple of pieces of chicken. Dr. Atkins would've loved him like his own.

Of course, I've taken it upon myself to compensate for his lack of an appetite, certainly if we go by caloric intake. My sweet tooth has been out of control for the last, oh, 6.5 months. Ever since we came to the land of



How am I ever going to be able to leave a country that markets delicious milk chocolate wafers as a 'quick lunch'?

Seriously. The chocolate here is THAT good.




To prove that it is not just me, and in honour of Valentine's Day (and possibly to spread the pounds...I mean...eh...BOUNDS of joy!), I'm going to send one lucky commenter a box of delicious, ecstacy-inducing, Norwegian CHOCOLATE.

So go on, leave me a comment about your Valentine's Day plans, how chocolate once saved your life, or just to say hi.

Best friend random.org will pick a winner on Tuesday at 9 am EST, and voila! A day in chocolate heaven could be yours!

Happy Valentine's, everyone :)

Edited to add: For awesome pictures and a funny take on Valentine's, especially if you like wine or have kids, check out MamaGeek's amazing photo skillz and wit at What Works For Us! She's got it all - except Norwegian chocolate, of course...

Morning Madness

Any weekday morning, in Norwayland. Everyone's finished their breakfast but the B boy.

"Benjamin, eat your breakfast."
"Okay."

[2 minutes later]

"C'mon, eat your food - and lean over the plate."
"Okay."

[Another minute later]

"Eat!"
"Okay!"

"I have to go to the bathroom."
"All right, go, but hurry up then."

[1 minute later, he's out of the bathroom. I've left the kitchen and he walks by me in the family room]

"Okay good, now go back and finish your breakfast."
"Mmmmm!"

[2 minutes later, I call from the family room]

"Benjamin, are you eating?"

[Silence, then with a mouth full of food]

"I am eating, mamma."
"Okay, good, finish up now. You've been sitting there for almost 20 minutes. You're not going to be able to watch any cartoons before school if you keep this up."

[Wail of unhappiness]

[2 minutes later]

"Benjamin, are you done now?"
"Almost."

[1 minute later]

"I have to go to the bathroom."
"Again? Go then, but please hurry up."

[5 minutes later]

"Benjamin, are you still in the bathroom?"
"Yeah..."
"Are you coming out anytime soon?"
"I guess so."
"Well, come out then."
"Okay."

[Exits the bathroom]

"Now go finish your breakfast - quickly!'

[Runs to the kitchen - comes back immediately]

"I am done with my breakfast."
"Eat the crust, too."

[Clearly stunned by my telepathic abilities, he stomps back into the kitchen]

"And finish your drink."
"Arrrrgh!"

[Comes back again with his mouth full of food, mumbling something about being done]

"Excellent. Now go get dressed. Pappa put clothes out on your bed for you."
"Dressed...arrgh!"

[Mumble, mumble in room...finally comes out partially dressed]

"Where are your socks?"

[Another wail of despair]

"Then you have to go brush your teeth."
"Hmmph."

[Marches off to the bathroom again, still sockless]

[I hear the Tooth Tunes toothbrush from the bathroom]

"And don't forget to MOVE your toothbrush when you brush. It won't do any good if you just push it against your front teeth to hear the song."

[More sounds of frustration as the toothbrush was clearly being pressed against said teeth, and then comes out of the bathroom to illustrate his stellar brushing skillz]

"Thanks for the demonstration B boy, but please don't walk out of the bathroom with the toothbrush. And LEAN OVER the sink so you're not dripping everywhere."

[Back to the bathroom he goes]

[Song stops playing, Benjamin throws the toothbrush down into the sink and rushes back out into the family room, finally done]

[He looks at the Tom & Jerry episode just starting on TV. The frustration of the last 40 minutes instantly forgotten as he cracks a huge smile of recognition and jumps onto the couch]

"This is a good one, Chris!"
"Mmm," says Christopher, who's been sitting calmly watching cartoons for the last 20 minutes.

In Your Eleventh Year...

You goofed off with your brother...



You hiked...



And you baked...



