I was chauffeuring the little ones home from Pre-school and Nursery. I was grunting at my oldest for suggesting I changed the radio-station “well maybe your mother would like to listen to this song!?!” (some never heard before french ballad). I was yelling profanities my children should neither hear nor ever repeat at the traffic, and I answered my husband’s phone call (bluetooth – we ride safe) with a “WHAT?!?” in a hissing tone similar to the voice of that little animated guy in The Lord of the Rings who says “precious”. I’m not usually like that, and for a moment I worried that I was showing signs of a mood-disorder! But what I needed to boost my spirits wasn’t Prozac – it was cake!

Let me clarify:

I have been dieting!

Thank the lord a diet that allows caffeine, because without coffee, the slurs I yelled at the traffic would have turned into full-on road rage complete with yelling like the above mentioned hobbit-creature and biting people’s ears off like some female Mike Tyson!

All in all it has been a sensible diet, with the simple aim of losing those last post-pregnancy pounds. It’s not one of those extreme only-eat-pineapple-for-a-week-things, but I have been HUNGRY!! I’m Danish. I’m half pastry for crying out loud! And here I am trying to cut out carbs.

My husband came home from work on this day, and with very few words, let me know that I should go upstairs, lay down for twenty minutes, that we should leave the groceries for the next day and order take-out. When I came back downstairs there was a big order of fried take-out on the table. Crazy hobbit creature emerged again “WHAT IS THIS!!!! THIS ISN’T ON THE DIET!!!”. Without responding my loving husband simply pushed the plate towards me – his mannerism similar to that of someone pushing a steak towards a caged lion. After the first fried mozzarella stick my shoulders began to relax and move away from my ears, after the second my vision seemed less blurry and the room brighter and after the third my voice transformed from hobbit to angelic sweetness!

Then I had a realization! It hit me exactly under which circumstances the descriptive term “skinny bitch” must have derived! No wonder every skinny celebrity is known for being a diva or difficult to work with! These poor woman must be starving! Diva, could in other words be a synonym for low blood sugar! As another example I could point out that no-one ever says “voluptuous bitch”?! And have you ever heard Mr. and Mrs. Claus referred to as anything but Jolly? And they live on milk and cookies!

The question then lingers… do I want to be a “curvy delight” or a”skinny bitch”?! With my husband’s lovingly served fried cheese, I suppose he has made his choice clear.

Anyone who reads my blog, or who knows me personally, knows that I am a crier. I tear up every time I hear baby-news. New life is beautiful and I just cant help myself! Nevertheless the other day I had a moment of tearing up that was concerning to me. I started tearing up as I received a text message from a friend of mine, who was at the hospital, having a labor-inducing drip put in. And it wasn’t simply the approaching arrival of her son that had me going, it was the actual labor! The ACTUAL labor! I had a very disturbing feeling of “labor-envy”. “LABOR-envy”!?! Who in their right mind has labor-envy!?!

I realized in that moment, that I’m not always in my right mind [insert funny comment from husband saying "I could have told you that!"]. My mind is entirely too easily effected by nonsense female emotions! I DO NOT wish to go through labor again, I DO NOT wish to go through pregnancy again, and I DO NOT wish to have more babies! Yet there I was, reminiscing about the excitement and emotions surrounding labor, and felt a little sad not to be experiencing that again……

This time the itch came and went quickly, but the whole thing made me uneasy. What if I begin to forget? – forget the pain, the aches and the sleeplessness?! What if I meet a perfectly smelling infant, on just the right/wrong day, and the itch grows into an actual desire?!

On the off-chance that this desire should occur, I have written myself a letter, and may it be kept for future records! I apologies in advance to anyone currently pregnant or planning another baby. I did not mean to make you depressed. I felt it necessary to remove any and all sugar-coating, so that my point gets through to myself!

Dear future me,

So, you’re considering having another baby? Where do I even begin with you?!? ARE YOU NUTS?! If you’re not clinically insane, then you must have bumped your head and caught amnesia!

First let me remind you what pregnancy was like. People might have said you were “glowing”, but behind that glow was: nausea, headaches, exhaustion, restless nights, stuffy sinuses, various implicit unattractive things happening south of the bellybutton, bloating, engorged sore breasts, and hormones – hormones!! Somehow your marriage survived hormonal-crazy-lady three times, but do you really think your marriage has another encounter with HER in it?!

