12 years of foolishness and still going strong!
Happy Anniversary!
Showing posts with label Mike. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mike. Show all posts
1 Apr 2008
21 Dec 2007
Pictures? You Want Pictures?
As one of my new and exciting bloggista friends, kim-d, so graciously pointed out, I did not post any pictures of our fabuloso ski trip yesterday.
You see, Kim, I am not Chief of the Camera. My role is limited to gently inquiring "Did you bring the camera?" To which I invariably hear a friendly, but ever-so-slightly exasperated "Of course!"
So it figures that the day I decide to trust, to let go of my control issues and believe...He.Forgets.The.Damn.Camera. I will not get into how utterly beautiful the day was. How the snow glistened like diamonds on the trees, how the sun rose just past the horizon to warm up noses and hands. How the hill was completely devoid of people and totally silent, and all we could hear were Benjamin's squeals of delight and the soft swoosh of the snow as we raced down the hills. (There's sound in photos, people. Work it. And say it with me -- his fault.)
But! My hubster did recover some good will when he managed to snap the following shots with his cell phone:
On the Christmas front, I am happy to report that Mike has been getting in touch with his crafty side. This is a truly wonderful thing, since I don't have such a side. I am craft-less. Crafts are best done with me on the sidelines, cheering from a safe distance. And documenting for my blog, of course.
So without further ado, I give you Monday's creation, courtesy of Mike and the boys:
The gingerbread house has retained its roof for 4 days now. A career best chez Viking Conquest.
This unexpected crafting success is taking my boys into bold, new, unexplored territory. Behold this evening's action:
The performance anxiety:
I know! It's getting downright scary. In fact, the kids quickly decided that PlayStation was a safer bet, leaving me with this:
I gotta love a guy who can make cute Santa decorations!
And speaking of cute, here's my B boy before going to the theatre with his Mormor last night:
Before you "awwww" too much, I should tell you that the pattern on the tie is all skulls. As in pirate skulls. Johnny Depp, take note!
And, for my Grand Finale, the gorgeous Swarowski crystal decoration my wonderful and incredibly kind friend Morag sent to me from Canada:
And that concludes the Picture Event.
Happy Weekend everyone! I'm hoping to squeeze in at least one more post before Christmas, but for those of you who are signing off from the blogosphere today - Happy Holidays!
You see, Kim, I am not Chief of the Camera. My role is limited to gently inquiring "Did you bring the camera?" To which I invariably hear a friendly, but ever-so-slightly exasperated "Of course!"
So it figures that the day I decide to trust, to let go of my control issues and believe...He.Forgets.The.Damn.Camera. I will not get into how utterly beautiful the day was. How the snow glistened like diamonds on the trees, how the sun rose just past the horizon to warm up noses and hands. How the hill was completely devoid of people and totally silent, and all we could hear were Benjamin's squeals of delight and the soft swoosh of the snow as we raced down the hills. (There's sound in photos, people. Work it. And say it with me -- his fault.)
But! My hubster did recover some good will when he managed to snap the following shots with his cell phone:
On the Christmas front, I am happy to report that Mike has been getting in touch with his crafty side. This is a truly wonderful thing, since I don't have such a side. I am craft-less. Crafts are best done with me on the sidelines, cheering from a safe distance. And documenting for my blog, of course.
So without further ado, I give you Monday's creation, courtesy of Mike and the boys:
The gingerbread house has retained its roof for 4 days now. A career best chez Viking Conquest.
This unexpected crafting success is taking my boys into bold, new, unexplored territory. Behold this evening's action:
The performance anxiety:
I know! It's getting downright scary. In fact, the kids quickly decided that PlayStation was a safer bet, leaving me with this:
I gotta love a guy who can make cute Santa decorations!
And speaking of cute, here's my B boy before going to the theatre with his Mormor last night:
Before you "awwww" too much, I should tell you that the pattern on the tie is all skulls. As in pirate skulls. Johnny Depp, take note!
And, for my Grand Finale, the gorgeous Swarowski crystal decoration my wonderful and incredibly kind friend Morag sent to me from Canada:
And that concludes the Picture Event.
Happy Weekend everyone! I'm hoping to squeeze in at least one more post before Christmas, but for those of you who are signing off from the blogosphere today - Happy Holidays!
12 Dec 2007
You Can Come Back Now
Dear Husband,
I'm ready to have you come home now. The novelty of being the Sole Ruler Of The Household has worn off, and I'm now willing to relinquish a few of my responsibilities to you. In particular, the following missions are in need of a new Commander-in-Chief:
1. Getting the children up in the morning and ready for school.
2. Cleaning the house.
3. Doing the laundry.
4. Shopping for groceries and preparing meals.
5. Getting the children to bed at night.
In return, I promise I won't complain about how you perform these tasks for at least 24 hours (and you know that's quite a promise, coming from me).
XOX
Your Adoring Wife
I'm ready to have you come home now. The novelty of being the Sole Ruler Of The Household has worn off, and I'm now willing to relinquish a few of my responsibilities to you. In particular, the following missions are in need of a new Commander-in-Chief:
1. Getting the children up in the morning and ready for school.
2. Cleaning the house.
3. Doing the laundry.
4. Shopping for groceries and preparing meals.
5. Getting the children to bed at night.
In return, I promise I won't complain about how you perform these tasks for at least 24 hours (and you know that's quite a promise, coming from me).