You pursued your love of animals...



Of all types....



You played in the water...



And in the snow...



You did a lot of hanging out with family and friends...



Including your brand new baby cousin...



You even learned to pose...



But throughout it all, you remained our very first boy wonder:



Happy Birthday, Christopher!

I'm A Survivor...

Thank you all for your sympathetic responses to my w(h)ine-infused post.

Lesson learned: greasy pizza and a darkened movie theatre do wonders for a hangover. Who knew?!

[The Lady Who Doesn't Lunch and Aliki2006 suggested as much, but I'm sure they based that purely on anecdotal evidence. Right, ladies?]

The boys were great at the restaurant. At least I think they were. They were sitting across the room from us, and although we did hear the occasional roaring laughter and saw a few boys run around a bit - evidently sneaking lollipops is still popular with the pre-teen crowd - we sat so far away from them, we were able to enjoy our meal in peace. It was quite civilized, really (though I'm not sure if the people sitting immediately next to our boys would agree. Alas).

Then onwards to the movie theatre. Again we were sitting behind the boys, in the last row in the theatre. The chairs were huge and comfy (better be at $17 dollars a ticket), and even though I had to stop a couple of the boys from throwing popcorn at fellow moviegoers, overall, things went very smoothly indeed. I was even able to close my eyes for a bit.

Even better, when the movie was done, all the parents were waiting outside to pick up their respective offspring. No straggler parent making us wait for hours with their stranded kidlet (good thing, too, as it was wet and miserable).

But best of all, Christopher was thrilled with his day and that his friends all showed up for his party.

So now we're getting ready for his actual birthday tomorrow. It will be a low-key affair, with just my family joining us for dinner. On the menu are crepes, and only crepes. Birthday boy's choice, of course!

And completely non-alcoholic.

Santa Lucia: To Sing And To Shop

Warning: Braggedy-braggy post ahead.

December 13th is Santa Lucia day in Scandinavia, and this morning my boys' school gathered their students in a darkened gym. There they waited until an elected girl, portraying St. Lucy, solemnly walked into the room dressed in white, wearing a crown of candles. She was followed by a procession of other little girls, also wearing white, each holding a single candle. They slowly made their way around the room, while singing hymns to Santa Lucia in their high children's voices.

I have vivid memories of being chosen as a candle girl at my school one year, and how my hands shook as I stood outside the door, waiting to go into the gym. I was fearful of the candle in my hands, and nervously excited about singing to the rest of the school. When the moment finally arrived, I recall being amazed at how quiet and enraptured my fellow students seemed as we entered the room, and what a lovely light the flickering candles cast in the gym. To an 8 year old girl, the experience was oddly moving.

Even though boys play no part in the Santa Lucia procession, I was excited for my children to experience the ceremony for the first time ever this year. What would they think of the singing? And the candles? Would they be overwhelmed by the feelings of peace and joy that I still clearly remember 30 years later, even though they'd be spectators and not participants?

I guess I'll have to ask Benjamin about that, since Christopher ended up being in the procession after all. And no, not as a girl - even though his much contested long hair might cause you to mistake him for one.

You see, recent discoveries apparently have it that, in addition to white-clad angels, Santa Lucia was also followed by a posse of Norwegian stable boys.*

Who knew?

As head stable boy, Christopher ended up singing - solo - in front of the entire school in this year's Lucia production, wearing the typical stable boy outfit of a traditional, knitted sweater, short pants and long red woolen socks.

Judging from his blank expression when I tried to share my own memories of Lucia with him this afternoon, I'm pretty sure he didn't feel all mystical and powerful, either.

He did, however, believe this to be a good first step on the way to his chosen career of "being famous." I guess that's something.

*Equal opportunity taken to a new level, clearly.

****************************************************

In other Christopher news, my the-universe-revolves-around-me-eldest-born-child just came out of bed to ask me if I can drive him to a mall tomorrow and leave him there. He wants to go shopping for his Christmas presents by himself, because "this year I want you to be surprised, not like last year, when you knew all the presents ahead of time".

