I am not a happy preggo - I will freely admit that. There is just too much to dislike about the whole pregnancy thing and the babies seem to feel my resentment. Yes, their housing might be rent-free for 9 months, but I am the landlord from hell and both Pontus and Player 2 have been and are very eager to get out. Unfortunately the babies never seem to understand that the only exit is the long dark tunnel leading down and try to find other escape routes instead. They have tried to dig and scrape their way out of my back or through my skin, attempted to kick through my ribs and (a big favourite) repeatedly tried to push out through my bellybutton. It is a constant stomping and scratching and stretching and moving - my organs must be bruised beyond recognition and it's still 6 weeks to go.
Stop hurting me and swim towards the light, my neckless little friend! Swim!
March 24, 2009
March 23, 2009
Mad domestic skills
I took a test titled "Har du koll på husmorstipsen?" ("Do you know your homemaker tips & tricks?") on Expressen today. And the result might come as a suprise to you (it sure shocked me):
Du fick 10 rätt av 10 möjliga
Husmorstipsen har räddat dig många gånger. Du är en riktig husmorstyp.
(You answered 10 out of 10 questions correctly)
(Homemaker tips & tricks have helped you many times. You are a true homemaker.)
Wow, those 6 months I was a member of the "Future Homemakers of America" back in 1994 certainly paid off. I seem to be some kind of genius housewife with mad domestic skills. Looking around the house though I must say that I hide my talent well...
Du fick 10 rätt av 10 möjliga
Husmorstipsen har räddat dig många gånger. Du är en riktig husmorstyp.
(You answered 10 out of 10 questions correctly)
(Homemaker tips & tricks have helped you many times. You are a true homemaker.)
Wow, those 6 months I was a member of the "Future Homemakers of America" back in 1994 certainly paid off. I seem to be some kind of genius housewife with mad domestic skills. Looking around the house though I must say that I hide my talent well...
March 21, 2009
March 15, 2009
Berlin - Day 1
We started the day and our trip to Berlin by almost missing our flight. We arrived at the airport with EIGHT minutes to spare and the check-in was closed right after us. How could this happen? Let's just say it is the story of an unfortunate family that left their home in good time only to get caught in the biggest traffic jam the city of Stockholm has ever seen.That we made it at all is nothing short of a miracle and owed greatly to the fact that my brother-in-law drove like he had gotten his license from a Cracker Jack box.
After that start, how much worse could the day really get? When we got to the gate they had already started boarding so within minutes after checking in we were on the plane. We had an aisle seat and a middle seat in row 4. The window seat was occupied by an elderly business traveller. You could see from the expression on his face just how much he liked having us sitting beside him and he was not afraid to show it in other ways either. The armrest he and I shared - it was his. Any attempts to get my arm anywhere on it ended with him pushing me off. My lap was his personal newspaper page holder and he apparently suffered from testicular elephantitis - why else would he have needed to sit so that his right leg was stretched out in front of my seat? It was great. Even better was that the plane was not moving at all. For 40 minutes we just sat there on the airfield, rolled a little every now and then, but didn't go anywhere. There were no announcements either and I was talking to my husband about that when I heard mumbling from the side. I turned to the man and asked him if he had said something to me. He looked and me and said that he had not said a word. I shrugged it off and turned back to my husband. More, louder, mumbling. I turned to the man again and asked him once more if he was talking to me and said that I had a hard time understanding him. Again he answered that he had not said anything at all. I told him that I had definitely heard him speak (so had my husband by the way), that I just wasn't sure if he was speaking to me. To which he replied (with a broad Berlin accent) that I was annoying him and a stupid cow (yes, he really called me that) and that we should all get up and find ourselves some other seats. Let's just say that after the morning I had had it was definitely not a good idea for him to be speaking to me that way. I let him know (in the most polite words of course) that his opinion really mattered to me and that I was taking the matter to heart and would absolutely change everything about me, because the voice that supposedly wasn't his told me so. I don't know if it was what I said or how I said it, but I made enough of an impression for him to back off: no more fighting over the armrest, no more newspaper in my lap and no more mumbling. Soon after that we took off and once we were well up in the air I actually did go to the flight attendants, told them what had happened and asked if we could get other seats. I made sure to speak loud enough so that the people sitting around us could hear it as well. The man was visibly embarrassed, the crew very understanding and we got a whole row to ourselves. Even with Pontus now having a seat to himself it was a challenge to keep him quiet and entertained during the flight. Children that age do not want to sit still - they want to run around, grab and shred people's magazines, pull airsickness bags over their heads, kick against the backrest of the seat in front of them or hit people with safety instruction cards. The only thing we had to offer was snacks and we tried hard to muffle all sounds by keeping the food coming, but it didn't really work as well as we had hoped. It was a loooong flight...