And what comes after pregnancy? Labor! The most excruciating, painful experience of your life. Some call it beautiful – well perhaps after blood and fluids have been wiped clean from the baby he or she is beautiful, but the rest of the labor is anything but beautiful! There’s the stated fluids and blood, there’s cracking and dilating and….. I mean, for crying out loud, a small human is making its way through your pelvis! You have felt this, you have seen this, you know this. Try to remember!

Then there’s that newborn. Yes yes, I know you have heavenly babies, but they are still babies! They will keep you up at night, they will tire you out, husband will sleep as sound as ever, and you will be drained as you take care of the older children, while the infant is LITERALLY sucking the life out of you, through your sore, cracked nipples! All of this while your back and shoulders are in pain from attempting to feed and soothe the baby while sitting up in bed at three o’clock in the morning!

On a side note, I would like to remind you, that If this baby is being suggested by your husband, the main pull is the baby-making-process and not the baby itself! Need I remind you that by each pregnancy the foot rubs and the cold drinks served to you have been further and further apart! Just as you became increasingly less excited about the pregnancy  each time, so did he! Not to forget the ever so hormonal-crazy-lady, who he was NOT a fan of – come to think of it, neither was the flight attendant who couldn’t find you seats together, or the grocery store clerk who had trouble with the credit card machine!

So please future me, are we done with this nonsense already?!

Sincerely ~ yourself

This summer we had a wedding. It was a close family wedding, and on top of that it was my husband’s side of the family. There would be one hundred people I knew there. People I hadn’t seen for years, and who more importantly hadn’t seen me post babies! And I will blatantly admit that my female insecurities did not want people to say “she looks nice”, but rather something along the lines of “oh my gosh, can you believe she just had a baby!!?!!”

This is perhaps what led my sister-in-law and I to take things a bit further than new dresses. Unexpectedly the small countryside town, where the wedding was held, has a tanning salon offering airbrush spray tans. This is supposedly what gives Eva Longoria that perfect award-ceremony glow – a glow you do not naturally possess when you have three little ones in tow! And to make things better, I had read in a magazine, that it makes you look five pounds lighter – We were sold!

The small-town tanning salon, with its maroon wall-to-wall carpets and fluorescent lights, didn’t exactly resemble the Hollywood digs where I envision Eva Longoria getting her tan on. But never-the-less, we figured it could go one of two ways: Either we would resemble miss Longoria when we left the salon, or we would turn completely orange – which would still be okay, as long as the five-pounds lighter scenario applies to orange!

Clearly this isn’t the first time my vanity has brought me to attempt a fake tan. But this was my first time with an airbrush. The airbrush is a handheld device, operated by a trained professional. It shoots out a mist of tanning solution, and opposed to other methods, this personal treatment is supposed to ensure you a much more even and thoroughly applied tan – and let me tell you, this lady was thorough!

I’ll  walk you though my experience……

The attire for an airbrush spray tan is a shower-cap. Shower-caps are not the most flattering get-up – and in this cold room, under the fluorescent lights, neither was my birthday suit! I stepped into a small stall-like tent, where I was instructed into position, which meant spreading my legs and holding my arms straight out. I turned around, and to my horror, straight in front of me was a mirror!! I could think of very few people wanting to see them selves in this predicament – and I’m not one of them!

As I mentioned, the lady in charge was very thorough. There was bending and folding and holding of various body parts – all in perfect view of the mirror. It was a relief when it was time to turn around for the “other side”. For a moment I would say that I almost felt comfortable – that was until we started talking about kids, all whilst she was hunched down, very thoroughly spraying my legs, and said “you don’t look like you’ve had three kids”! I suddenly felt very vulnerable again!

It takes a few hours for the chemicals to work and for the tan to settle in. The solution contains something to make you look a bit bronzed right away though, and this initial color got us very excited! The horror of the mirror seemed to fade. Maybe we would look like an Italian and Scandinavian Eva Longoria after all (sister-in-law is Italian-American)! And we proudly paid a very reasonable small town fee for the whole thing! The whole nude experience seemed to have been worth while…….