[Gulp]

That puddle you're standing in is my melting heart.

Where Did These Boys Come From?

This morning was a little stressful. Mike flew back to Canada for a couple of weeks, and thus woke the boys up slightly earlier than usual to say goodbye. True to form, B boy hardly budged from his curled up position, hidden from view by a massive blanket.

Christopher cried.

Christopher has a very difficult time saying goodbye. He will agonize over an upcoming farewell for weeks (which is why we rarely tell him in advance), and he'll fall apart as the moment finally arrives. There'll be tears and long hugs. It's hard and I know Mike hates saying goodbye to him. Benjamin, meanwhile, takes everything in stride. He'll give you a hug, and then he's off playing. Seemingly without a care in the world.

But the funny thing is -- once you're gone, Christopher is fine. Almost immediately, he's back to chattering about this and that, totally focused on everything around him, apparently oblivious to the fact that anyone's missing. He may mention it at bedtime, but only occasionally. And when you're back, while he's happy to see you, there's no big reunion hugs of affection. It's almost like you never left.

Benjamin, meanwhile, suffers pangs of loneliness if someone's missing from his little world. He'll recreate the moment of farewell - the one you thought he wasn't paying any attention to - and he'll agonize over the fact that he didn't tell you he loves you, or that he didn't hug or kiss you. He'll count the days until your return, the hours, and even the minutes. And once back, he's on you like a moth to a flame. Making up for all those hugs and kisses.

It amazes me that my two boys came from the same gene pool, the same womb. They barely have anything in common. Except for their incessant chattiness, I can only think of one trait they share:

A total lack of organizational skills.

I couldn't tell you how many mitts or hats B boy has lost over the years. Certainly enough to clothe of all Luxembourg's preschoolers. And maybe Iceland's too. Last year, he lost two pairs of snow pants within the first winter week, and by the end of the season, that number was in the double digits. I was just amazed that he managed to keep his jacket all season long.

Christopher isn't too bad when it comes to outerwear, but he's a mess with respect to his school books. To illustrate, allow me to recount our adventures just today...

This morning, while I was attaching his lunch bag to his bag, I noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the school bag's side pocket:

Me: Christopher, is this something you need?
C (taking the paper): Oh no, this is a song I need to memorize for Santa Lucia. We're doing the rehearsals today.
Me: When did you get this?
C: Last Wednesday.
Me (deep breaths - remember, child just said goodbye to father): Christopher, do you need to know this for today, or can it wait until the 13th?
C: The rehearsals are today, and we have to know it by today.
Me: Well, practice now then. Practice, practice, practice. That's all you can do. You have 30 minutes.

After school, Christopher always calls on his fancy-smancy cell phone on his loooong (4 minute) walk home:
C: Hi Mamma!
Me: Hi 'Stopher! Did you have a good day?
C: Yep.
Me: Do you have everything you need to do your homework?
C: Yes, I brought Norwegian and English today.
Me: Okay good, I'll see you soon then.

2 minutes later:

C (opening the door): Hi Mamma!
Me: Hi sweetie - how did it go with the rehearsals?
C: Fine, she just said I have to know the song by tomorrow. I didn't lose my part.
Me: That's great. Did you bring the sheet home to practice?
C (getting his books and his lunch out of his bag): Yes. But I didn't have time to eat my lunch today, so I'm going to eat it now.
Me (looking through his books):...mmm...okay. Where's your weekly homework plan?
C: I put it in my bag - it's the folded sheet.
Me (taking a deep breath, sensing what's coming next): The folded sheet is the song you need to practice. I can't see the homework plan.
C (now looking frantically in his bag): Oh...no...I thought it was the folded sheet.
Me (calm, lecturing voice): Next time maybe you could *look* at the sheet before you leave?
C (getting his jacket and toque on to go back to school, while being a bit emotional): I always have to go back to school!
Me: Christopher, you really have to learn to take responsibility for your things. It's like forgetting to practice that song this morning -- only you know what you need to do, so you have to organize and plan for it.
C (in a huff, not feeling like a lecture): OKAY. 'bye.