By the time we arrived in Berlin it felt like we had been travelling for days and aged years in the process, even though it was not even noon. My friend Sarah picked us up at the airport and we got on the bus to Bahnhof Zoo. And who do you think my husband wound up sitting beside on that very bus? Indeed, it was the elderly business traveller. But this time he was smart (or scared?) enough to keep quiet and we made it to Bahnhof Zoo without further problems.
From Bahnhof Zoo we took the subway to Günzelstrasse, which is only 3 stops away. When we got to Günzelstrasse station we had to learn a bitter lesson: most of Berlin's stations have no elevator or escalator. Over the next couple of days we found out how big a problem that really was. There's several flights of stairs, there's your big suitcase, your child in its stroller and let's just say that if you don't look like Arnold or Jean-Claude when you get to Berlin, you damn sure will when you leave. My poor husband...
We found the appartment without any problems and were greeted by our landlord. He showed us around, collected the rest of the rent and then delivered a disturbing monologue about how much he liked Sweden, how superior he thought Sweden's school and social welfare system was and that he considered himself a "swedophile". Yes, that's right, "swedophile".
When looking for appartments I had chosen the one we now stayed at not only because of its proximity to downtown Berlin, but also because the description said that it was equipped with a highchair and a baby crib. The highcair I saw, but the crib was nowhere to be found. When I asked the landlord about this he pointed at the pull-out-couch in the living room and said that that was the children's bed. I tried to explain that there was a clear difference between a crib and a hide-a-bed sofa (both in name and in function), but he claimed that there was no mention of any kind of crib for small children in the ad and that the couch was the extra bed. As angry as I was about this obvious lie - I was also too exhausted to start yet another discussion. It's not like that would have made the crib appear out of nowhere and where else should we have gone? Pontus would have to sleep between us in our bed with all the horrible consequence that has on everyone's sleep quality.
After the landlord had finally left we went out and did some quick grocery shopping, ate a little snack and got on our way to Sarah's appartment. There we met her husband and together we drove over to the Bahlsen factory outlet. Bahlsen, for those who don't know, is a well-known manufacturer of cookies, cakes and all kinds of salty snacks and at the outlet you can buy their products (and even products that are not available on the German market) at reduced prices. Cookies and chips for less? Give me a shopping basket, let me roam free and I will buy like there is no tomorrow. Unfortunately I had to hold myself back, considering the weight limit of the luggage and all, but I definitely had a good time. The only person who had an even better time must have been Sarah who was totally ecstatic and picked up each and every item in the whole store. Pontus, in the meanwhile, had fallen asleep and after we had taken turns carrying him around for a while my husband went and waited in the car with him. Factory outlets are not his kind of stores anyway and going there with me is an added challenge. I am sure it's not a pretty sight when I see all the bargains and totally lose control.
