appropriately moody

There are a so many attitudes inherent in us, but for some reason happiness is the one we refer to most often. That is the trend in attitude, and mood, we are supposed to strive for. Maybe it is part of the American influence on everybody, since it's mentioned in the United States Declaration of Independence, and all. Even those of us not even been to the States are tinted. We all want to be happy, even though we can't really say what it takes to be happy. Happiness is different to each and every one of us, depending on our values and beliefs.
We all have an attitude about everything; waking up, husband, children, laundry, work, working out and everything else we do, see, hear and experience.

I have written about happiness before, but I just can't let it be just yet, and knowing myself it will be subject for my ponderings and rambling ons yet again. Either I am totally off track, or there is something wrong about what we think happiness actually is. I have to admit that I had no clue the "pursuit of happiness" is a right specified in the Declaration of Independence; I didn't know! Not untill now, that is.

Happiness is a mental or emotional state of well-being characterized by positive or pleasant emotions ranging from contentment to intense joy.[1] A variety of biological, psychological, religious, and philosophical approaches have striven to define happiness and identify its sources. Various research groups, including positive psychology, endeavor to apply the scientific method to answer questions about what "happiness" is, and how it might be attained.
It is of such fundamental importance to the human condition that "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" were deemed to be unalienable rights by the United States Declaration of Independence.
The United Nations declared 20 March the International Day of Happiness to recognise the relevance of happiness and wellbeing as universal goals. In 2014 Happy (Pharrell Williams song) became the anthem and inspired clips from around the world. (Wikipedia) 

This time my thoughts are not preoccupied with happiness in particular, I just happened to get a bit hung up on it... probably because I gave in to my propensity to associate and let my mind wander. Anyway, initially I was going to let my thoughts spin on the matter of attitude.

As a teacher I am pretty preoccupied with attitude, not my own attitude towards issues, mind you, but my students'. We all have attitudes, you see, but not all of our attitudes are quite like what we would prefer them to be. I don't have an attitude; I have good days and bad days, and that's it. As if, of course I've got an attitude... we all do!

We have bad attitudes and good attitudes, but not many really point out what is bad and what is good.
We can emit:
optimism, pessimism, confidence, interest
independence, jealousy, courteousness, cooperation
consideration, inferiorness, happiness, frankness
respectfulness, authoritation, sincereness, persistence
honesty, sympathy, realisation, faithfulness
flexibility, decisiveness, trust, thoughtfulness
determination, love, hostility, modesty
reliability, tolerance, humbleness, cautiousness
sarcasm, helpfulness, hard working
... and I am sure there are more.

Often when I talk, and mingle, with people who excel in  one or another field what strikes me is that they are so cocky. Hardly any exceptions: they talk with authority and are really bad listeners.
It is hard to keep up conversation if they are not allowed to stick with their own field of interest. My instant thought would be that they have severe issues regarding social behaviour, but when I draw focus away from me and try to understand their situasion, I can't say it's a bad attitude. It's how they need to be to be different and better and to keep the belief that what they do is important.
Their attitude is only bad as long as I focus on how I wish people around me are.
What we think, what we do and what we feel is what forms our attitude. While sometimes knowledge and experience form our attitude. And sometimes our attitude is based on our assumptions and beliefs.

A mood is not the same thing as an attitude. Attitude is your manners combined with your mood. It is how you feel and and position yourself to a person, a topic or a thing. It is how you carry your body in different situasions. The way you view something or tend to behave towards it.
Whether I regard people to have a bad attitude depends on my attitude. haven't really thought about that before, but now that I do think about it I find it right. A man is not an island, and attitude is not judged and perceived untill meeting somebody else.

A bad attitude make you seem unwilling and negative. You expose your family, friends and other people who cross your path, to this aura of no-ness. It's like they can't get across to you becuse you have shut down and locked yourself in a stubborn habit which is unpleasant to be around. Habit was maybe a bit harsh, but if you have accepted you can show a bad attitude and you don't care enough how you affect other people, it easily becomes a habit.
Or maybe you just don't realize you affect them, because you think you are not that significant.

Some say that changing your bad attitude and replacing it with a more positive way of thinking is just like developing any other virtuous habit. It takes persistence, planning and effort. Change attitude and be.... ecstatic! Thilled and over the moon at all times, every hour, every day.
Ok, maybe not that happy, but, well; happier.