XOX
Your Adoring Wife
11 Nov 2007
Of Mousse and Marriage
Last night, the entire Bjerkan clan gathered for a potluck, our first here in Norway. The day was cool with a hint of snow in the air, but once the sun set, lit candles cast a lovely glow over the mix-and-match buffet magically conjured up by our joint efforts.
My contribution was relatively uninspired - a salsa/bean/cheese concoction toasted in the oven on the new 'tub' style taco shells that are a huge hit with my family. I also sliced some smoked salmon (a staple in our home), and wrapped puff pastry around a brie topped with mushrooms sauteed in red wine.
Among more exciting offerings, the Italian kitchen was represented by cheesy lasagnas of both the meat and veggie kind, as well as a delicious green salad. We were also treated to French cuisine courtesy of a red wine based casserole with whole onions, peppers and juicy chunks of fillet. All dishes were scrumptiously satisfying.
And yes, I did gain 5 pounds last night. Thanks for asking.
The night's pièce de résistance was definitely my sister's homemade mousse au chocolat. It was divine in its fluffy lightness, and the chunks of chocolate hidden within layers of decadence were little bites of heaven.
In my reverie, I was transported back to a similarly cool November weekend some 13 years ago. On paper, that looks like a long time ago, but last night, it felt like the blink of an eye. Each spoonful of pure bliss brought back memories of another evening where chocolate mousse had played a starring role.
In November of 1994, I had settled in Oslo after completing my degree at UBC in Vancouver, Canada. I'd landed a decent-paying job, found a great little apartment in the up-and-coming artistic section of town, and, in my domestic fervour, even acquired a cat. I was enjoying my life, dipping my toes into the post-education waters called 'adulthood'.
My place of work employed several other gals and guys at a similar stage of life, and our interaction often expanded into the off-work hours, with dinners, workouts, clubbing and shopping. One Friday afternoon, after work, a few of us went out to dinner followed by drinks at a club. When I finally made it home, it was past midnight, but it had been a fun evening, and I was looking forward to the weekend off.
The very next morning, I met up with another work colleague for some quality shopping time. This was my first time shopping with this particular girl, and I was thrilled to find that we hit it off right away. After scouring the stores at Aker Brygge for good deals, we had one of those looong lunches, where we cemented our new found friendship with talk about not just work and colleagues, but also our hopes and dreams for the future. We were both in that sweet spot in life where our only responsibility was to ourselves, having completed the scheduled life of university projects and papers, but not yet hit true domestication, partnering and child-rearing. Life was good!
Following the marathon shopping and chatting session, I didn't make it back to my little apartment until late that afternoon. The sun was already setting on the blustery day, and I remember walking from the bus stop towards my building at a brisk pace, feeling happy that my shopping date had gone so well, but chilled to be outside after spending the better part of the afternoon inside a warm cafe. I wondered if I was coming down with a cold.
As I opened the door to my apartment, my little kitty ran out to meet me, relieved to have company after several hours alone. She is the only cat I've ever known who enjoyed a good game of 'fetch', and we had a quick session of throwing a rolled up ball of paper down the hall for her to bring back to me.
I'd just crashed on the couch with a cup of steaming hot tea and a book when the phone rang. It was my friend Helene calling to remind me of her dinner party that evening. A dinner party I had forgotten all about. As we were talking, I looked outside and saw snowflakes in the air, the wind busy throwing them this way and that. The last thing I wanted to do was leave my toasty warm apartment again. I told Helene I was feeling a bit under the weather after the busy week, and that I'd rather not have to venture out into the cold again. "Thank you, but I hope you have a great party."
Helene was never one to take no for an answer, and she persisted, begging me to come. She'd invited a Canadian guy to her party and needed someone to help entertain him. He didn't speak much Norwegian, but since her other guests were Norwegian, she couldn't very well speak English all night. "Can't you please come and help me?"
I had no desire to waste a Saturday night trying to make conversation with some guy I'd never met, and frankly, had no interest in meeting. I looked longingly at my book and the hot tea on my table. As I hesitated, trying to come up with an unassailable reason to stay at home, Helene grabbed the chance to clinch the deal: "Heidi, Eivind is making his famous chocolate mousse especially for you tonight. You have to come and have some, or he'll be upset."
I made it to Helene's party that night. And I dutifully sat down next to Mike, who was working as a consultant in Norway for a few months. I also made an effort to converse in English, as requested by my hostess. It didn't take long for me to realize I wasn't wasting my time. And when Mike moved to Costa Rica 9 months later, I packed my bags and followed. The rest, as they say, is history.
Oh, and the chocolate mousse? Life-altering!
My contribution was relatively uninspired - a salsa/bean/cheese concoction toasted in the oven on the new 'tub' style taco shells that are a huge hit with my family. I also sliced some smoked salmon (a staple in our home), and wrapped puff pastry around a brie topped with mushrooms sauteed in red wine.
Among more exciting offerings, the Italian kitchen was represented by cheesy lasagnas of both the meat and veggie kind, as well as a delicious green salad. We were also treated to French cuisine courtesy of a red wine based casserole with whole onions, peppers and juicy chunks of fillet. All dishes were scrumptiously satisfying.