After we had each filled a gigantic bag at the Bahlsen store we drove back to Sarah's appartment where she cooked dinner for us (a really delicious wok dish with rice and chicken), while Pontus tested just how childproof the place was (not very, it turned out). We were all having a good time and it seemed like the day would end on a good note after all. But when we came back to our own appartment later that evening we found a piece of paper on the floor with a note from our landlord. On it it said that we had only paid for 2 persons but were now staying there with 4, followed by a detailed calculation about how much more we were supposed to pay and the request to get in contact immediately. Why no one ever asked us earlier I really didn't understand. We could have settled the matter and answered any questions right then and there. Instead we got this note which basically accused us of fraud. I called the woman (it was her partner we had met earlier) and explained to her that one of the 4 people was a friend who lived in Berlin, had her own appartment and was thus definitely not staying with us and that the second person was a 15-month-old infant. She got defensive. Her partner had only said that 4 people instead of 2 had shown up and that that was not according to the rules and... Again, why didn't she ask first? Why write a whole new invoice and demand money before getting all the facts straight? While we easily agreed on that one did not need to pay for a person that was not staying at the appartment at all (Sarah), there was more discussion about Pontus. She felt that I should have listed him as a third person and paid full price for him as well, but graciously "allowed my explanation" that there neither had been any information about that when I booked nor that could it be considered customary to need to pay full price for a baby sleeping in his parent's bed. We basically agreed to disagree and now I know "for the next time" that there is a fee for children (no matter which age) as well.
I took the opportunity to ask her about the missing baby crib and she said that there actually was a travel crib stored away in the appartment, which was a pleasant surprise for a change. My husband set it up right away and after a very long day we could at least let Pontus sleep in his own bed while we collapsed on the couch, dreading what the remaining 4 days in Berlin would be like.
Best of the day: Bahlsen factory outlet, Sarah's food
Worst of the day: There's just so much to choose from...
Plans for next day: Wake up at and be back home in Sweden
After that start, how much worse could the day really get? When we got to the gate they had already started boarding so within minutes after checking in we were on the plane. We had an aisle seat and a middle seat in row 4. The window seat was occupied by an elderly business traveller. You could see from the expression on his face just how much he liked having us sitting beside him and he was not afraid to show it in other ways either. The armrest he and I shared - it was his. Any attempts to get my arm anywhere on it ended with him pushing me off. My lap was his personal newspaper page holder and he apparently suffered from testicular elephantitis - why else would he have needed to sit so that his right leg was stretched out in front of my seat? It was great. Even better was that the plane was not moving at all. For 40 minutes we just sat there on the airfield, rolled a little every now and then, but didn't go anywhere. There were no announcements either and I was talking to my husband about that when I heard mumbling from the side. I turned to the man and asked him if he had said something to me. He looked and me and said that he had not said a word. I shrugged it off and turned back to my husband. More, louder, mumbling. I turned to the man again and asked him once more if he was talking to me and said that I had a hard time understanding him. Again he answered that he had not said anything at all. I told him that I had definitely heard him speak (so had my husband by the way), that I just wasn't sure if he was speaking to me. To which he replied (with a broad Berlin accent) that I was annoying him and a stupid cow (yes, he really called me that) and that we should all get up and find ourselves some other seats. Let's just say that after the morning I had had it was definitely not a good idea for him to be speaking to me that way. I let him know (in the most polite words of course) that his opinion really mattered to me and that I was taking the matter to heart and would absolutely change everything about me, because the voice that supposedly wasn't his told me so. I don't know if it was what I said or how I said it, but I made enough of an impression for him to back off: no more fighting over the armrest, no more newspaper in my lap and no more mumbling. Soon after that we took off and once we were well up in the air I actually did go to the flight attendants, told them what had happened and asked if we could get other seats. I made sure to speak loud enough so that the people sitting around us could hear it as well. The man was visibly embarrassed, the crew very understanding and we got a whole row to ourselves. Even with Pontus now having a seat to himself it was a challenge to keep him quiet and entertained during the flight. Children that age do not want to sit still - they want to run around, grab and shred people's magazines, pull airsickness bags over their heads, kick against the backrest of the seat in front of them or hit people with safety instruction cards. The only thing we had to offer was snacks and we tried hard to muffle all sounds by keeping the food coming, but it didn't really work as well as we had hoped. It was a loooong flight...
