The Candrians Down Under

My Shadow

I saw my shadow at the mall today.
She was pushing a stroller, but there was no baby in it. She was carrying the baby while the stroller just served the purpose of a cumbersome accessory. She made my day.
I am a baby-carrying, empty-stroller-pushing mom the majority of the time I go out with The Smalls. We pass a lot of strollers every time we go out, and almost invariably there is a child in it. Strange how that works. As I juggle holding my baby while pushing his empty stroller, sometimes I point out the other baby-carrying strollers to him and how cool the other babies look hanging out in their strollers. But he's just like, so what? I'm not into being trendy and don't you go try putting me down in that thing again or I will sound the alarm.
I see those baby-carrying strollers everywhere and I wonder what that must be like.
Bless that woman in the mall with her non-trendy baby! For some reason it felt really, really nice to see another woman with the same breed of baby as mine. I wanted to invite her to lunch to talk things over. Instead we just smiled.

Our Little Snot-Nose Crawling

This is Michael's favorite video. Of himself, of course. He gets really happy when he sees himself get really happy.

Duathlon

So I competed in my first duathlon yesterday. Basically, a triathlon for people who aren't swimmers. Run-bike-run instead of swim-bike-run.

It was fun, although about 100 times less fun than I used to have road racing and mountain biking racing. But, as a trade off, it was also about 100 times safer. So I guess I consider that sort of trade-off more at this point in my life when I have a baby who relies on me every minute of every day. It was also almost within spitting distance of my house, which was great because I could be at home nursing Michael one minute and on the course warming up literally the very next. Nursing always makes me super relaxed (or drowsy to be more exact) and that was a nice way to ensure a really calm start. Although then I found it difficult to really find a very competitive spirit. I wonder if I will ever feel that competitive drive and passion again like I used to. I mean, it was fun, I tried, and I did well, but I just couldn't get myself to care too much. I was hoping that a race would magically fire me up again.
Afterwards, we met up with some friends at their parent's summer house in the archipelago. It was beautiful! Rob reveled in the chance to put some more time on his paddle board, as well as had the chance to try out wind surfing (verdict: tricky!).

Biggie got The Memo about Mother's Day!!!

It's a Mother's Day miracle.
All I wanted for Mother's Day was to sleep in a little bit, and somehow, Michael got the memo.
6:38 am!!!
Hey, it's all relative. He's been waking up between 4:58 and 5:52 (the exact time you see on the clock really gets etched into your mind when you are forced out of bed this early) for the last couple weeks, so 6:38 was pretty big.

But wait! There's more!

Then, as we were staring out the window together (another trick that soothes him), we had a magical moment as a mother and baby deer walked right by us through our yard and stopped to graze together in our foliage.

Then when we went to church, I didn't have to take him out ONE SINGLE TIME! He was so good, in fact, that I listened to every single speaker and actually got something out of it.

Then he ate by far the most he has ever eaten, without even requiring me to employ any trickery (like, Here! Play with this toy! Then as soon as he opens for the toy shove my spoon in.)

Also, today he gave me a happiness-to-whining ratio that is off the charts high for this boy.

But wait! I haven't even gotten to the best part yet.
Drumroll please....

HE SAID MOM TODAY!!!
And MAMA and MA'AM and mmmmmmmmm and muhbah and all sorts of other jibberish, but he clearly said mom and mama several times. He has never even made the "m" sound before today.

The bottom line is this:
My son, who is still only 7 months old, made my Mother's Day feel like something that could qualify for one of those tiny little Hallmark books that are way over-priced and no one really reads even though they seem like a cute token gift.

Finally, to my mom and mother-in-law: here is a little video of Michael that I put together for you. I know it is a little self-serving, but I hope you both like it too! (Since putting this together a couple weeks ago, he has learned to crawl...so I guess that means I need to make another one soon.)

Helsinki

Smalls and I decided to party it up while Rob was away for business and went to visit the grandparents in Helsinki. As illustrated by the way Michael is hanging upside-down*, it's hard-core partying when my parents are involved.

We saw cool buildings, ate kabob, visited their mission office, and watched the city fill up with drunken madness as the Finns celebrated May Day. Smalls saw cool new walls he could scratch, ate his fingers, visited two older people who smiled at him a lot, and watched as the city filled up with shiny metalic balloons as the Finns celebrated May Day. It was like the best luck of his life when he was staring at a big cluster of balloons a street vendor was holding, and then a strong gust of wind caught them all and blew them right into the stroller, inches from his face where he could just reach out and touch them. Even Mother Nature doesn't want to hear Master Smalls whine.

*This seems to disable Michael's whining mechanism. Since this discovery he spends a lot of time upside-down. It's good for healthy brain development.