And yes, I did gain 5 pounds last night. Thanks for asking.
The night's pièce de résistance was definitely my sister's homemade mousse au chocolat. It was divine in its fluffy lightness, and the chunks of chocolate hidden within layers of decadence were little bites of heaven.
In my reverie, I was transported back to a similarly cool November weekend some 13 years ago. On paper, that looks like a long time ago, but last night, it felt like the blink of an eye. Each spoonful of pure bliss brought back memories of another evening where chocolate mousse had played a starring role.
In November of 1994, I had settled in Oslo after completing my degree at UBC in Vancouver, Canada. I'd landed a decent-paying job, found a great little apartment in the up-and-coming artistic section of town, and, in my domestic fervour, even acquired a cat. I was enjoying my life, dipping my toes into the post-education waters called 'adulthood'.
My place of work employed several other gals and guys at a similar stage of life, and our interaction often expanded into the off-work hours, with dinners, workouts, clubbing and shopping. One Friday afternoon, after work, a few of us went out to dinner followed by drinks at a club. When I finally made it home, it was past midnight, but it had been a fun evening, and I was looking forward to the weekend off.
The very next morning, I met up with another work colleague for some quality shopping time. This was my first time shopping with this particular girl, and I was thrilled to find that we hit it off right away. After scouring the stores at Aker Brygge for good deals, we had one of those looong lunches, where we cemented our new found friendship with talk about not just work and colleagues, but also our hopes and dreams for the future. We were both in that sweet spot in life where our only responsibility was to ourselves, having completed the scheduled life of university projects and papers, but not yet hit true domestication, partnering and child-rearing. Life was good!
Following the marathon shopping and chatting session, I didn't make it back to my little apartment until late that afternoon. The sun was already setting on the blustery day, and I remember walking from the bus stop towards my building at a brisk pace, feeling happy that my shopping date had gone so well, but chilled to be outside after spending the better part of the afternoon inside a warm cafe. I wondered if I was coming down with a cold.
As I opened the door to my apartment, my little kitty ran out to meet me, relieved to have company after several hours alone. She is the only cat I've ever known who enjoyed a good game of 'fetch', and we had a quick session of throwing a rolled up ball of paper down the hall for her to bring back to me.
I'd just crashed on the couch with a cup of steaming hot tea and a book when the phone rang. It was my friend Helene calling to remind me of her dinner party that evening. A dinner party I had forgotten all about. As we were talking, I looked outside and saw snowflakes in the air, the wind busy throwing them this way and that. The last thing I wanted to do was leave my toasty warm apartment again. I told Helene I was feeling a bit under the weather after the busy week, and that I'd rather not have to venture out into the cold again. "Thank you, but I hope you have a great party."
Helene was never one to take no for an answer, and she persisted, begging me to come. She'd invited a Canadian guy to her party and needed someone to help entertain him. He didn't speak much Norwegian, but since her other guests were Norwegian, she couldn't very well speak English all night. "Can't you please come and help me?"
I had no desire to waste a Saturday night trying to make conversation with some guy I'd never met, and frankly, had no interest in meeting. I looked longingly at my book and the hot tea on my table. As I hesitated, trying to come up with an unassailable reason to stay at home, Helene grabbed the chance to clinch the deal: "Heidi, Eivind is making his famous chocolate mousse especially for you tonight. You have to come and have some, or he'll be upset."
I made it to Helene's party that night. And I dutifully sat down next to Mike, who was working as a consultant in Norway for a few months. I also made an effort to converse in English, as requested by my hostess. It didn't take long for me to realize I wasn't wasting my time. And when Mike moved to Costa Rica 9 months later, I packed my bags and followed. The rest, as they say, is history.
Oh, and the chocolate mousse? Life-altering!
8 Oct 2007
How To Discourage Your Partner From Doing Laundry
Although we went to Cyprus with only hand luggage, we still somehow came home to a shockingly high Mt. Laundry.
Even Mike was taken aback when he saw the pile of clothing. And that's saying something. Mike is great at helping out around the house, he is a pretty good washer-upper, a super-duper vacuumer, and, most importantly, a fantastically hands-on dad.
But so far in our 11.5 years of marital bliss, Mt. Laundry has been my personal peak to climb. A solo conquest. For him to have even noticed the laundry speaks volumes about the sheer size of it.
And so it was that yesterday morning, as I was trying to catch up on an endless number of work messages that had accumulated while I was holidaying 'sans Internet', Mike set about teaching himself the art of sorting clothing and operating the washing machine.
Bright and insightful people would no doubt have encouraged this behaviour, perhaps even been thankful. Apparently, I am none of these.
First, I complained when he came to ask me how the washing machine worked, because I was chest-deep in panic emails from people who evidently cannot function without a Scandinavian translator on hand at all times.
Then he was told that he'd sorted the clothing wrong. In my defense, I was really thinking of the boys when I redid the sorting. I would have looked fine in the resulting pinkish hues.
But I digress.
After thinking about it for a while (not lightning fast, this one), I did apologize for being cranky and went back to my work mess.
I wish the story ended there. But nope, there's more.