By the time we arrived in Berlin it felt like we had been travelling for days and aged years in the process, even though it was not even noon. My friend Sarah picked us up at the airport and we got on the bus to Bahnhof Zoo. And who do you think my husband wound up sitting beside on that very bus? Indeed, it was the elderly business traveller. But this time he was smart (or scared?) enough to keep quiet and we made it to Bahnhof Zoo without further problems.
From Bahnhof Zoo we took the subway to Günzelstrasse, which is only 3 stops away. When we got to Günzelstrasse station we had to learn a bitter lesson: most of Berlin's stations have no elevator or escalator. Over the next couple of days we found out how big a problem that really was. There's several flights of stairs, there's your big suitcase, your child in its stroller and let's just say that if you don't look like Arnold or Jean-Claude when you get to Berlin, you damn sure will when you leave. My poor husband...
We found the appartment without any problems and were greeted by our landlord. He showed us around, collected the rest of the rent and then delivered a disturbing monologue about how much he liked Sweden, how superior he thought Sweden's school and social welfare system was and that he considered himself a "swedophile". Yes, that's right, "swedophile".
When looking for appartments I had chosen the one we now stayed at not only because of its proximity to downtown Berlin, but also because the description said that it was equipped with a highchair and a baby crib. The highcair I saw, but the crib was nowhere to be found. When I asked the landlord about this he pointed at the pull-out-couch in the living room and said that that was the children's bed. I tried to explain that there was a clear difference between a crib and a hide-a-bed sofa (both in name and in function), but he claimed that there was no mention of any kind of crib for small children in the ad and that the couch was the extra bed. As angry as I was about this obvious lie - I was also too exhausted to start yet another discussion. It's not like that would have made the crib appear out of nowhere and where else should we have gone? Pontus would have to sleep between us in our bed with all the horrible consequence that has on everyone's sleep quality.
After the landlord had finally left we went out and did some quick grocery shopping, ate a little snack and got on our way to Sarah's appartment. There we met her husband and together we drove over to the Bahlsen factory outlet. Bahlsen, for those who don't know, is a well-known manufacturer of cookies, cakes and all kinds of salty snacks and at the outlet you can buy their products (and even products that are not available on the German market) at reduced prices. Cookies and chips for less? Give me a shopping basket, let me roam free and I will buy like there is no tomorrow. Unfortunately I had to hold myself back, considering the weight limit of the luggage and all, but I definitely had a good time. The only person who had an even better time must have been Sarah who was totally ecstatic and picked up each and every item in the whole store. Pontus, in the meanwhile, had fallen asleep and after we had taken turns carrying him around for a while my husband went and waited in the car with him. Factory outlets are not his kind of stores anyway and going there with me is an added challenge. I am sure it's not a pretty sight when I see all the bargains and totally lose control.
After we had each filled a gigantic bag at the Bahlsen store we drove back to Sarah's appartment where she cooked dinner for us (a really delicious wok dish with rice and chicken), while Pontus tested just how childproof the place was (not very, it turned out). We were all having a good time and it seemed like the day would end on a good note after all. But when we came back to our own appartment later that evening we found a piece of paper on the floor with a note from our landlord. On it it said that we had only paid for 2 persons but were now staying there with 4, followed by a detailed calculation about how much more we were supposed to pay and the request to get in contact immediately. Why no one ever asked us earlier I really didn't understand. We could have settled the matter and answered any questions right then and there. Instead we got this note which basically accused us of fraud. I called the woman (it was her partner we had met earlier) and explained to her that one of the 4 people was a friend who lived in Berlin, had her own appartment and was thus definitely not staying with us and that the second person was a 15-month-old infant. She got defensive. Her partner had only said that 4 people instead of 2 had shown up and that that was not according to the rules and... Again, why didn't she ask first? Why write a whole new invoice and demand money before getting all the facts straight? While we easily agreed on that one did not need to pay for a person that was not staying at the appartment at all (Sarah), there was more discussion about Pontus. She felt that I should have listed him as a third person and paid full price for him as well, but graciously "allowed my explanation" that there neither had been any information about that when I booked nor that could it be considered customary to need to pay full price for a baby sleeping in his parent's bed. We basically agreed to disagree and now I know "for the next time" that there is a fee for children (no matter which age) as well.
