Continuing to ponder yesterday’s theme of parenting goals, here’s another angle: what things are NOT on my list?

For example, there is nothing on my list about things I want my children to do or to like. There are things I would like them to do, but these things are not important enough to make it onto the list. Their own choices are more important. I would not agree with their choices, I would be puzzled perhaps, but I would not feel like I’ve failed them as a parent.

Enjoying learning new things, or reading, or writing. Being creative. Being successful. Getting a higher education. Good things, all of them, each in their own way, and the Internet has lots of people who want these and similar things for their children.

But if my children consciously choose to not go in that direction, that is OK. If they decide to live a quiet life on a small farm in the middle of the forest, cut off from society, not learning anything new, that’s fine. If they decide to skip higher education and instead focus on some personal project, that’s fine. As long as they do this because they really want to, and have thought through the long-term implications.

Then there are the things that I don’t agree with, that I specifically do NOT want for them.

I don’t want obedience. I don’t want faith.

I don’t want self-sufficiency. Independent thinking and decision-making, yes. Being able to take care of themselves, yes. But I do not want the kind of self-sufficiency that seems prevalent in some parts of Western society, where the ideal is that you shouldn’t really need anybody. I think it is perfectly OK to need other people in your life, to want intimacy, to ask for help.

When I read my friends’ and acquaintances’ blogs or Facebook entries, it is easy to get the impression that they all lead more productive, creative, relaxed lives than I can manage.

These people have pancakes and fresh berries for brunch on Sundays, while I’m satisfied when we manage any kind of breakfast for all four of us at the same time.

They sew clothes for theirselves and their kids. Me, I’ve had a half-finished simple curtain on my desk for several weeks.

They have lush, beautiful gardens. I have weeds between the strawberries in our planting boxes, and it took me until late May to pull out the remains of last year’s dead flowers from our one and only flowerbed.

And these are people like me, parents of young children, not care-free singles.

But when I stop to think, I realize we have just prioritized different things – or we’re good at different things, or we have kids with different temperaments. Their lives are not “like mine but better” as their Facebook posts may make them seem, just different. They have their own struggles, activities that they avoid because their kids make it near-impossible, things that don’t get done. I’m comparing my average to their best.

The mum who manages pancake brunches, despite two kids? Spends an hour and a half putting her kids to bed at night. She hasn’t found the secret for frictionless life with kids, either.
The one who sews for her family? Never reads any books. Sewing is her hobby, whereas mine is reading books. I wouldn’t trade one for the other.
The one who gardens? Doesn’t cook much. I’ll take a good home-cooked dinner over a lush garden, every day.

On this my tenth day at work I broke my run of codeless days and wrote about three lines of javascript and three lines of C# (both surrounded by lots of boilerplate so it looked like I’d done more work than I did). And a teeny little html page. All this I sent off to a team of developers somewhere to whom we’ve outsourced the development of the next version of our web site, as an example of how we expect the web site to integrate with our product.

But most of my limited hours at work I spent in meetings or with Outlook, discussing and organizing. Activities like this used take up less than half of my time. Now that (a) work has piled up while I was gone and (b) various one-off things are happening, such as us hiring new staff and offshoring web work and (c) I only work half days, they take up all of my time. Not much to be done about it, I guess.

On the home front, Adrian is happier than he’s ever been. And I, too, feel better than I’ve done in weeks. Everybody is feeling good. And the reason is simple: we all have time for each other. Each afternoon the whole family is at home. Everybody gets the attention they need and want.

I spent the last weeks (or maybe even months) of my time at home in a near-constant state of low-level stress. Alone in charge of one to two kids for about eleven hours every weekday, with Eric at home for an hour in the morning and another hour in the evening. Each afternoon was a three-hour juggling session, trying to get dinner on the table while offering some love and attention to both kids.

The stress sort of crept up on me, so while I noticed it, I wasn’t fully aware of its weight on me. I was irritable much of the time, true. And I wasn’t sleeping very well. And each evening after the kids went to bed I was so exhausted mentally that I couldn’t even find the energy to read a book. But it somehow came to feel normal. Not good, but normal.

Having a stressed-out, irritable mum affected the kids, too, especially Adrian. I think we were both mirroring each other’s frustration, which is why he was mildly dissatisfied so much of the time. Now that I’m feeling better, he is, too.

I suppose that this is as good as everyday life can get (for the foreseeable future). Soon I will work longer days – probably not full load but I will at least get back to my previous 80% – because this is financially untenable in the long run. That still gets me home by 4.30 or so, well in time before someone needs to start cooking dinner, so it will reduce but not totally take away the time we can now spend with the kids in the afternoons. But then in January Eric also goes back to work, full time, and Adrian starts at nursery, and our evenings will again have lots of hurrying and little time for just being with each other.

I will savour this as much as I possibly can, while it lasts.

Unlike the average Swedish parent, I cook dinner every evening, if at all possible. And I mean a proper dinner, from proper ingredients. Fish fingers and rice and peas is not a proper dinner; cheese sauce from a powdered mix is not a proper ingredient.