I am ashamed to admit I also proceeded to correct the way he was hanging up clothing (that's right, we have no dryers in Norway) and the way he was packing the new load in the washing machine too tightly.
My pièce de résistance was this morning, when I criticized the way he was folding the dry clothes and putting them on dusty surfaces in the laundry room.
No wonder Mike finally had enough and told me so. In hindsight, I can't believe he even lasted as long as he did.
So now I am eating humble pie, while Mike will soon be enjoying lots and lots of chocolate bought by yours truly.
My name is Heidi. I'm a control freak.
27 Sept 2007
Introducing Guest Blogger Mike (aka my husband)
It should be clear to all that Heidi has been extremely busy while in Norway. She’s been entertaining frequent guests, taking care of the kids, socializing with her family, working, and of course, writing her blog. Some of you might be wondering what I am doing to fill the days. Well, let me assure you that I am extremely busy.
My day often starts bright and early with a trip to the golf course, accompanied by my father-in-law, Kåre.
Kåre is an excellent player, and shows a great amount of patience as we make our way around the course.
When I come home, I get straight to work exploring the enlightening research that is my real raison d’etre. This is my time to focus on scholarly activity.
After a couple of hours ‘hard at it’ I normally take a break to go for a run.
Now, running in Norway is an entirely different experience than running in Toronto. There isn’t a single flat piece of ground for miles around! Nevertheless, I soldier on for at least 7 minutes, and sometimes 10.
After the run, I come home and spend some quality time with the boys. We normally like to sit on the couch and talk to each other about the activities of the day. The boys are particularly forthcoming about their experiences at school.
It is about this time that I entertain the family, Heidi included, with tales of my best holes from the golf round earlier in the day. This never fails to disappoint.
Later on, as night falls, I catch up with the latest news that affects my work, and ponder the larger issues shaping the world.
In short, I spend my time in a productive and efficient manner. If any of you would like to contact me, then I’m sure that I will be able to find the time to reply in a day or two.
My day often starts bright and early with a trip to the golf course, accompanied by my father-in-law, Kåre.
Kåre is an excellent player, and shows a great amount of patience as we make our way around the course.
When I come home, I get straight to work exploring the enlightening research that is my real raison d’etre. This is my time to focus on scholarly activity.
After a couple of hours ‘hard at it’ I normally take a break to go for a run.
Now, running in Norway is an entirely different experience than running in Toronto. There isn’t a single flat piece of ground for miles around! Nevertheless, I soldier on for at least 7 minutes, and sometimes 10.
After the run, I come home and spend some quality time with the boys. We normally like to sit on the couch and talk to each other about the activities of the day. The boys are particularly forthcoming about their experiences at school.
It is about this time that I entertain the family, Heidi included, with tales of my best holes from the golf round earlier in the day. This never fails to disappoint.
Later on, as night falls, I catch up with the latest news that affects my work, and ponder the larger issues shaping the world.
In short, I spend my time in a productive and efficient manner. If any of you would like to contact me, then I’m sure that I will be able to find the time to reply in a day or two.
Packing Up!
No, we are not returning to Canada just yet.
Next week is fall break for the boys [c'mon altogether now: I LOVE Norwegian school], so we are packing our bags and heading south...
... to Cyprus!!
One final airing out of shorts, tees and swimsuits before we pack away our summer clothes for good.
I've never been to Cyprus, but you can't get much further south in Europe, so we should be guaranteed good weather and warm ocean water. Which is a nice thought now that we are starting to wake up to temperatures in the low single digits here in Norway.
Today I'm doing laundry, counting socks, underwear, swim stuff - the usual when travelling with kids.
And discussing with Mike the pros and cons of bringing just hand luggage. His idea. Of course, I see the benefits of travelling light, especially when we have a very short layover in Vienna, thus increasing the chance of lost luggage. With our luck, that chance is exceptionally high to begin with.
He stole this idea from friends of ours, who managed to travel to Italy for a 10 day holiday with only carry-ons. [You know who you are! Look what you've started!] And he feels very strongly that if they can do it, so can we.
I'm sure we can, but I just hate the idea that I can't bring all the stuff I want to, just because we have to squeeze into four rolling Samsonite carry-ons! And the thought of doing laundry daily on holiday is also not thrilling me to bits.
Because I won't have time to do laundry, as I'm going to be extremely busy lounging next to our villa's private pool. Not to mention catching up with my fabulous in-laws, who are spending this holiday with us.
Next week is fall break for the boys [c'mon altogether now: I LOVE Norwegian school], so we are packing our bags and heading south...
... to Cyprus!!
One final airing out of shorts, tees and swimsuits before we pack away our summer clothes for good.
I've never been to Cyprus, but you can't get much further south in Europe, so we should be guaranteed good weather and warm ocean water. Which is a nice thought now that we are starting to wake up to temperatures in the low single digits here in Norway.
Today I'm doing laundry, counting socks, underwear, swim stuff - the usual when travelling with kids.
And discussing with Mike the pros and cons of bringing just hand luggage. His idea. Of course, I see the benefits of travelling light, especially when we have a very short layover in Vienna, thus increasing the chance of lost luggage. With our luck, that chance is exceptionally high to begin with.