I took the opportunity to ask her about the missing baby crib and she said that there actually was a travel crib stored away in the appartment, which was a pleasant surprise for a change. My husband set it up right away and after a very long day we could at least let Pontus sleep in his own bed while we collapsed on the couch, dreading what the remaining 4 days in Berlin would be like.
Best of the day: Bahlsen factory outlet, Sarah's food
Worst of the day: There's just so much to choose from...
Plans for next day: Wake up at and be back home in Sweden
Berlin, Berlin, wir fahren nach Berlin (frühestens 2020 wieder)
We have just come back from our 5-day trip to Berlin and it was memorable, to say the least. Maybe it is too harsh to say that we will never go again, but there is a lot to work through in therapy before we would consider it. And that is not strictly Berlin's fault - the mere experience of travelling with your typical 15-month-old already did half the damage. We have basically decided not to travel anywhere again at all until the love and silence of our children can be bought with comic books and candy. I think 2020 sounds good...
For you to understand and me to never forget I will write a little day-by-day recap of our trip as soon as I find the time. Prepare to dive deep into the insane world that is family vacation!
For you to understand and me to never forget I will write a little day-by-day recap of our trip as soon as I find the time. Prepare to dive deep into the insane world that is family vacation!
March 10, 2009
Värsta krisen
*hahaha* Läste precis det här på Aftonbladet:
LÄSARNA: AF UGGLAS TILL MOSKVA
Därför är Caroline af Ugglas framröstad som storfavorit till finalen i Globen
"Avspeglar världens kris"
Så rätt, så rätt...
LÄSARNA: AF UGGLAS TILL MOSKVA
Därför är Caroline af Ugglas framröstad som storfavorit till finalen i Globen
"Avspeglar världens kris"
Så rätt, så rätt...
Melodifestivalen
This Saturday it's the final of Melodifestivalen and after sitting and watching no less than 2,8 of the 4 qualifying rounds as well as the last 10 minutes of Andra Chansen I consider myself sufficiently informed to give some qualified feedback:
Måns Zelmerlöw:
That suit, that suit, that suit. He looks like a cocktail waiter on a cruise ship. Or like the Swedish smalltown version of a James Bond impersonator. It is so, so sad. Right, he sang as well, something with "hope" and "glory". It was not bad, but it wasn't memorable either. It was radio music. He had a lot to make up for (even though there is really no excuse for a song like "Cara Mia") and this just didn't have enough of a wow factor. Sorry, Måns, maybe next year.
Caroline af Ugglas:
If someone is dressed like an escaped mental patient, moves like an escaped mental patient and sounds like an escaped mental patient - well, then he or she probably is an escaped mental patient. Snälla, snälla, snälla, dear people of Sweden, don't embarrass your country like this!
Agnes:
Ehm, I actually didn't remember her song - it was just that special. Which is sad, because I had really high hopes for Agnes. She is one of those people that do make good music and you expect her to come to Melodifestivalen and blow everyone away. "Release me" is a song that could have done really well at the ESC for example. Instead she shows up and sings something that is so boring, forgettable and substandard.
H.E.A.T.:
Oh yes, I can feel the heat! 80ies rock at its best and the only song I really liked. I hope they make it, but remembering how it went for The Poodles a couple of years ago I have my doubts. Come on people, get over the ever same-sounding softpop and the 1001 power ballads and sent some real music to the ESC for a change!
Emilia:
Harmless. Is there another word to describe her song? I don't think so. It was, you know, happy-happy pop. Didn't hurt, but didn't stick either. I probably wouldn't notice if she didn't show up on Saturday.
Alcazar:
Al-ca-zar, yes. Not a bad song, even though the chorus is a little weak. But hey, with those candy-coloured ABBA-inspired outfits and the groovy dance moves, who's listening too closely? Alcazar are known outside of Sweden which might be a plus, even though I think people overrate how much of a difference it really makes. The song might be popular with voters in Eastern Europe who don't yet know that Eurodance ended with the 90ies in the rest of the world.