I enjoy cooking, but there’s a bit of a chicken and egg situation. I’m not sure if I cook so often because I enjoy it, or if I enjoy it because I’ve done it so much that I am by now pretty good at it.

Tradition is a part of it. I grew up with home-cooked food since that’s the only thing that was available in Soviet Estonia. There was no takeaway pizza and no frozen meals. Somewhere deep down inside I feel that home-cooked meals are an essential part of what home is all about.

I took a break from this habit in London. We ate ready meals quite often while we lived there. It was convenient, we could afford it, there was a lot of choice, and the food tasted good. I still miss M&S’s vegetarian moussaka with lentils, and the Pizza Express pizzas, and Sainsbury’s pumpkin ravioli, and Waitrose’s canneloni. Here in Sweden there’s almost nothing available. Tasteless, boring frozen fish gratins and pasta with chicken. So we’re back to home cooked meals.

But it’s also because I’m a picky eater. No, that’s not quite the right term. “Food snob” is also a bit wrong. What I mean is that I find it difficult to motivate myself to eat dull, uninspiring, boring, monotonous, low-quality food.

I suspect this is physiological more than psychological. In general I get pretty clear signals from my body. Now that I’m dairy-free I find myself desiring nuts and pulses almost every day, and occasionally I’d suddenly get a craving for eggs or sushi – my body telling me it needs protein. Most of the time my body wants fresh vegetables and a decent amount of fat, and moist, juicy food. My pregnancy cravings were for yogurt and juicy fruit.

I always try to bring a lunch box to work, because the food at the lunch restaurants around the office is so boring, and the choice for a sushitarian so narrow. After a few days of restaurant lunches I tended to find myself thinking “Oh bother, do I really need to eat lunch today again?” and waiting until well past normal lunchtime until I was starving, to make the food seem more appealing.

With dull food, I tend to eat enough to not be hungry any more, but not enough to be properly full. Then I’m peckish again after a while and snack on something that has immediate appeal – something semi-sweet and reasonably fatty. It may be uninspiring but it’s satisfying on a baser level. And my metabolism is such that I can do it without any ill effects on my weight.

For this reason I also try to make sure that there are leftovers at home for lunch. If there aren’t any, I’ll end up subsisting on sandwiches and snacks that day.

I notice that frequently, now that I cannot eat dairy products. While I’m breastfeeding I need five or six meals a day. Breakfast, lunch, a light snack (such as fruit), a bigger snack, dinner, a late-night snack. Before I figured out Adrian’s milk protein intolerance, the snacks were often either a sandwich or some cereal. Cereal is off the table for now, and the choice of meat- and dairy-free sandwich materials is quite limited. So when I’m tired of my two fish-based spreads, and of hummus and avocado, I fall back on peanut butter and honey on rye bread for my 11-o’clock-at-night sandwich. It does the job.

Now I’m getting tired of sugar. I never thought I’d see the day. I’m not one to binge on ice cream or candy – I’m a snob here as well, I’d rather eat small amounts of good-quality stuff. But I’ve always liked my desserts, jam on porridge and on pancakes, orange juice for breakfast and so on. Home-made jam… mmm. Brämhults orange juice… another mmm. But a few weeks ago I started having juicy water for breakfast, because juice straight up was just too sweet. Now I’ve tired of jam on my porridge. Luckily we have berries in the freezer since the summer – redcurrants and blueberries with a small amount of sugar make a perfect porridge topping. When we run out of those, I’ll have to see what’s available in the supermarket, or see if dried fruit works (I suspect I might find it too sweet). On the other hand I’m sure that porridge with no topping will be way too dull.

The living room

Tried a mum & baby yoga class today, with mixed results. The yoga was nice, and it was nice to do something new. But trying to get anywhere on time with Adrian is always a challenge; having him awake and happy when we get there adds another layer of planning. Basically I had to plan all my activities from 8am onwards with the aim of making it to the class at 11. The class turned out to be an hour and a half long, which was way more than Adrian could take, so we got out after about an hour. And since I spent no more than half my time there doing yoga (the rest went to breastfeeding, nappy changes, and other baby management activities) I didn’t really think it was worth the time, or the effort, or the money. Not going back next week.

All my days recently have been filled with either boring long walks to keep Adrian happy, or exhausting planned activities. I need to find a middle ground: activities that keep us both reasonably occupied, without having to follow a schedule or be on time. Museums, perhaps.

The builders blocked off the kitchen and the living room and then tore out the ceilings. It’s a good thing I wasn’t planning to spend the day at home: it was dust and noise and reciprocating saws and plastic sheeting all the way.

Now that it’s finished, Eric has moved essential furniture back into the living room. Non-essentials are relegated to the basement, since we will need all the space we have for the stuff we currently have in the newer half of the house (which will be blocked off completely pretty soon). My immediate reactions are: (1) those extra 30 cm of height make a big difference, and (2) how nice to have an uncluttered room. When this is all done, I will try to have less stuff and less furniture in each room.

I have no New Year’s resolutions but I have a few ordinary ones.

