Monday, September 21, 2009

Every time you go away...

It would be practical if my toddler would accept the nursery at the gym, for an hour our so, once in a while.
Our schedule is busy these days, and I'm not good about getting workout done in the evenings.
We've tried, but his cries are awful, he starts crying if I only mention walking out of the room, and neither him nor me can take it. I had sort of accepted defeat, but last week we agreed on trying once more.
We found that one of the women who works there is very attentive, and ready to hold him in her arms for the whole hour, if that is what it takes. I had already talked to her quite a bit, and I got her work schedule.
So, last week I was going there with him, three days in a row, sitting on the floor with him, talking to the nursery woman, telling her about my toddler, and teaching her some of his language.
On the third day, there was suddenly a change, and he accepted her arms. I went downstairs, to the bikes, my heart way up in my throat, and, it was almost like someone was teasing me, 'cause when I sat down on the bike, the music blearing overhead was Paul Young's "Every time you go away, you take a piece of me with you..."

When I came back, 30 minutes later, he sat on her lap, eating his snack, and even if he leaped into my arms when he saw me, the nursery woman got a hug and a bye-bye when we left.

Sunday, September 13, 2009


I went to the movies last night.  Upperdog, by Sarah Johnsen.

I loved it!  It was refreshing to see a Norwegian film which, though it mainly took part in Oslo, didn't just feature a group of young, trendy Osloites, with that annoying over-typical sosiolect.
It touches on lots of strings, and as I see it,  the movie is mainly about relationships, family and love, and how these factors shape people.  
I believe in the caracters, they seem real to me.
Listen, my English- and French-speaking readers:  Look out for this film.  It might come to a theater near you!

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

A few moments

I have a few moments in the morning these days.
A few moments where I'm awake and alone, before my children get up.
Silent kitchen, coffee brewing, a glass of orange juice in my hand,
and, for the first time since last winter,
a candle on the table.
The dawn is not spectacular, like yesterday, but happening
in quiet understatement, behind a layer of clouds.
Silent kitchen.
I can write, and I can think.
Letting my thoughts wander where they please, for a few moments still.
The oatmeal is cooking behind me. Bubbly,lazy sound.
I'm getting up,
and I'm off to wake up my children.