He stole this idea from friends of ours, who managed to travel to Italy for a 10 day holiday with only carry-ons. [You know who you are! Look what you've started!] And he feels very strongly that if they can do it, so can we.
I'm sure we can, but I just hate the idea that I can't bring all the stuff I want to, just because we have to squeeze into four rolling Samsonite carry-ons! And the thought of doing laundry daily on holiday is also not thrilling me to bits.
Because I won't have time to do laundry, as I'm going to be extremely busy lounging next to our villa's private pool. Not to mention catching up with my fabulous in-laws, who are spending this holiday with us.
15 Sept 2007
Czech it out!
Friday morning, Mike and I hopped on the first flight out of Oslo to Prague. Boyless, courtesy of my parents, who offered to take Christopher and Benjamin to the cottage to stack firewood. Hey, I've already explained the Norwegian need to stack firewood - might as well get them started young!
A mere 2.5 hours later, and we had left the gleaming new airport and were on a local bus heading into town. I love this element of living in Europe, a couple of hours travel in either direction, and you'll find yourself in a totally different country.
We'd booked ourselves into a small boutique hotel in the Old Jewish Town, a short walk from the city centre. It was in a beautifully restored, old building, with a distinctly rosy colour, prompting Mike to refer to it solely as "The Pink Palace". Lucky for me, the hotel was very posh and nothing like the sordid image that name conjures up.
Depositing our things at the hotel, we immediately went out to explore. It was amazing to be able to just walk around with no kiddies complaining of sore feet, thirst, hunger or boredom with old buildings, new buildings, or buildings in general.
After a quick look at the Old Town Square with its famous Astronomical Clock, we had a fabulous lunch at Square, a hip new restaurant in the town centre. I was excited that we were able to enjoy the gorgeous weather and eat outside, while Mike found another reason to be thrilled:
You're looking at a 2 dollar pint of beer, and a 4 dollar bottle of water!
Prague is stunning as it straddles the river Vltava (nope, I have no idea how to pronounce that), with medieval castles, towers and cobblestoned streets everywhere you look. Here's a view from the observation tower on the Petřín hill, a near 1:5 copy of the Parisian Eiffel tower, which was our first destination of the day:
Prague castle can be seen in the background of this picture, and is one of the largest castles in the world, dating back to the 9th century. The castle is situated on a hillside overlooking the city of Prague:
The castle grounds consist of several buildings used by officials today, including the Czech President, as well as a basilica, a cathedral, a convent and several chapels. Most of these are open to the public.
The cathedral in particular is an amazing testament to architects and builders of the past, with dimensions unlike anything I've seen before. As much as one might feel it to be "over the top", I could not help but appreciate the workmanship that went into creating something of this magnitude.
Prague is famous for the mix of architectural styles evident throughout the downtown area, which includes romanesque, gothic and baroque influences.
Certainly, the buildings are impressive, but the Czechs are not without a sense of humour. Just look at this "Fred and Ginger" building we found:
9 Sept 2007
The long way up...
Friday afternoon we decided to take advantage of the boys' early finish from school, and head up towards the cottage for the weekend. B boy was home a little before noon, and even though Christopher had a field trip, he was still back at the house at 12:15 pm.
Have I mentioned how much I love school in Norway? I am still not sure if they are actually learning anything, but the schedule sure does suit my social calendar...
By 1 pm, we had packed the car with food (chocolate) and a few items of clothing, including mitts and hats as it can be cold this time of year, and off we went. As we started our drive, we were pretty pleased with ourselves, talking about how efficiently we'd packed, how quickly we'd managed to pull everything together, and how much time we'd still have left of the day when we arrived at the cottage. By our estimation, we'd be there no later than 4:30 pm, with plenty of time to go exploring before sunset.
Looking back now, I can't believe I didn't see it. Things had gone too smoothly. Something was bound to happen. Pride comes before a fall.
The trip is normally 3.5 hours long, provided you don't get stuck in rush hour traffic. This being Norway, the trip consists entirely of single lane roads, so a truck or a tractor ahead of you can easily add unexpected of time to your journey.
However, it wasn't traffic that was our downfall last Friday. Nah, we managed to mess up all on our own. We had been driving for a good one and a half hours - almost two. In fact, we had just made it past the halfway mark of our journey, when I turned to Mike and said "The key! Did you bring the key to the cottage?" Sadly, Mike had not done so, and did not feel like that was his responsibility, either. Of course, I immediately protested the notion that remembering the key should be my job alone. Funny that we'd both feel that way so strongly...hmm...Mike opined that he had thought of almost everything else and couldn't be expected to remember everything, which, coincidentally, was how I felt, too. Imagine that?!
We finally agreed that "discussing" this further would not solve the problem as we still had no key, and in desperation, I called my dad to check if they by any chance had a key hidden somewhere around the cottage for just such situations. No luck, of course, because my parents - responsible people that they are - would never forget to bring a key to the cottage.
Rats! What to do now? If we turned back to get the key, we'd add at least 3 hours to the journey. Plus we'd hit rush hour traffic. Maybe it would be better to just go back home instead? While we debated our options, my incredibly kind father offered to drive and meet us half way to hand over a key to the cottage. Shameless that we are, we took him up on it, and met him some 50 minutes later. I am not particularly proud to think that thanks to us, my father got an extra two hour drive on Friday.