10 minutes later:

C (opening the door): Here's the sheet.
Me: Excellent! But...where's your toque?
C: I wasn't wearing a toque, was I?
Me (breathing deeply...again): Yes, you were, Christopher. Did you leave it at school?
C (getting emotional...again): Oh no...!
Muffled sound as he slams the door. I watch him walking dejectedly back up the road.

4 minutes later, phone rings:

C (happy now): It was in my pocket! I got to the classroom, and I realized that I'd taken off my toque because I was hot and I put it in my jacket pocket.
Me: All righty, then. I'll see you at home.

A short while later, at the house:

C (opening the front door again): OK, I have everything now, right?
Me (coming to the hall from the kitchen): I don't know, I assume you have all your books?
C: Yes, I do.
Me (waving the supposed homework plan he walked back to pick up from school): So this is the new format for the homework plan?
C (looking at the paper, groans): Oh no! I took the wrong sheet. This is the work plan for what I'm supposed to do at school. Not the homework plan.
Me: Bye, bye...

And as I watch him walk back to school for the third time that afternoon, I realize it is going to be a very long two weeks of solo parenting.

Bloggy friends -- make me feel better by telling me I'm not the only parent with this problem?

One Night In Dubai

We had invited my parents over for dinner last night, and Mike and I were in the kitchen prepping an easy Tex-Mex dinner while the boys were watching TV. Suddenly, Christopher came running into the kitchen, and he was extremely excited:

C: "Did you know that the most expensive hotel in the world is in Saudi Arabia?"
Me: "Oh, really? I thought it was in Dubai."
C: "Yes, that's right."
Me: (??!) "It's the one that looks like a sail, right?"
C: "Yep. It's a seven star hotel!"
Me: "Wow."
C: "And when you go, they give you your own butler!"
Me: "That's great, Christopher."
C: "Yes, and if you go out shopping and you have too many shopping bags, your butler will take them to the hotel for you. Then he'll come back and get you when you're done with the rest of your shopping!"
Me: "Excellent."
C: "It costs 3,000 dollars a night."

Mike (loudly, because he's now setting the table in the dining room): "That's a lot of money. For that amount of money, you could buy a PlayStation, an XBOX 360, a Wii and 20 games."

Benjamin (yelling from the living room, having heard only the last part of the conversation): "I want a Wii and 20 games."

Christopher walks back into the living room to Benjamin.

B (still yelling): "I want a Wii and 20 games!"
C (clearly exasperated with everyone for missing the point): "But Benjamin! You could have a servant."

Dear Christopher,

My blue-eyed, golden-haired boy. My first baby. How can you be possibly be 10 already? Almost 11?

Last I looked, you were such a teeny, tiny little thing, on that day, your birthday, when you decided to come out and meet the world - three weeks early. I suppose you just couldn't wait anymore, and had to come out and see for yourself what the world was like.

You were in such a hurry, you even made labour seem easy. Just the night before, I had been warned about 20 hour marathon deliveries, and how firstborns often took longer. But you had other plans, and 3.5 hours after we had arrived at the hospital, fully expecting to be sent home again, there you were!

It was a beautiful January day, and through the hospital window, I saw sunshine and glittering snow. You fit perfectly in my arms, with your oh-so-little hands and those scrawny legs. You opened your eyes almost immediately, and looked into mine. So seriously. Curiously. Perhaps you were wondering if I was really ready for this. And, you know, on that day I thought I was. Everything felt right.

But only three weeks later, after sleepless nights and countless tears shed over your inability to gain weight, nothing felt right anymore, and we had to bring you back to the hospital for surgery. Pyloric stenosis was the official diagnosis, but as one doctor explained, you were slowly starving while any food you tried to eat was projectile vomited across the room, splattered all over furniture and walls.

We were so anxious, worried, and traumatized, and though the surgery was over quickly, it took us months to recover. Every meal was torturous. It didn't help that you continued to throw up. Your gulping was probably within the range of what is considered normal for babies, but for us, any spit up had to be analyzed, measured and agonized over. Discussions would ensue over what constituted 'projectile'.