Sarah Dawn Finer:
Booooobies! Oh come on, like you weren't looking. And I don't blame you. It was hard to look anywhere else - her ta-tas were all over the place. But if you did manage to divert your stare and focus on her face instead you could see that she apparently inherited Charlotte Perrelli's make-up artist from last year. There can't be another explanation for such an eyeliner disaster. It all really distracted from her song, but as it was just another lengthy ballad there was nothing to be missed.
E.M.D.:
I said it right away and there are comments of people on You Tube who agree with me: the guy who sings first (the "M" in E.M.D.) may have a beard and all, but he sounds like a little girl. It is unpleasant. As soon as he stops singing things get better. The song is even catchy enough to forgive them their extremely cheesy dance routine. I am not sure how good their chances at the ESC would be though...
Sofia:
When she made it to the final thanks to the vote of the ominous "International jury" I had a very hard time remembering who she was at all. My husband reminded me: "She was the one who sang in Greek". That sounded vaguely familiar. I wasn't sure what language it really was she sang in though. Might have been Greek, English, Swedish, Swahili or all of the above. But let's say it was Greek for easiness' sake. So can somebody who speaks Greek please tell her that Ruslana called. She wants her song back.
Molly Sandén:
She really has a great voice, but why did she have to sing a ballad? Correct me if I am wrong, but it's not like ballads have been winning the ESC lately. And her already small chances of succeeding with that song are further diminished by the fact that she sings in Swedish. Wasn't the idea was to achieve a better result than last year?
Malena Ernman:
I am not a big fan of that kind of music, but you have to give it to her: it would be something different to send to the ESC. There is also a chance that her high-pitched singing temporarily deafens people and makes it impossible for them to hear any contestants that perform after her (less competition = more votes?). Unfortunately her regular singing (meaning the one where she does not sound like she is getting electrocuted in the bathtub) is just not that good. At times she sounds like a guy, at times she sounds like somebody who learned English from a cassette course and at times she sounds like me - none of this being a compliment.
I think if H.E.A.T. does not make it to Moscow it will be a lot of "Sweden - zero points" again this year.
Måns Zelmerlöw:
That suit, that suit, that suit. He looks like a cocktail waiter on a cruise ship. Or like the Swedish smalltown version of a James Bond impersonator. It is so, so sad. Right, he sang as well, something with "hope" and "glory". It was not bad, but it wasn't memorable either. It was radio music. He had a lot to make up for (even though there is really no excuse for a song like "Cara Mia") and this just didn't have enough of a wow factor. Sorry, Måns, maybe next year.
Caroline af Ugglas:
If someone is dressed like an escaped mental patient, moves like an escaped mental patient and sounds like an escaped mental patient - well, then he or she probably is an escaped mental patient. Snälla, snälla, snälla, dear people of Sweden, don't embarrass your country like this!
Agnes:
Ehm, I actually didn't remember her song - it was just that special. Which is sad, because I had really high hopes for Agnes. She is one of those people that do make good music and you expect her to come to Melodifestivalen and blow everyone away. "Release me" is a song that could have done really well at the ESC for example. Instead she shows up and sings something that is so boring, forgettable and substandard.
H.E.A.T.:
Oh yes, I can feel the heat! 80ies rock at its best and the only song I really liked. I hope they make it, but remembering how it went for The Poodles a couple of years ago I have my doubts. Come on people, get over the ever same-sounding softpop and the 1001 power ballads and sent some real music to the ESC for a change!
Emilia:
Harmless. Is there another word to describe her song? I don't think so. It was, you know, happy-happy pop. Didn't hurt, but didn't stick either. I probably wouldn't notice if she didn't show up on Saturday.
Alcazar:
Al-ca-zar, yes. Not a bad song, even though the chorus is a little weak. But hey, with those candy-coloured ABBA-inspired outfits and the groovy dance moves, who's listening too closely? Alcazar are known outside of Sweden which might be a plus, even though I think people overrate how much of a difference it really makes. The song might be popular with voters in Eastern Europe who don't yet know that Eurodance ended with the 90ies in the rest of the world.