Key in hand, we turned our car around and headed up towards the cottage again. Feeling optimistic about it all, we were probably speaking a tad louder than earlier - when the mood had been rather tense - and unintentionally woke up Benjamin, who'd thankfully been snoozing for the last hour or so. Benjamin, who does not like to drive any length of time due to his motion sickness, promptly proceeded to throw up all over Mike and Christopher's fleeces. Simultaneously, he also effectively removed the "new car smell" that Christopher so detested in our rented Golf.
B boy is usually very good about warning us when he is feeling ill, but this time he was caught by surprise, undoubtedly because he was so rudely awakened from his snooze. Apart from the need to keep my voice down, I learned another important lesson that afternoon: Never let a child prone to motion sickness eat chocolate ice cream before a long car ride. I'll spare you the details.
Scrambling, we got B boy and the car cleaned up as much as we possibly could at the side of the road, and continued on our way. But despite our frequent stops to let Benjamin get some fresh air, the poor kid was as white as a ghost and managed to get sick another few times before we finally made it up the mountain. Fortunately, he was now awake and fully equipped with the requisite bags.
According to the clock, the trip took about 5 hours, but to us, it felt much, much longer. When we finally arrived at the cottage, any urge to go exploring had been zapped. We had a rather uninspired pizza dinner and then we collapsed in front of the TV, watching an episode of the fabulous "Planet Earth" series:
....ah....love that nook...
By evening's end, we had recovered enough to be looking forward to spending the rest of the weekend in the mountains!
Nominee for Hero of the Day: My Dad
Nominee for Trooper of the Day: Benjamin
Have I mentioned how much I love school in Norway? I am still not sure if they are actually learning anything, but the schedule sure does suit my social calendar...
By 1 pm, we had packed the car with food (chocolate) and a few items of clothing, including mitts and hats as it can be cold this time of year, and off we went. As we started our drive, we were pretty pleased with ourselves, talking about how efficiently we'd packed, how quickly we'd managed to pull everything together, and how much time we'd still have left of the day when we arrived at the cottage. By our estimation, we'd be there no later than 4:30 pm, with plenty of time to go exploring before sunset.
Looking back now, I can't believe I didn't see it. Things had gone too smoothly. Something was bound to happen. Pride comes before a fall.
The trip is normally 3.5 hours long, provided you don't get stuck in rush hour traffic. This being Norway, the trip consists entirely of single lane roads, so a truck or a tractor ahead of you can easily add unexpected of time to your journey.
However, it wasn't traffic that was our downfall last Friday. Nah, we managed to mess up all on our own. We had been driving for a good one and a half hours - almost two. In fact, we had just made it past the halfway mark of our journey, when I turned to Mike and said "The key! Did you bring the key to the cottage?" Sadly, Mike had not done so, and did not feel like that was his responsibility, either. Of course, I immediately protested the notion that remembering the key should be my job alone. Funny that we'd both feel that way so strongly...hmm...Mike opined that he had thought of almost everything else and couldn't be expected to remember everything, which, coincidentally, was how I felt, too. Imagine that?!
We finally agreed that "discussing" this further would not solve the problem as we still had no key, and in desperation, I called my dad to check if they by any chance had a key hidden somewhere around the cottage for just such situations. No luck, of course, because my parents - responsible people that they are - would never forget to bring a key to the cottage.
Rats! What to do now? If we turned back to get the key, we'd add at least 3 hours to the journey. Plus we'd hit rush hour traffic. Maybe it would be better to just go back home instead? While we debated our options, my incredibly kind father offered to drive and meet us half way to hand over a key to the cottage. Shameless that we are, we took him up on it, and met him some 50 minutes later. I am not particularly proud to think that thanks to us, my father got an extra two hour drive on Friday.
Key in hand, we turned our car around and headed up towards the cottage again. Feeling optimistic about it all, we were probably speaking a tad louder than earlier - when the mood had been rather tense - and unintentionally woke up Benjamin, who'd thankfully been snoozing for the last hour or so. Benjamin, who does not like to drive any length of time due to his motion sickness, promptly proceeded to throw up all over Mike and Christopher's fleeces. Simultaneously, he also effectively removed the "new car smell" that Christopher so detested in our rented Golf.
B boy is usually very good about warning us when he is feeling ill, but this time he was caught by surprise, undoubtedly because he was so rudely awakened from his snooze. Apart from the need to keep my voice down, I learned another important lesson that afternoon: Never let a child prone to motion sickness eat chocolate ice cream before a long car ride. I'll spare you the details.
Scrambling, we got B boy and the car cleaned up as much as we possibly could at the side of the road, and continued on our way. But despite our frequent stops to let Benjamin get some fresh air, the poor kid was as white as a ghost and managed to get sick another few times before we finally made it up the mountain. Fortunately, he was now awake and fully equipped with the requisite bags.
According to the clock, the trip took about 5 hours, but to us, it felt much, much longer. When we finally arrived at the cottage, any urge to go exploring had been zapped. We had a rather uninspired pizza dinner and then we collapsed in front of the TV, watching an episode of the fabulous "Planet Earth" series:
....ah....love that nook...