You continued to grow, however, and although you were never a chubby baby, you became happy, responsive and smiley. Finally, we were able to pack our bags and return to Costa Rica, our home at the time. I had made the decision not to give birth to you in Costa Rica, and in hindsight, I am so glad I didn't. I don't know how I would have been able to handle the subsequent medical problems in a country so different from my own. I was barely able to keep it together in Norway.

For the first few months of your life, your pappa was your primary caregiver. We were in the midst of transitioning to Canada, and I was working hard at establishing my online company. But the truth is, although busy, I was also still filled with fear. I was afraid that you would start losing weight again, or perhaps stop eating altogether. I dealt with my concerns by running away from them. I let pappa feed you for the most part, and I never asked him if you had thrown up.

I didn't realize what I was doing at the time, but I see it now. I wish I could say I was braver, Christopher, for you! You deserved better.

Fortunately, pappa did an amazing job. I remember seeing you in your baby bjorn looking on intently as he was moving around in the kitchen sterilizing bottles. All the while carrying on a continuous conversation with you. That picture of pure contentment is frozen in my mind.

Our move to Canada brought more stability to our family life, as pappa went back to do his Ph.D., and I continued working. We were able to find a fantastic day care centre, with wonderful ladies who loved and nurtured you from the beginning. In fact, you had them so wrapped around your finger, one even offered to pick you up on her way to daycare every day, and drop you off in the afternoon. Occasionally, I think Lisa imagined you as her own.

Ten years later, and you still haven't filled out - you often seem impossibly skinny to me, but they say you are following your own trajectory on the chart. I try not to worry too much about that, and for the most part it works.

What I do worry about is the speed with which you seem to be growing up. I wonder if I am appreciating you enough, and if I am 'in the moment' with you.

You have always been a chatterbox, the one who never grew out of the 'why' stage. An answer inevitably leads to another question. You have questions about everything, and they can go on, and on, and on. Somewhere along the way, I had to tune you out in order to get things done.

But there are times when I wonder if I remembered to tune you back in again. If you think about it, Christopher, would you say that I am really there for you?

Or am I still running away when things get a little difficult?

Because truthfully, apart from a little attention, you don't ask for much from anyone. You love watching Animal Planet and National Geographic, and if someone would only sit and watch with you, nothing could be better. Too often, things gets in the way, the laundry, the cleaning, the cooking. But these 10 years have gone by so quickly, and I must find time to sit and enjoy. With you. Before it's too late.

Christopher, I hope you know that your birth, almost 11 years ago, was the best thing that had ever happened to me! And if anyone asks me today, I can honestly say that you and your brother are my perfect children. But your mother, well, I'm still a work in progress. Bear with me, and please don't grow up while I'm getting there!

Love,

Mamma

Boys' clothing

I'm the first to admit that I am not a great shopper. My ideal shopping experience is walking into a store and finding exactly what I am looking for "right there" in front of me, on that very first rack. Right size and everything. Then I like to carry it over to the cashier who is a) at her station and b) ready to serve me. I know, I am bad, bad, bad. Shopping can bring out the worst in me. Especially when I am shopping for boys' clothing in a girls' clothing world.

A few years ago I walked into a well-known children's clothing store one fall afternoon, looking for a snow suit for Christopher, then a toddler. I had been lured in by the snazzy looking outfits modelled in the front store window - fashionable little tots with the ultimate in cool winter gear. As I entered the store, I was instantly dismayed that all I could see was girly pink and frilly clothing. Not a good look on my little man.

I turned around to look for someone who could point me in the right direction and immediately saw a cute teenage girl with a big smile on her face, tiptoeing her way over to greet me. As I inquired into boys' winter wear, she happily danced over to show me a tiny section of boys clothes, albeit with some admittedly good-looking coats and jackets. When she realized I was browsing through the rack looking for two piece suits, she sang out "We're not carrying snow pants for boys this winter." Still with that big smile on her face. Riiiiight...no problem, I'll just tell my 3-year-old to avoid the snow, then, this year...?!