>> Sunday, April 25, 2010 – Spa Weekend

Spa Weekend
This weekend I left Smalls for the first night of my life (!!!) and took a short trip up north to a little town called Jävle with a bunch of girls from my church (I help with the Young Women group) for a spa weekend. It was a great opportunity to explore more of Sweden and dig my roots a little deeper into the culture. I imagine that if I were asked to chaperone a bunch of teenage girls for a sleepover that required a two hour drive, a much too late bedtime, a need to pump every time I would have fed Michael otherwise, with a group of people that I virtually knew no one - I probably wouldn't have been too excited about it if it were last year. But at the moment I am all about seizing opportunities to explore and expand and experience, so I was excited.
Also, I am semi-slow and thought that we were actually staying at a spa and having actual spa personnel treating us, all for no more than what amounts to about $13. Sometimes I honestly have this problem of believing what I hope to be true instead of objectively critiquing my ideas. All I knew about the activity was what I saw on the flyer that said things like "Spa Weekend" and "top-to-toe treatment" and "massage" and "sauna". I want to say that I take things more literally for some reason when they are written in Swedish, but that isn't really a legit explanation because I've been prone to these mistakes of judgement plenty of other times as well. Like the time I went to Mexico with a bunch of college friends and somehow got the notion that we were going to some place where the dolphins were so friendly and abundant that you could just jump on and hitch a ride. Yes, I still earned a degree from BYU and taught the youth of our nation for the last 8 years.
But back to my topic.
It was basically a big slumber party at someone's house with a spa theme. Fun idea, but I was a little sad when we got to the address, it was a house, and I realized that my $13 was paying for food and not some crazy ridiculously reduced price for a full day of hanging out in a robe while being fanned with palm leaves, fed grapes, and my body being worked over.
That would have been cool.
Once I got over my ridiculous notion of what I thought it was going to be, I quite enjoyed the experience. I got out of it a chance to...
...stay at a really cool huge old Swedish house that was built in the middle of the 1800's.
...make a good leap with my swedish.
...learn that even way out here, people still turn to tacos and spaghetti (not together) to feed big groups.
...try ketchup on top of my spaghetti - something Swedes love (and they say Italiens HATE them for this transgression!)
...listen to ghost stories in Swedish and learn some different nuances of their language
...learn that even out here they sing kumbaya, teenagers write on their arms, and girls will be girls in all the same ways as I grew up with.
...discover that sauna treatment can practically cure pollen-induced allergies! I had allergies so bad for a few days that besides the sniffles and headache, my sinuses were so swollen even my face hurt. I almost let it stop me from going. Then we did the thing where you go back and forth from the sauna to jumping in the freezing cold river (See the top picture. Yes, there is still snow on the ground! Now you understand the expression on the girl's face in the second picture!) over and over, and I immediately felt a million times better. Even now a day later I still feel better than before. The sniffles are back, but my head does not hurt at all any more. (Rob and I have become HUGE fans of the sauna since moving here and use ours all the time for the healing effect it seems to work over our body and mind.)

The Hair
The hair problem continues.
No matter what we do, it always ends up like this.
I guess I could do as my friend Bonnie suggested and just shave it all off, but in the end, I think we actually kind of like laughing at his bad hair. The kid gives us enough grief, the least he can do is allow us a few laughs at his expense.
Also, I think he is hinting for a trip to Six Flags.

Back in The Saddle Again
Tonight I went to my first group ride in one and a half years. It was wonderfully motivating and wonderfully discouraging, all at once.

I've been looking for information about group rides, races, etc. since before even coming to Sweden. But all my internet searches seemed rather fruitless and it had quite the demotivating effect on my desire to start training again postpartum. If there were no races and no group rides, then what was the urgency of getting fast again?

Then last night, miraculously I finally uncovered the secret website with information on a nearby group ride for tonight. Suddenly I wished I'd been training all winter. But I figured "oh, well." Nothing will motivate me like a good old fashioned lashing and getting spit out the back. So I decided to show up anyway.

I started by dusting off my old race bike. Literally, I dusted it off. It has not been ridden outdoors since the early-pregnancy-era. (I had to ride my CX bike since the aggressive position of my road bike was impossible while preggo.) After riding only my cross bike on low tire pressure for so long, I could hardly believe how fast and responsive my old race bike felt under my body. Ahh, Spanky 2.0. So nice to reunite with an old friend.

I then choose my riding gear as thoughtfully as if I was going out on a first date. Knowing I would show up as A. the new one, B. the girl, and C. the foreigner who speaks crappy Swedish, I didn't want to add "D. the one without style" to that list.

Cyclists are a peculiar little bunch with all sorts of funny little codes that take years of riding to crack, and style is a Big Deal. Unfortunately, I am not a very stylish person so it took some learning and then a lot of hard work to make up for some of my lack of style by being fast. I am not fast anymore, ergo I need more style. I think that part of cyclists hang up with style is that if you have the right style, the coordinating kit, good bike, etc., then people assume you are experienced and know what you are doing. Which is a really, really important thing when you draft and ride a breath away from each other and a dumb maneuver by a rookie could bring you crashing down.