By evening's end, we had recovered enough to be looking forward to spending the rest of the weekend in the mountains!
Nominee for Hero of the Day: My Dad
Nominee for Trooper of the Day: Benjamin
4 Aug 2007
Birthday Boy
Yesterday was a great day. Mike finally turned 39! I'd been waiting for weeks for this day to come. Or more specifically, three weeks. Ever since I turned 38. I like to think of him as the "older" one in the marriage, so those weeks each summer where we are the same age are infinitely more enjoyable for him than me.
Still, Mike had a darn near perfect day, if I do say so myself (and since this is my blog, I do :)). He woke up early and headed out to the golf course with my dad. They had fantastic weather, and both played well. Then back to the house to home-made waffles for brunch, made by Benjamin and assisted by yours truly.
After brunch clean-up (I did say Benjamin was involved in the food preparation, hence the more urgent need for clean-up), we took the boys for a walk around Konnerud. We showed them the hill that the local kids use for tobogganing in the wintertime, and explained how entire families will spend all day tobogganing. When they get hungry, they either pull out home-made sandwiches, or a little disposable grill and barbecue some hot dogs for lunch. The boys were pretty impressed by this thought. Until B boy wondered what would happen if you needed to go the bathroom. And he meant numero 2. Hmmm...leave it to him to find the fatal flaw in an otherwise perfectly idyllic scene.
Following our outing, Mike went for a run around the neighbourhood, this time for a respectable 40 minutes. Last time he'd gone for a run, he was M.I.A. for 90 minutes, as he'd gotten lost in the myriad of residential streets around our house. Unlike the planned suburban housing estates we have back home in Richmond Hill, where roads are built primarily on a grid system, Norwegian streets appear to be much more haphazardly designed. In the vein of "If there is space for houses in there, let's just put a road in". And "heck, if that little mountain is in the way, no worries, we'll just put in a tunnel!" They seem to love tunnels here, and since money is not a problem in this little country awash with oil revenues, they have the luxury of being able to afford them.
After dinner, the entire Bjerkan family gathered at our house for a little wine and cheese. The weather continued to be amazing, so we spent most of the evening outside on the balcony, enjoying ourselves. There is a saying in Scandinavia that if the weather is good on your birthday, you've been a good girl/boy the past year. I dare say Mike's chances of having been a good boy are fairly high each year, since he was born in August. When I was a little girl, I used to wonder about those born in the winter months. Were they mostly bad kids? My sister and I are both July babies, but not my poor brother. Not only is he a middle child, who grew up with two bossy sisters; he was also born in March!
While we had our wine and cheese, the four older boys ran around outside playing "metroid", which is a Nintendo DS game they have somehow converted to a "real life" game. It works for them, so we don't question it. Little Emil was also a good boy, and let my sister and her husband enjoy themselves almost uninterrupted. He was up a few times to check out the action and have some food, only to go back to sleep again. As the clock struck midnight, we toasted the birthday boy one final time, wished our guests good night and got the kids in bed.
Today our little jetsetter Benjamin is off to Legoland in Denmark with his cousin Mathias and my parents. Christopher, Joakim and we are getting ready for a hike tomorrow. Assuming I make it down the mountain, I will definitely post some pictures and a report on our adventure.
'Til then....
Still, Mike had a darn near perfect day, if I do say so myself (and since this is my blog, I do :)). He woke up early and headed out to the golf course with my dad. They had fantastic weather, and both played well. Then back to the house to home-made waffles for brunch, made by Benjamin and assisted by yours truly.
After brunch clean-up (I did say Benjamin was involved in the food preparation, hence the more urgent need for clean-up), we took the boys for a walk around Konnerud. We showed them the hill that the local kids use for tobogganing in the wintertime, and explained how entire families will spend all day tobogganing. When they get hungry, they either pull out home-made sandwiches, or a little disposable grill and barbecue some hot dogs for lunch. The boys were pretty impressed by this thought. Until B boy wondered what would happen if you needed to go the bathroom. And he meant numero 2. Hmmm...leave it to him to find the fatal flaw in an otherwise perfectly idyllic scene.
Following our outing, Mike went for a run around the neighbourhood, this time for a respectable 40 minutes. Last time he'd gone for a run, he was M.I.A. for 90 minutes, as he'd gotten lost in the myriad of residential streets around our house. Unlike the planned suburban housing estates we have back home in Richmond Hill, where roads are built primarily on a grid system, Norwegian streets appear to be much more haphazardly designed. In the vein of "If there is space for houses in there, let's just put a road in". And "heck, if that little mountain is in the way, no worries, we'll just put in a tunnel!" They seem to love tunnels here, and since money is not a problem in this little country awash with oil revenues, they have the luxury of being able to afford them.
After dinner, the entire Bjerkan family gathered at our house for a little wine and cheese. The weather continued to be amazing, so we spent most of the evening outside on the balcony, enjoying ourselves. There is a saying in Scandinavia that if the weather is good on your birthday, you've been a good girl/boy the past year. I dare say Mike's chances of having been a good boy are fairly high each year, since he was born in August. When I was a little girl, I used to wonder about those born in the winter months. Were they mostly bad kids? My sister and I are both July babies, but not my poor brother. Not only is he a middle child, who grew up with two bossy sisters; he was also born in March!