Nowadays, my biggest headache is Christopher's opinions about the clothes he wants to wear. Being "cool" has become much more important, and our definitions of "cool" rarely match. I'll bring something home that I am sure he'll love, and it'll be a dud for some obscure reason. He has developed a passion for two or three shirts, and unless I catch him, he'll wear them over and over and over again. Apparently there is no conflict between "cool" and "filthy".

He also has a very interesting way of getting dressed in the morning that is slowly driving me over the edge. He will get up in the morning and put on the clothes he wore the day before, which are in a pile on the floor next to his bed (can you sense my blood pressure rising...why are those clothes there in the first place? Should they not be in the hamper??). Only then will he go and have breakfast. After breakfast, he will go back to his room, take the dirty clothes off and dress himself again with new clean clothes, trying first to pass the old, filthy but "cool" shirt off as clean. After getting caught, he will also change his shirt. Now, bear in mind, this all gets done with the speed of a sloth....slooooowwwwlllyyyy, and only because I am prompting him every step of the way. I tell you, my patience gets a workout every morning.

I have suggested what I thought were rather obvious alternatives to the current situation - that he either a) has breakfast in his PJ's and then puts on clean clothes, or b) gets dressed right away in clean clothes. No change so far. Sometimes I just don't get it!

Benjamin, meanwhile, cares nothing about what he wears. A few months ago, he would have happily walked around in his PJ's or underwear all day. That's now past, and he likes to be dressed, but is fine with whatever is at the top of the pile. The thing about him, though, that never ceases to puzzle me is how he always manages to put his clothing on backwards. I mean, he clearly has a 50/50 shot at getting it right. With his bad luck, I just hope he never makes it to Vegas.

What...he loves school?!

My boys are fairly typical, I think, in that they are "fine" with school, but given a choice, they'd stay home any day. No surprise there, right?

Imagine my shock, then, when I realized that Christopher now loves school. He is thrilled with the shorter hours, the freedom he is experiencing here, not to mention his hectic social schedule. I feel like he has grown up and matured so much over the past few weeks - and it's only been two and a half weeks of school. At this rate, he'll be unrecognizable by the time he gets back to Canada.

School starts at 8:30 am every day. Monday through Thursday, Christopher finishes school at 2 pm. But get this - on Fridays he is done at noon. It's so civilized! Top that off with a rule saying no homework allowed on weekends - and I don't know who is happier, Christopher or his school-weary parents! No more PowerPoint presentations to finish on Saturday, no more tests to cram for on Sunday.

Yes - "life with school" has suddenly got a whole lot brighter. And it bears mentioning that Benjamin is also done at noon on Fridays, which gives us a precious few extra hours to fly/drive away for the weekend....Stockholm...Copenhagen...London...Paris...here we come!

The more important thing is that even on longer days Christopher is perfectly content to go to school, be at school and hang out with his buddies. He plays soccer at recess and during the longer lunch break. He occasionally checks up on his brother, and according to B boy, he is always accompanied by a friend or two. But most of all, he is busy planning his schedule for the afternoon.

As soon as school is out, Christopher whips out his most prized possession - his new cell phone - and checks in with us. We just wait for the inevitable question to come (in Norwegian): "Can I go home with so-and-so?"...or... "I'm bringing so-and-so home. Can we make waffles?"

And the best part of it is - he has the time to go out in the afternoon. Partly because he has much less homework than what we are used to, and partly because he finishes earlier at school here.

It is wonderful to see how the boys organize themselves. You might think it would be all electronics and indoor activities, but, surprisingly, they spend a lot of time outside. They go to each other's house to jump on trampolines (no respectable family is without a trampoline in Norway) or they kick a ball around on the soccer field just below the school.

I was not sure what to expect from the other kids in the class Christopher joined this fall. I realized that his "foreign-ness" could be seen as cool, but it could just as easily have worked against him. You have to know that these kids have been in the same class, with the same teacher for 4 years already. They do not reshuffle classes from year to year here, so the children obviously get to know each other very well. The school is also much more proactive at arranging after school activities on a class by class basis. There are class sleepovers from grade 1, disco nights, games nights, sports nights, etc. That's a lot of bonding!

