Even when there is a box of macaroni in the pantry, it doesn’t mean that we actually have macaroni. Or, well, I guess technically we do have macaroni, but the amount is a rounding error.

How hard is it to actually empty the box? Would cooking these last 25 pieces of macaroni really have made that lunch portion too large? Argh.

… when the kids are old enough to cook their own meals when their meal times are out of sync with the rest of the family, and their cooking doesn’t stretch much farther than pasta with ketchup or pasta with canned tomato sauce or possibly mac and cheese, and they keep this up for weeks, and they somehow never learn to write things down on the shopping list when they empty the last package of something, and then I feel like making pasta for dinner, only to discover that the pasta shelf of the pantry is effectively empty.

For the first time ever, both Ingrid and Adrian are away on sleepovers and Eric and I are spending an evening on our own.

Cooking dinner for two feels strange and unusual: all the food suddenly fits in a single pan. (Adrian is technically not a teenager but sure eats like one.)

Plasters are magical. I don’t know if it is a physical thing or purely psychological, but Adrian tells me that putting a plaster on a scraped finger makes it hurt less. Perhaps the feeling of the plaster itself is distracting, or maybe it’s because the hurt is no longer exposed to air. Or maybe it’s just a purely psychological effect. Plastcebo?

When the kids were small, they used to come to me to get the plaster magic. But already many years ago I moved our stash of plasters from the medicine box on the highest shelf to an easily-reachable floor-level spot, so the kids can serve themselves as needed.

I wish they could also learn to notice when they take the last one and note it down on the grocery list. But no. Several times I’ve needed a plaster (usually because I’ve cut my finger in the kitchen) only to see that the box is empty. (Still there, not thrown in the bin, despite being empty. Sigh.) Now I’ve learned to inspect the stores occasionally and stock up in good time.

Setting the table for this family is complicated. It’s Adrian’s job, and whenever I try, I struggle a bit to get all the details right.

Eric and I want adult-sized glasses; Adrian prefers a smaller glass; Ingrid wants a mug but not the large mug.

Everybody likes adult-sized forks and knives. Adrian and Ingrid prefer smaller spoons.

Eric, Adrian and I use plates but Ingrid wants a bowl instead unless the food is something that really, really requires a plate, like pizza or a pancake.

And it’s not like it has to be done like that, nobody will get angry if it isn’t, but then they will swap things out until they’re just right, so we might as well get it right from the start.

And then there’s the drinks buffet. Literally with 4 people we have 5 or 6 bottles and jugs on the table. Water with lemon slices for myself; carbonated water flavoured with ginger shots for Eric; carbonated water with blackcurrant cordial for Ingrid; apple water (= much-diluted apple juice) for Adrian.

It seems kind of silly when I look at it. But on the other hand – if everybody can get what they want, why not? Why force everybody to accept some least common denominator?

Ingrid is now about as tall as me, and hasn’t stopped growing yet.

She just culled a basketful of clothes from her wardrobe. Some she has outgrown, some she simply doesn’t like any more. And I almost think some of the latter might fit me. Would it be weird for me to inherit clothes from her?

That feeling when you’ve had a day full of meetings and finish working at 17:30 and hurry to the kitchen to check whether we have any dinner materials because you really need to start cooking something quite urgently, only to find out that your teenage daughter is way ahead of you and is already halfway done with dinner.

Adrian made this rhino sculpture, liked it but had no use for it, so he gave it to me. Now it sits on my desk because I also like it but have no real use for it.

Part of the role of a parent is to accept gift of random crafts, apparently. Drawings and paintings, embroidered pieces of cloth, pin cushions, decorated candle holders, miscellaneous objects made of paracord or steel wire or wood…

I guess the rhino can stay here until it gets replaced by the next thing.

Several of the games that Adrian plays have a mechanism where you can collect things that don’t matter much for the main game play. In Animal Crossing there are collections of bugs and fish and fossils. In both Zelda BOTW and Pokemon Sword, there are (among other things) recipes to collect to fill your recipe books. Inspired by an apple curry in Pokemon Sword, Adrian wanted us to make one in real life. I would never have thought to make an apple curry, but it turned out quite nice. Adrian even decorated his portion to match the picture in the game.

Swenglish happens when a Swede speaks English with a pronunciation that leans towards Swedish patterns, and uses Swedish idioms directly translated into English.

Svengelska happens when a Swede speaks Swedish but using a lot of (unnecessary) anglicisms.

Adrian and Ingrid (and especially Adrian) have come up with a third, new blend of Swedish and English: pronouncing Swedish words the way they might be pronounced in English. With a bit of luck and creativity, they find words that actually do exist in English, or sound like they might. So they can turn dator (computer) into day tour or perhaps detour; rågkaka (rye cake) becomes rogue cay-cay; julgran becomes yowl grain.

Then wrap it in some more English and Swedish: Can I use your day tour obviously means “can I use your computer”. Or maten är klar (“the food is done”, i.e. dinner is ready) can become the mat is clear which obviously means something very different.

And I guess none of this probably makes any sense to you at all unless you speak both Swedish and English…

Sometimes I understand what they say, especially in small amounts. But occasionally one of them says something in this Swedish-English mixture, and the other kid replies – so they obviously understood it – while I stand there and have no clue what they just said.