When we reunited that afternoon the tanning agents had worked – truly worked! I’m afraid neither one of the scenarios we had thought up had proven to be correct. We were happily not orange, but we definitely did not look like Eva Longoria either! We were VERY bronzed! The best way to describe what we looked like would be Snookie and George Hamilton’s female counterpart! – I suppose a female version of George Hamilton would get an “oh my gosh, can you believe she just had a baby”, but perhaps not with the desired emphasis.

Thankfully some of the color faded in time for the wedding. Had the whole thing taken place on a Caribbean island, we might even have blended in. But in a northern location, on a rainy day, next to my in-laws of Irish decent – well, we stood out! vanity or not, I can’t help but smile at the failed attempt to look like celebrities. I would like to say, that this is the last time my vanity and a wardrobe-crises will bring me to make a hasty beauty-decision, but really, who would I be kidding?!?

Before PETA thinks to black-list me, I would like to mention, that I like animals very much and none of what happened to these fish was intentional…

The reason we ended up with fish in the first place was me! Growing up my greatest wish was a puppy (and pierced ears), but my parents had vetoed any notion of a pet long before I came along. I knew that in adulthood, when I had children of my own, I would live out my puppy dreams, and say yes the minute one of my children asked for a puppy. I thought such a moment was inevitable, since all children love puppies – however my children do not! They are mortified at the sight of all domesticated (and wild) animals.

And so for the past few years, we have had a completely reversed situation where I, the parent, have attempted to convince my oldest that puppies are great! I’ve shown her pictures, told her about other kids we know who have dogs, watched the movie Beethoven, I even considered acquiring Beverly Hills Chihuahua, but nothing has worked! I eventually swayed away from the puppy and started suggesting other pets – a cat? a bird? a hamster? a parrot? At the end she was quite annoyed with me!

But then it happened – she decided that she loves fish! She had seen The Cat In The Hat with the talking fish in the fishbowl, and decided THAT was the perfect pet. My hopes had been set a little higher than a goldfish, but after all my persistence I had to go with it…..

She was beyond excited! She picked out four of what I believe the fish-store-guy called Indonesian goldfish. She named them Ariel, Belle, Rapunzel and Giselle (obviously). She got a round fishbowl, just like the one in the cartoon, and a purple flower thingy for the bottom. From her stool she stood, looking down at the fish, with her arms embracing the fishbowl, saying “awww, little fish”, and “Raaaapunzeeeeel, come eat your foooood”! it was adorable! Life with fish was delightful…… at least for a few hours.

After about three hours of owning these fish Giselle was not looking too good! She was resembling a blow-fish more than a Goldfish. Both eyes popping out of her head and the scales standing straight out! At a closer glance all the fish were slightly odd-looking.

I tried to save her – I really did! I did everything my Google-searches suggested. I fed her peas, I found special drops to balance the water’s calcium content, I even bought “Fish medicine” – seriously. There was a picture of a fish dressed as a doctor on the container!

Giselle lasted about one week, and then she was upside-down at the bottom of the fishbowl!

My motherly insides squirming and my heart breaking. How do you tell something like that to a four-year-old, who that same morning, as she was running outside to play said “if my fish get sad or need me, then make sure you call me!”

I considered different approaches. I leaned towards disposing of the fish without telling her, but then again, she knows how to count to four, and I was stupid enough to get a breed of fish that comes in different colors, characterizing Giselle from the others. I finally decided to just tell her, and risk the chance of a deeper conversation about life and death. To my relief, she didn’t ask any great existential questions. Almost worse though, she ran over, looked at me intensely and said “WHY DID YOU LET MY FISH DIE!?”. As any other good mother would, I blamed the whole thing on someone else! I told her that the fish-store-guy had sold us sick fish!

Over the next few weeks the remaining fish all bit the dust. We left for vacation and the fish-sitter felt so bad about the one croaking on her watch, that she replaced it. This time we actually managed to trick my daughter, who upon arriving home just said “Why is Belle so ugly-looking!?”.

The fish-store-guy might really have sold us sick fish, because the new less attractive Belle never blew up like the others. However, perhaps due to the sad, empty fishbowl, with the smell of peas and fish medicine hanging over it, she got depressed. She stopped swimming and wouldn’t eat. It was a slow, dragged out suicide of self-starvation that lasted a whole month! It was almost a relief to finally see her floating at the top.