While we had our wine and cheese, the four older boys ran around outside playing "metroid", which is a Nintendo DS game they have somehow converted to a "real life" game. It works for them, so we don't question it. Little Emil was also a good boy, and let my sister and her husband enjoy themselves almost uninterrupted. He was up a few times to check out the action and have some food, only to go back to sleep again. As the clock struck midnight, we toasted the birthday boy one final time, wished our guests good night and got the kids in bed.
Today our little jetsetter Benjamin is off to Legoland in Denmark with his cousin Mathias and my parents. Christopher, Joakim and we are getting ready for a hike tomorrow. Assuming I make it down the mountain, I will definitely post some pictures and a report on our adventure.
'Til then....
29 Jul 2007
It's...hilly...in.....Norway!!
Athleticism does not come naturally to me. It is hard work. I am not one of those people who wake up in the morning eager to hit the gym/pool/pavement. That's not me. Nope. Far from it. Instead, I have to push myself to get off the couch. Or have a gym buddy who does the pushing for me (thanks, Morag!).
I do admit that the feeling I have after exercising is one of absolute bliss. There is no better feeling than the one you get when your body has been pushed hard. Or maybe it is just the thought that I do not have to exercise again for another 24 hours. That could be it, but I don't think so - I mean, why else would I keep going back? Oh, yes... my buddy Morag! An intimidating force in her own right! But I digress...
Ever since arriving in Norway, a little voice inside my head has whispered steadily louder about how far away from GoodLife I am. Half around the world! Freedom! No more exercising for a whole 10 months. Lax mornings, lounging around in bed until the kids holler for breakfast. No stinky gym clothes to launder on a daily or semi-daily basis. Yes, freedom indeed!
Not so fast...have you met my husband?! My die hard, born-again exercising fantatic hubby?! Keen, keen, keen...everything you don't want to see at 7 am in the morning. I love him dearly - but I have to admit to cooler feelings when he wakes me up with a "Are you ready to go for a run?" In a weak moment, I apparently agreed that going for a run every day would be a great way to stay in some semblance of physical shape while travelling in Europe, and he is now holding me to it!
Most days I join him...I know it is good for me, and like I said before, I do feel better afterwards. But there is a huge difference between running in Richmond Hill and running in Norway...an unexpected, nasty, geographical difference. There are HILLS here! Everywhere you look, there are hills. And they always seem to be going UP from where I am standing. My legs burn like nothing I have experienced before, my brain screams for oxygen, and my lungs roar back that there is no oxygen left in the world. I pant, I gasp, I heave.
And I try awfully hard not to take it out on my husband. However, as he is chatting happily with me while running, and actually expecting me to respond, it dawns on me that he is not feeling these hills like I am. And his unfairly looooong legs are handling the ups and downs just fine. It is so hard not to come out with a snappy reply. Fortunately for him, on most days my severely oxygen-deprived brain is unable to do so.
I am lucky he still asks me to join him for these runs. And my hope is that if my cardiovascular system ever gets into sufficient shape where I can actually have a conversation with him while running up these hills, I will no longer feel the need to bite his head off! :)
I do admit that the feeling I have after exercising is one of absolute bliss. There is no better feeling than the one you get when your body has been pushed hard. Or maybe it is just the thought that I do not have to exercise again for another 24 hours. That could be it, but I don't think so - I mean, why else would I keep going back? Oh, yes... my buddy Morag! An intimidating force in her own right! But I digress...
Ever since arriving in Norway, a little voice inside my head has whispered steadily louder about how far away from GoodLife I am. Half around the world! Freedom! No more exercising for a whole 10 months. Lax mornings, lounging around in bed until the kids holler for breakfast. No stinky gym clothes to launder on a daily or semi-daily basis. Yes, freedom indeed!
Not so fast...have you met my husband?! My die hard, born-again exercising fantatic hubby?! Keen, keen, keen...everything you don't want to see at 7 am in the morning. I love him dearly - but I have to admit to cooler feelings when he wakes me up with a "Are you ready to go for a run?" In a weak moment, I apparently agreed that going for a run every day would be a great way to stay in some semblance of physical shape while travelling in Europe, and he is now holding me to it!
Most days I join him...I know it is good for me, and like I said before, I do feel better afterwards. But there is a huge difference between running in Richmond Hill and running in Norway...an unexpected, nasty, geographical difference. There are HILLS here! Everywhere you look, there are hills. And they always seem to be going UP from where I am standing. My legs burn like nothing I have experienced before, my brain screams for oxygen, and my lungs roar back that there is no oxygen left in the world. I pant, I gasp, I heave.
And I try awfully hard not to take it out on my husband. However, as he is chatting happily with me while running, and actually expecting me to respond, it dawns on me that he is not feeling these hills like I am. And his unfairly looooong legs are handling the ups and downs just fine. It is so hard not to come out with a snappy reply. Fortunately for him, on most days my severely oxygen-deprived brain is unable to do so.
I am lucky he still asks me to join him for these runs. And my hope is that if my cardiovascular system ever gets into sufficient shape where I can actually have a conversation with him while running up these hills, I will no longer feel the need to bite his head off! :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