Even so much as the wrong pair of socks could mean that people will be anxious to ride too close to you and you will be decidedly less welcome as a newbie to a group ride.

So I was a little hung up on the fact that at the end of my last season I had two crashes that cracked two of my fancy, stylish, coordinating helmets, and all I was left with was a lame blue helmet. It didn't coordinate with my choice of kit or my bike or shoes or anything. Tonight I cared deeply. It's hard enough finding your place as a new mom in a foreign country. I feel like, SHOOT, I'm slow and don't know anyone. Can't I at least show up looking good?

So, the ride time comes and I rolled on up to the group of about 30 guys waiting at the round-about. I am the only female. I am new. I feel like all eyes are on me as I park myself among them. Not much chatter going on. Swedes are not a gregarious population. No one says anything to me but I can feel myself being sized up, eyes darting my direction. My real feeling is one of awkwardness, but my brain tells me to hold my head up, act confident, and make the first move. I find someone who looks stylish. (I soon realize that my radar sent me correctly to the leader of the group ride. See. Style matters.) I decide to introduce myself to him, but my general awkwardness is compounded to the 10th degree multiplied by a gazillion when I try to speak in Swedish. I started what I meant to be a much longer statement/conversation with "I am new". Here's how it went.

Me: Jag är ny...(pausing to think about how to say my next thought)...
Stylish guy: (looking a bit confused) Hey, Jagärny (holds out his hand). I'm Fredrik.

I was so flustered that I choose not to explain that my name is not Jagärny, mostly because that would require more talking on my part. And maybe it was better that he thought I had a horrendously strange name than that I sounded so bad he couldn't tell what I actually meant to say. After another awkward pause as I contemplated how to proceed (keep on with the crappy Swedish or revert to English already?), I asked in more broken Swedish what to expect from the ride. The dumb thing is that like most Swedes, he speaks pretty much perfect English. I'm not sure what exactly I am accomplishing by my efforts. Anyway, the upside is that he talked for quite some time in Swedish and I understood it all without having to say much more. Small victory.

Next dilemma: I am new, I am the only female, I am slow, I have an unstylish, non-coordinating helmet. Do I alleviate their fears about riding next to me by slipping in that I used to race pro back in the States? But then I am one of those people. Ugh. If I was still pro, I would not have to mention a thing. You are fast and that speaks for itself.

I took the lame route. I slipped it in. I felt stupid enough already. Even if I was new and female and stupid-sounding and slow, I at least wanted them to know that I knew how to pace-line and I wouldn't crash them out. But mentioning that meant a need for including the I-just-had-a-baby excuse for why I am slow now. Great. "I used-to-be" and "here's-my-lame-excuse" both spewed out like vomit within 5 minutes of joining the group. Is this what I have become? Ugh.

We rode. We pace-lined. I took a few pulls. I got tired fast. I lasted 25 minutes. Wow.

It is what it is. But I hate HATE HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE it when I can't join the boys and show them that I am every bit as good or better.

Because I know what they were thinking about the random girl with the special-ed helmet and I want with all my heart for them to be wrong.

But I knew they would be right this time.

Do I show up again next week?

Andrea Visits
Last week Michael and I got to take another break from our daily routine to play tourists with Rob's sister Andrea. It was so much fun to have her here and to have a good reason to explore more parts of Sweden that I haven't gotten to yet. And it never hurts to have an extra person around to give Michael the constant attention he craves. Man, how it would be nice to have some family near by!

Våffeldagen
Yesterday we celebrated Våffeldag in Sweden. It means Waffle Day. We ate waffles in the morning and again at night. Our kind of holiday.
The last holiday we celebrated previous to Våffeldag was Fettisdag. Fettisdag means Fat Tuesday, and it is a day when everyone eats these types of pastry called semlor (pictured). Also our kind of holiday.
The next upcoming holiday is obviously Easter, and in Sweden everyone gets Good Friday off of work, as well as the next Monday. One of the many beauties of having a foreign post with the government is that not only does Rob get all of the US holidays off from work, but he also gets the Swedish holidays as well.
Cheers to new holidays!

Spain
We recently took advantage of our proximity to all sorts of great European destinations and headed out to Barcelona for a few days. Here are a few random notes about the trip:

- I Love to explore new places through running and biking. The highlight of the trip was long meandering runs through interesting streets, past cool buildings, markets, monuments, the beach, etc. - SANS STROLLER!!! Yay! Rob and I played tag team with the Smalls at times so that we could each enjoy some pure, unadulterated freedom.