On top of that, foreign students are extremely unusual at this school. We are simply too far away from Oslo to get any of the expats or new immigrants. In fact, I think I mentioned in a previous posting that we are rather famous at our little school as "the Canadians". The teachers all knew we were coming before we'd even had a chance to go to the school to introduce ourselves!

Knock on wood - but so far the kids in Christopher's class have welcomed him with open arms. No one seems to pick on him for his grammar being off at times, or the occasional misunderstandings that are inevitable with a new language. It is heartwarming to hear them talking together. They do not even correct him when he uses the wrong word or messes up the word order. They simply reply as they would to any other kid. Amazing.

You gotta love'em...

Boy, n.: a noise with dirt on it. ~Not Your Average Dictionary


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Conversation between Benjamin and Christopher as we walked past a bunch of parked bicycles, while looking for a washroom in which to wash dirt out of Benjamin's eye:

C: "Benjamin, when are you going to learn how to ride a bicycle?"
B: "Never!"
C: "What if when you are married, your wife asks you to go for a bike ride?"
B: "I'll say I don't want to."
C: "Every time?"
B: "Yep!"
C: "What if she asks you to do the Tour de France with her?"
B: "Then I'll just take the car."


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We worry about what a child will become tomorrow, yet we forget that he is someone today. ~Stacia Tauscher

What we do on Thursdays

As soon as school is done for the day, we like to take the boys out. Sometimes we go down to Drammen, like when we went to see the new library they'd opened. Other times we check out the local area here in Konnerud. Last night, we went to see Joakim play soccer and stayed for a while afterwards to kick the ball around with the boys. We also like going for walks in the forest, and occasionally we drop in and visit family. We do stay home some afternoons, and simply hang out and watch a movie, or jump on the trampoline with the kiddies.

Having these afternoons and evenings to do with what we please is such a change from last school year, when Christopher often had to spend hours on homework each afternoon and evening. Not to mention the lovely PowerPoint presentations that always seemed to be due on a Monday, meaning another weekend gone. I blame any wrinkles and grey hair solely on Christopher's workload last year, and the stress of fighting with him to complete it.

That is exactly why we are now trying to seize every opportunity to head out in the afternoon and early evening, and are truly relishing this new found freedom.

Except every other Thursday. On those days you will not find us venturing far from our house. No matter what might be happening elsewhere, we have to stay at home. In case of an emergency, only one person can go out, the other must stay home with the kids. "Why?" you might ask. Because every other Thursday night is Ice Cream night. That's when the ice cream truck comes to visit.

As soon as we hear that telltale bell, the kids and I rush out to stop the driver from leaving again. Not that we really need to worry. With our track record, the ice cream truck now stops directly in front of our house. Clearly, he knows where the VIP customers reside. You can almost see him rubbing his hands in gleeful delight as we come charging down the walkway towards him, money in hand.

We buy boxes and boxes of ice cream cones, ice cream sandwiches and popsicles in the hopes that they might last us the next fortnight. I prefer not to think about the amount of ice cream we actually consume in a week.

The very first Ice Cream Thursday we were here, we bought what I thought was a respectable amount of ice cream sure to last us the next two weeks. Boy, was I wrong! One visit from the cousins the next day, and we were almost out. The boys had gone to town in our freezer.

I lamented to my father about the ice cream shortage and my miscalculation, and that's when he confided in me that there is in fact ANOTHER ice cream truck, which comes every other Wednesday. "Why," I wondered, "had I not been told about this other ice cream truck previously?" Well, apparently not all ice cream manufacturers are equal, and my family has a favourite...

You probably know where I am going with this one already - not being connoisseurs of ice cream, we are happy to take any brand. Until one company offers us frequent buyer points or the volume discount we so clearly deserve, we are loyalty-less! That's why we now have ice cream trucks stopping in front of our house on Thursday one week and then on Wednesday the following week.