I still dream of a puppy! A sweet canine to join me on the couch when my husband travels – soft and cuddly. I can with confidence tell you, that there’s nothing sweet or cuddly about scales and gills! And a fish won’t protect me against no thief! However my efforts as a first time pet-owner have left me no closer to my childhood dream. If anything my failure to care for these fish have armed my husband with yet another argument against us getting a puppy.

Dec.2012. Follow up:
We have a new family member! Her name is Lady Gaga and she’s the most adorable Jack Russell you’ve ever seen.   

We just came back from a lovely vacation. This also means that we just came back from a “lovely” plane-ride – the quotation-marks are highly intentional, since there’s nothing enjoyable about being on an aircraft with three little children! In popular terms it’s a necessary evil to get from A to B. We did however make a purchase, in the form of an airplane safety Harness, that made the trip a certain amount easier.

Airplane safety harness sounds very complex, but it’s really just a seat-belt-thingy that transforms the regular lap seat-belt into a harness.

I have previously told you about Middle-child. She’s at the lovely toddler age of 18-months and we’re hoping the terrible-twos came early, because if not – well then we’re in trouble! This harness was genius. At first it simply made her stay put because of the recognizable feeling to the three-point belt in her car-seat. Secondly it stood a major test when she threw a complete limb body-throwing fit during a time where the fasten seat-belt sign was on. Usually she would have tried to stand up or slide out from under the belt, and we would have had to forcefully hold her down, but in this case the harness did the restraining for us. The only thing that would have made this thing more helpful, would be a mute-button (one can only dream).

I can highly recommend this to anyone flying with toddlers!

product website: http://kidsflysafe.com/
find it on Amazon US here
find it on Amazon UK here

It’s not often my husband and I fight. We might bicker a little, and there are those “hormonal times” where I hit the fan because of stupid things he might say or do, but in general we get along very well. However, there is one thing we just can’t seem to get around – and I don’t think we will for as long as we have little ones. It is the never-ending weekend-question: who gets to sleep in and who’s getting up with the kids!?

Neither one of us are morning people. During the week we have no choice but to get up early, but when the weekend arrives, we both embrace the fact that we don’t have to be anywhere by a certain time. Saturday morning rolls by and we lay in bed, pretending we can’t hear the woken child. We’re both waiting for the other person to make a move, and we’re getting increasingly more annoyed when no move is being made. Finally one of us will get up, with various angry things mumbled along the way. And for the remainder of the day, the person who got up will make sure to point this out to the other person with comments about being tired and how nice it must have been to sleep in!

We decided that it was time to do something about this whole scenario. Some friends of ours told us, that they simply decide and agree who gets to sleep in the night prior. It seemed like one of those bullet proof why-didn’t-we-think-of-that-ideas. I found out that the reason we didn’t think of this, might have something to do with the fact that we have very different ideas of what it means to let someone sleep in! Let me specify by walking you through this past weekend:

It was easily agreed that my husband would sleep in on the first morning, since he had been out playing poker the night prior. At 6.am the baby wakes up and this is how wife of the century (that would be me) handles this. (If this passage had a soundtrack, it would be secret agent spy stuff, similar to the mission impossible theme). At the first sound of the baby waking up I slip out from under the blanket with quiet precision. I quiet the baby-babble with a swift pacifier-in-mouth-move and with silent meticulousness grab necessary effects such as middle-child’s baby monitor before exiting the room as I softly whisper I love you to my dreaming husband (……okay, maybe that last part was an exaggeration, but this is my story after all!) For the rest of that day, we had a lovely time, and I was very excited to be sleeping in the next morning. I even stayed up a bit longer than I usually would and had myself an extra glass of wine…….

BUT!!!! (and if this passage had a soundtrack it would be heavy metal!). The next morning husband is passed out when the baby wakes up. I have to kick him several times before he starts moaning, yawning and stretching, with enough volume to make a walrus feel inadequate. He proceeds to have VERY LOUD, granted very sweet, fatherly conversation with his daughter -  “Aww are you awake”, “ohhh you slept so good”, “I looove you”! And then he decides that maybe he doesn’t want to get up? maybe he can just make the bottle and bring the baby back into the bed and feed her there, resulting in both of them being loud, right next to me, and baby continuously pulling at the back of my hair! I am wide awake and furious!! I am not trying to sway anyone here (yes I am), but I think we can easily agree who seems to understand the concept of letting someone sleep in and who doesn’t!?