- One of the times I did go running with the stroller, I accidentally made a bit of a scene. Smalls and I like to play this game I made up called "Runaway Baby". Here's how you play: when you get to a downhill, you take your hands off the stroller and cry out "Runaway baby! Runaway baby!" in a way that amuses your kid while you chase right behind. Or you just yell "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah" as you run behind. Ideally, you really should do one of those two things in an exaggerated way that shows passersby that you are just having a good time. More ideally, you only do it when there is no one around to witness. I messed up the game and forgot those rules and out of no where a Spaniard comes sprinting towards us, great distress written all over his face, trying to save this seeming runaway stroller.
Ooops. I hope he got a laugh out of it. No authorities came knocking on my hotel door later that night, so I guess all's well that ends well.

- Barcelona does not stink nearly as bad in March as it does in July. Seriously. Don't go in July.

- Where ever we travel in the world, Rob always finds an Adidas shop that he has to go into. He has a radar. I am not sure what the appeal is when we just went to the same store in Stockholm. Then he called me out on my strange need to go into that cheap, full-of-random-crap-store you also find in every city. But you just never know what you might find! We'll call it even.

- We got to visit with some old friends from our Malibu ward, the Schroder kids and Amanda Carr. Rob used to be their Sunday school teacher and I used to tutor math to Amanda. It was fun to see them so grown up. Something charming about meeting up with old friends in a foreign land several years later. It was cool to see that Amanda is studying to be a nurse. I felt so proud of her. It made me feel a little wistful that I could have ever taught at a single high school long enough to have old students come back years later and see what they'd made of themselves. I always used to think that when teachers said to come back and visit that they were just being polite, but now I understand differently. Seeing the kids in Spain made me think of all sorts of students who I grew to love and would enjoy seeing as adults. (I actually quite miss teaching!)

- Restaurants in Spain don't open till 8:00 at night. Which is funny because in Sweden pretty much everything but the dinner restaurants are closed down by 8:00, or way before. I think these two countries are about as polar opposite as you can get when it comes to social things. I've also become so accostume to Swedes quiet disposition that the outgoing, gregarious nature of the Spaniards kept catching me off guard.

- Now that I am finally thinking in Swedish, all of my Spanish has gone to pot. Too bad. I had to think surprisingly hard even just to come up with "gracias".

-Vacation is fun.

Traditions

I got a sweet Giants jersey for my first Christmas. It even had my name on the back. I thought that would be a good tradition for Michael: he gets a new jersey every Christmas. Here is the first of many jerseys, although I don't think we will put Biggie Smalls on the back of all of them.

Hey, Michael Robert here, aka Biggie Smalls, or just "the Smalls" if you want.

So today was my half-year birthday. I am now officially "half." I thought I would get some presents or cake or something. Instead I got some shots and peas. Lame. Maybe my one year birthday will be better.

Here are some things I like:
- playing in the bath
- seeing my grandparents (either having them visit or going to see them in Finland)
- things that are shiny
- whatever mom and dad have in their hands (but usually they won't let me take it.)
- being naked
- The Giants
- wind in my face
- watching sports (for 5-10 minutes)
- walking around in the baby bjorn
- the Muppets
- jumping
- rolling over
- seeing myself in the mirror when I am happy (that kid makes me laugh)

Things I don't like:
- wearing clothes
- sleeping in
- naps
- The Dodgers
- sitting still
- doing anything for more then 5-10 minutes
- being buckled into my car seat
- seeing myself in the mirror when I am mad (that kid makes me even angrier)

That's all folks. (I like watching Looney Tunes, too.)

Grandparents Visit
I decided it would be fun to learn how to use iMovie on the Mac, and it was. So here are some shots from last week when Grandma and Grandpa Candrian came to dote on their grandson. He sure loved their undying attention, and I sure loved the freedom to go ski every day and get a few nights out with my man!

The Steam Roller
Michael is learning to travel quite efficiently by rolling. Can't crawl yet, but he found a way to get around anyway! He is such a determined little guy. I see so much of myself in his little personality. That realization is a little frightening. But it helps me understand him.

A couple weeks ago I had many sleepless nights because every time he would come into a light sleep and normally just go right on with sleeping, he decided instead that it would be a great time to practice his rolling trick and inevitably get stuck in the most awkward* positions in the corner of his crib. Of course he would start crying for me, so I would go in, roll him back over to the other end of his crib, and then before I could even get back to my bed he would be grunting again for another rescue. One night I had to resign to just sit on the chair next to his crib for an hour from 3am - 4am while he practiced his trick and got stuck over and over and over and over....
*I think awkward falls under the category of words that are self-descriptive.
And now that I am on the topic, here is a riddle to make yourself mad with: Does the word non-self-descriptive fall under the category of words that are self-descriptive, or non-self-descriptive?

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