Sarah Dawn Finer:
Booooobies! Oh come on, like you weren't looking. And I don't blame you. It was hard to look anywhere else - her ta-tas were all over the place. But if you did manage to divert your stare and focus on her face instead you could see that she apparently inherited Charlotte Perrelli's make-up artist from last year. There can't be another explanation for such an eyeliner disaster. It all really distracted from her song, but as it was just another lengthy ballad there was nothing to be missed.
E.M.D.:
I said it right away and there are comments of people on You Tube who agree with me: the guy who sings first (the "M" in E.M.D.) may have a beard and all, but he sounds like a little girl. It is unpleasant. As soon as he stops singing things get better. The song is even catchy enough to forgive them their extremely cheesy dance routine. I am not sure how good their chances at the ESC would be though...
Sofia:
When she made it to the final thanks to the vote of the ominous "International jury" I had a very hard time remembering who she was at all. My husband reminded me: "She was the one who sang in Greek". That sounded vaguely familiar. I wasn't sure what language it really was she sang in though. Might have been Greek, English, Swedish, Swahili or all of the above. But let's say it was Greek for easiness' sake. So can somebody who speaks Greek please tell her that Ruslana called. She wants her song back.
Molly Sandén:
She really has a great voice, but why did she have to sing a ballad? Correct me if I am wrong, but it's not like ballads have been winning the ESC lately. And her already small chances of succeeding with that song are further diminished by the fact that she sings in Swedish. Wasn't the idea was to achieve a better result than last year?
Malena Ernman:
I am not a big fan of that kind of music, but you have to give it to her: it would be something different to send to the ESC. There is also a chance that her high-pitched singing temporarily deafens people and makes it impossible for them to hear any contestants that perform after her (less competition = more votes?). Unfortunately her regular singing (meaning the one where she does not sound like she is getting electrocuted in the bathtub) is just not that good. At times she sounds like a guy, at times she sounds like somebody who learned English from a cassette course and at times she sounds like me - none of this being a compliment.
I think if H.E.A.T. does not make it to Moscow it will be a lot of "Sweden - zero points" again this year.
March 08, 2009
Compact diaper bag
A while back I bought a stroller bag from Totaja and it inspired a little sewing project of my own: rather than just throwing diapers and wipes into the stroller bag I wanted to make a compact diaper bag in the same design that would hold everything needed for a day's diaper changes while still being easily portable.
Did it take longer than I expected? Sure did! Did I curse, sweat and lose at least two liters of blood through the countless holes I poked into my hands with various needles and pins? Absolutely! Were there lessons to be learned along the way? Oh yes!
But I am really happy with how the bag turned out and now that I am slowly regaining feeling in my fingertips it all seems worth it.
Here's a picture from the front. The bag has a wrist strap on the side.
Inside it has enough room for at least four diapers and a big package of wet wipes
On the backside there is a seperate open pocket for the changing pad. This way you can easily access it with one hand while holding the baby.
Bag and changing pad.
The backside of the changing pad is cushioned for extra comfort.
Did it take longer than I expected? Sure did! Did I curse, sweat and lose at least two liters of blood through the countless holes I poked into my hands with various needles and pins? Absolutely! Were there lessons to be learned along the way? Oh yes!
But I am really happy with how the bag turned out and now that I am slowly regaining feeling in my fingertips it all seems worth it.
Here's a picture from the front. The bag has a wrist strap on the side.
Inside it has enough room for at least four diapers and a big package of wet wipes
On the backside there is a seperate open pocket for the changing pad. This way you can easily access it with one hand while holding the baby.
Bag and changing pad.
The backside of the changing pad is cushioned for extra comfort.
March 04, 2009
SSD syndrome
I suffer from SSD syndrome. Not the heart condition. Not the one that you get from sniffing glue either. I am talking about the worst of all: Sticky Side Down syndrome.