I’m sure most couples have their arguments, the one thing they just can’t seem to get around. Who knows, maybe it adds some excitement to a relationship? One thing I DO KNOW is that next weekend when the question rises Who’s getting up? My husband is! And if he has anything else to say about this matter, well then he can get his own blog and write about it!

I’ve written about The Middle Child and The Bonus. Tomorrow our firstborn turns four, and I could think of no better occasion to introduce you to her! I haven’t been saving the best for last – they’re all the best! But it has taken me longer to find the right words for this introduction……

As most parents can attest to, when that firstborn arrives it’s overwhelming! When our Princess came, we were flooded with love! This miraculous little creature had come into our world, she needed us, she loved us, she looked like us – it was indescribable and it was nothing short of amazing!

She was the eighth wonder of the world (at least to us!). She was mild and happy. She constantly babbled and chattered. Her first word was duck and she spoke in sentences by age one – though she wasn’t about to enter any competitions in the physical department, where sitting, crawling and walking came later than most of her little friends. She slept best when we cuddled, preferably completely intertwined with one another. From the day we started feeding her solid foods, she was a self-proclaimed vegetarian. She wanted nothing to do with meat, but loved carrots to a point where her skin was slightly orange! Other favorites were olive tapenade and Avocado maki-rolls. Just the other day, we asked her what she wanted for her upcoming birthday dinner, and the answer was clear as ever: sushi with the avocado!

I fondly remember the days, where such a thing as “popping out” existed. An inkling for lunch at my favorite cafe, and half an hour later, ordering a meal at said Cafe.Those were simpler times. With three little ones, you don’t pop out to anywhere anymore!

From time to time we forget this fact. Someone (maybe me) suggests that we all go somewhere; “let’s throw the kids in the car and go to the mall” – If it was only as simple, as “throwing” them in the car. But there’s multiple time consuming, exhausting and enough-to-make-you-go-nuts steps to be taken before a family of five can leave the house.

Step one consists of getting everyone dressed….

Every now and then you get to experience a moment, a moment that stands out and makes it all worth while. Last night at the dinner table, we had a moment like that, and it was all because of a fart!……

Sitting around the table our soon to be four-year-old attempted to make a joke. Someone must have told her a knock-knock joke, and she was unsuccessfully trying to copy it. She was saying “who’s there” and then responded with gibberish names like “boobobodu”, amusing herself greatly along the way! Despite her amusement, my husband decided to teach her how to tell a real joke.

This lesson in how-to-tell-a-knock-knock-joke was quite entertaining. He was delivering the information in a very pedagogic manner, but she was in no way picking up on it. “Okay so I say knock knock, and then you say who’s there“….”knock knock“……. nothing! “When I say knock knock, then you have to ask me who’s there….”knock knock” ….. nothing! You could almost hear the crickets! He tried to clarify and explain in various others ways, but it was just not going to happen!

Not about to give up on her sense of humor, he decides to persevere. Maybe she needs to see the joke executed to understand it? And so I take over the part of responding to the knock knock. Quite proud of himself, he tells the only knock-knock joke he knows (something about a banana and an orange). The punchline hits, and … nothing! The crickets are louder than ever! Determined to make her laugh, he gets out his iPhone, and starts searching the internet for better ones. He delivers one knock-knock joke after the other – she not so much as raises an eyebrow! Her facial expression is much like the one of a bored teenager. I suggest he finds one with farts or poop. He ignores my request, probably hoping he can make her laugh at something slightly more substantial, but finally, in the lieu of nothing else working, he gives in…..

” Knock knock”
” who’s there”
” interrupting Fart” (already at this point her eyes widen and she starts giggling)
” Interrupting fart……”
” prrrrrrrrfffffffffttt!!!!” (loud fart noise)

She’s in tears! She’s holding her belly with laughter! Looking back and forth between the two of us, making sure we also realize just how incredibly funny this is! Her laughter gets us going, and now we’re all laughing – including middle-child, who has no idea why, but starts laughing along from her high chair.