Foremost among them, and the root for all others, is that I will try to be happier. And if that sounds ridiculous to you – how can you just make yourself happier? – then think again, and go visit The Happiness Project. I am not resolving to spend a whole year on mine, not right now, but just try to be happier over the next month or so.

I have somehow ended up in a place where I feel life is all work and no play. I’m not depressed, but neither do I feel like I am having much fun in my life. I feel that I am passively floating along and not enjoying the journey much. I am stagnating. Not only does this make me unhappy, it also makes me snappish and short-tempered, which is not fun for those around me, either.

I feel like my days and nights are full of “musts”, leaving little time or energy for “wants”. By the time both kids are in bed, I usually can’t be bothered to do anything more demanding than surf the web or play on the iPad. I have read only 4 books in the almost 4 months since Adrian was born, and none in the past 5 weeks.

This is not how I want to live, definitely not in the long run (as in, until all existing and future children have reached school age) but not even in the short run (say, until I go back to work).

So I have recently resolved to:

• Read more. Read at least a little bit every evening. Reading always makes me feel good.
• Blog instead of surfing. Unlike surfing, blogging is an active activity, if you’ll excuse the pleonasm. Activity breeds energy, energy breeds more activity, and the passive floating along is replaced with a virtuous spiral.
• Along the same line, do crafts. I’ve mostly done textile crafts before (sewn, knitted, embroidered, etc) so that is probably what I will do now, too. I don’t want it to be too much of a challenge right now, just something that activates both mind and hands, and lets me accomplish something tangible.
• Do some sort of sports. Right now I cannot realistically expect to do anything outside the home, but at least some yoga at home. I suspect that this resolution is going to be the hardest one, because it requires the most energy to get started, so it will be easy to procrastinate each evening.

And in the very short term I have resolved to do (and indeed already done) something about the most energy-sapping part of my days, which is getting the kids to bed. But that’s a separate post.

If I did movie reviews, I’d write a rave review about The Secret of Kells. But I don’t.

This blog has a whole category for books, and none for movies. That’s no accident. Books are much more important to me than movies. If I had to live without movies, I don’t think I’d miss them much. Books, on the other hand, are essential. (So is the internet, for that matter.) And I often have opinions about the books I read, whereas I don’t know enough about the art of making movies to be able to say anything particularly intelligent about them. I don’t think in images, I think in words; I don’t process images as well as I process language.

In the evenings, when both kids are asleep, Eric will often watch a movie or part of some TV series, while I’d rather spend time reading blogs or a book. But I often listen to whatever he watches with half my attention. Sometimes I decide partway through that his movie sounds so interesting that I want to see the rest. And sometimes, very occasionally, I will take the time to watch a whole movie. Even more rarely, I will ask Eric for a particular movie, rather than just “tag along” with whatever he chooses.

I can only recall three movies that I’ve watched from beginning to end during recent months. (I may have seen more but in that case they didn’t make a very strong impression. And watching Ingrid’s “Barbie Rapunzel” with her does NOT count.)

The Secret of Kells, as I said, was wonderful. This one we all watched together on New Year’s Eve, in order to stay awake until midnight, and everyone loved it. It is beautiful, magical, gripping: a fairy tale excellently told.

Babies was one I had wanted to see. Just 4 babies doing their stuff: somehow totally riveting. Perhaps because I have one at home myself? (Review at Salon.com)

How to Train Your Dragon was just plain fun.

Super-Helen is my secret mummy identity. She is just like me, except that she has a lot more patience. She doesn’t get annoyed and frustrated as easily as I do, and can keep calm and behave in a kind and friendly manner even when the kids around her are definitely not.

When things get too much, when Adrian is screaming right next to my head while Ingrid is dragging her feet on the way home, when both are crying for food RIGHT NOW, when I feel like either hitting them or locking them both in the house while I go for a walk… I think to myself, What would Super-Helen do? And usually Super-Helen’s solution works for me, too. The hard part is keeping myself together enough to remember to ask Super-Helen.

I feel curiously unperturbed by this weekend’s bomb attack in Stockholm. And then I feel perturbed for being unperturbed – it happened right here in this city in a central location where I have regularly been. But then the same already happened in London 5 years ago while I was living there. Getting numb, I guess.

And disappointed in humanity, and sad that it should come to this.

I’m having some trouble getting used to the idea of Adrian being allergic to milk. To anything, for that matter. We don’t “do” allergies in our family. Allergies are for other people, for people with bad genes, generally weak constitutions and too-clean homes. But Adrian obviously doesn’t have any bad genes (since he got them from us), and it’s obviously not due to excessive hygiene either (since he had his allergy pretty much from birth).

One of Eric’s siblings has some minor allergies, and nobody on my side has any. When I grew up we knew exactly one allergic kid. I’ve read in various places that (food) allergies are far more common than they used to be. Now I have personal experience of it.

PS: Technically what he has is milk protein intolerance, not allergy – the immune reaction mechanism is different but the end result is the same, he feels bad if I eat dairy products.