The syndrome manifests itself several times throughout the day in the following way: I think about something I need or want to do. In a sudden moment of complete clarity my head reminds me of facts that are relevant for the execution of that task. Complete clarity is immediately followed by total amnesia. Without further consideration I go ahead with whatever I needed or wanted to do. The result can be rated on a scale from "slightly dangerous" to "stupid, but entertaining".
That was of course very theoretical, so let me give you some practical examples for how this rare disease affects my life:
Take today, roundabout 15 minutes ago. I am sewing a bag at the moment and wanted to take the time tonight to iron on the reinforcing fabric onto the lining. As I picked up the fabric I thought to myself "Remember to put it on the lining with the sticky side down". I then went on to check that I had the damp cloth needed to iron on the fabric, put it down on the lining and started to iron. And iron. And then iron some more. Still, every time I lifted the damp cloth, the fabric would come loose from the lining. You probably already figured it out, but it took me a whole 5 minutes (and lots of ironing) to realize that I had NOT put the fabric with the sticky side down after all and thus ironed it onto the damp cloth instead.
Then there is my little problem at work.
As the desk I am working at right now has only been set up temporarily for me, I am missing most standard office supplies and little extras that make life nice, such as a trash bin. Everybody else has got their own black plastic trash bin under their tables, while I have to go around and find somebody who will let me use theirs. However, several times a day I notice a big black object under my table out of the corner of my eye, which immediately triggers my instinct to throw away whatever stuff has been piling up on my desk. My head usually tells me that something is wrong, very wrong, about the picture of me throwing something into MY trash bin under MY table, but the thought disappears again as quickly as it popped up. And the next thing I know is that I have thrown candy wrappers and bits of paper into my winter boots.
SSD syndrome may not kill, but it does leave you feeling very, very "special".
The syndrome manifests itself several times throughout the day in the following way: I think about something I need or want to do. In a sudden moment of complete clarity my head reminds me of facts that are relevant for the execution of that task. Complete clarity is immediately followed by total amnesia. Without further consideration I go ahead with whatever I needed or wanted to do. The result can be rated on a scale from "slightly dangerous" to "stupid, but entertaining".
That was of course very theoretical, so let me give you some practical examples for how this rare disease affects my life:
Take today, roundabout 15 minutes ago. I am sewing a bag at the moment and wanted to take the time tonight to iron on the reinforcing fabric onto the lining. As I picked up the fabric I thought to myself "Remember to put it on the lining with the sticky side down". I then went on to check that I had the damp cloth needed to iron on the fabric, put it down on the lining and started to iron. And iron. And then iron some more. Still, every time I lifted the damp cloth, the fabric would come loose from the lining. You probably already figured it out, but it took me a whole 5 minutes (and lots of ironing) to realize that I had NOT put the fabric with the sticky side down after all and thus ironed it onto the damp cloth instead.
Then there is my little problem at work.
As the desk I am working at right now has only been set up temporarily for me, I am missing most standard office supplies and little extras that make life nice, such as a trash bin. Everybody else has got their own black plastic trash bin under their tables, while I have to go around and find somebody who will let me use theirs. However, several times a day I notice a big black object under my table out of the corner of my eye, which immediately triggers my instinct to throw away whatever stuff has been piling up on my desk. My head usually tells me that something is wrong, very wrong, about the picture of me throwing something into MY trash bin under MY table, but the thought disappears again as quickly as it popped up. And the next thing I know is that I have thrown candy wrappers and bits of paper into my winter boots.
SSD syndrome may not kill, but it does leave you feeling very, very "special".
February 16, 2009
Pink bread box
In my quest to turn the whole house into a pink kitsch wonderland I have now begun to expand my collection into the kitchen, starting with this fabulous pink bread box that I bought at Lagerhaus last week. It was also available in other colours, but white and black are just so...not pink.
My husband was actually okay with both the bread box and its colour. He likes to see me happy, he is good like that.
My husband was actually okay with both the bread box and its colour. He likes to see me happy, he is good like that.
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