And then it happens, it gets even funnier! All the laughing makes her squeeze out a real fart! A perfectly loud vibrating fart! She’s now falling of her chair laughing! And we’re right there with her! I have water spitting out of my nose and my husband is wiping tears from his eyes. It’s the most mindless, simple and silly thing to be in tears over, but that doesn’t matter – It’s perfect!

Family life is busy. Every day is filled with routines, appointments, obligations, places to be and people to see. At times it’s easy to get lost in it all. The day will pass, and I don’t remember what I did that morning. Meals will be served, and I have no recollection of what we talked about.The hours and the minutes just came and went. Last night I remember exactly what we talked about and I giggle at the thought of the laughter we filled those minutes with!

In that moment we were truly present with one-another. Our minds weren’t on the next days routines or on making sure the kids finished their broccoli. All minds were on the hilariousness that was a fart! You can not fabricate a moment like that. It was a simple week day, we were eating leftovers, it was an effortless situation -  it was priceless! And it makes everything else worth while!

We’ve all heard it, exercising is supposed to be good for us! It helps manage weight, it helps lower high blood pressure, it strengthens bones and joints and lowers the risk of osteoporosis – and those damn kegels will make us not pee our pants one day!

Sporadically throughout my life, I have been known to exercise. Often with an underlying reason, like trying to look good for a boy, or wanting to fit into a dress, but I’ve never been a big fitness person. Pregnancy did in no way change this! Some women will be jogging while 9-months pregnant or, like my sister-in-law, in a full yoga bridge-pose a few weeks before delivery – This would NOT be me! I wouldn’t say that I plop myself down on the couch with a box of chocolates for nine-months, but……. I did buy some prenatal exercise DVD’s, and I think I might have opened one of them. Does that count?

Anyways, I decided a few weeks ago, that it was time to get in shape!

I started out with a few Pilates classes, and it went really well! I could feel it, but to my big surprise, I was able to keep up. Best of all, there were a few “larger” men in the class huffing and puffing next to me, which made me feel really good about myself!

Feeling maybe a bit too good about myself, I signed up for something called Body Sculpt – who wouldn’t want to sculpt themselves a little right?! Well, first of all, contrary to the Pilates class, this one had mainly men in it. Secondly, there were dumbbells involved! I almost turned around on my heels when I saw those long things and the weights supposed to be added to them! But then I saw the instructor, who was a woman, and figured; okay, I can do this! Technically I could do it, but I most definitely shouldn’t have!

I very strategically placed myself in the way back of the room – even a little bit behind the rest of the crowd in the back, just to make sure nobody could see me. And off we were, with the first of one billion squats and lunges……

You know how they talk about pain, as being potentially good? This was not good pain! I should have probably listened to my body and stopped when the pain went from somewhat good pain to just plain pain. For whatever stupid reason though, I decided to keep going! The amount of weight you added to the dumbbell was up to you. I could leave this next part out, and try to sound cool, but that train already left. So I will just admit to it – I had zero wights on my bar. Yep, I just had the stick itself…. which to my defense is very heavy!

Already an hour after the class was over I was aching! My arms caved in as I was cutting up my daughters dinner! I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt until the next day?! And ooohh it hurt then too! It hurt the next day – and the day after that, and the day after that…..

Attempting to manage the pain over these past days has been interesting. Certain styles of walking have shown effective. Walking downstairs requires something along the lines of Forest Gump in leg-braces, while holding on to the wall and railing, in an attempt to lift myself slightly as I gently lower my body onto the next step. Walking upstairs requires a whole different technique, more along the lines of how the middle-child walks when she has a big surprise in her diaper. Walking straight seems to be more of a hunched over pigeon-toed style. And lastly all types of sitting down or standing up, is your classic very old lady right after knee-surgery.

Arguments could be made, that if I went more often, it wouldn’t hurt so much! Or how the pain is testament to the fact that I really should go back! I also do appreciate the prospect of limiting the risk of osteoporosis, and not peeing my pants as I age! But with the amount of unattractive pain I’ve been in this week, I have my doubts?! At least I think I might need a few more Pilates classes before I attempt to sculpt anything again!