I'm not quite convinced it's that easy. There has to be some kind of motivation and drive to do it, and I think that can only come from other people and their feedback.
Some are never satisfied. Others are depending on people to confirm what they have, and who they are, is good.

You have to be very close to someone to give feedback on their attitude.
Only time I do that, is when I get so annoyed I tell them off, and there's only one thing that is good for: to tear people down.

When you have it in you to have a good attitude you can't count on getting credit for it... which is really sad, because we all need a pet on our shoulder to keep going. Part of having a good attitude is that you don't gain self value from other people's unfortune.

I read an article in The New York Times about how Google works. Or, rather, the article is about a book written about Google.
I am sure they hardly ever experience employees having a bad attitiude towards work. They don't have a kind of company policy which actually allows that.

In many ways we live in a fantasy world, where people feel like a failure if they can't keep up with the successful lives of others. We display our happiness on social medias and in conversations while showing off our tastefully decorated homes... which are never untidy.

We have so much edited, filtered and touched up things coming at us every day. I get exhausted.
It is about time we accept our lives as they are. It doesn't mean we should stop doing the best we can and make things we are not happy about better. It means we change from "what we want everything to be like" to "something real".

I believe in selfworth and being the best version of ourself. It's not the same things to all of us, because we have different standards and values and resources, but it is important to be able to think good things about yourself. It doesn't mean things are always fine and dandy.

Art Linkletter defined a good attitude by saying: "Things turn out best for the people who make the best out of the way things turn out."

You know what? I demand the right to be appropriately moody, and still be percieved as a person with a good attitude. I will throw fits, create emotional fireworks, and some times just keep to myself... a lot of the time, actually. It doesn't mean I have a bad attitude, it means I am human and that I have feelings... but if that becomes a habit of mine, and all I ever do to others is to inflict my "no's" and "never's",  that's a totally different matter all together.

Me on the bus... I wish not.

I don't take the bus very often. Actually, most times I'm on a bus it's very late at night, and I'm on my way home from one of those rare occations out.
Not long ago I was out, celebrating a coworker who chose to bid off, abandon the rat race and retire.
It's late, not many passengers, and the passengers onboard all looked pretty tired and ready to find the calmness of home.

Did I mention I don't take the bus often? Well, I discovered why!
As we were driving along, a way too cheerful and very polite voice announced the approach of the next busstop.

After passing 6 busstops, noone exiting, noone entering the bus it started to really annoy me. It felt like enervating nagging. Half ways home I was seriously considering to get off the bus and walk the last 8 kilometers.
Not only was there a voice to tell me where I was at all times: there was a lit sign showing the last and the next stop, announcing each change on the sign with a loud "Ding!"

Seriously! It's Norway! If you follow the road you are not very likely to get lost. Not unless you decide to walk across a field and climb a mountain. The only way to go is forward, and if you are really adventurous you can go back.

I do understand, and appreciate, the metalic voice announcing which stop is next on the underground in London... and San Fransisco (the only two undergrounds/Bart I have ever been on), but there we are talking about options, directions, and several hundred passengers who have to prepare and be ready to exit and/or enter within seconds.

Here, in Norway, we are in no rush... not in comparison, anyway.
Here the driver will come help with your luggage, or even tell you when to get off if you ask him to do so when you buy the ticket.

The voice I don't understand. I just keep thinking: "Why?"
When i take the bus I want to relax and let my thoughts wander. I want to see someone and let my imagination spin on a story.
I want to drift off into entertaining fantacies. In short: I want to lean back, relax... perhaps even doze off... and let the driver drive me home.

"Show me the way to go home.
I'm tired and I want to go to bed...."

Arduous Riding a Bicycle

This is a  picture I found online.
My brother had a deep purple bike like this.

I learned how to ride a bike standing under the bar on my brother's racerbike.
I must have been about 5 years old, so I fit pretty fine... even though my knees touched my chest and my bum hit the bar, every time one of the pedals peaked on top. The sight of me like this on the bike, noticeably concentrating, must have been pretty hilarious, but back then I just didn't care. I don't think something like what it looked like even crossed my mind. It was all about doing and achieving. I was thrilled by the speed. The warm feeling of self esteem, which runs through your entire body when mastering new skills, made me feel a year older, every time I could sneak away and go for a swift ride.
Of course I was not allowed; not because it was dangerous, but because my brother didn't want me to damage his deep purple, quite pricy, wonder. Back then a racer bike was still rare and unusual.

I used to push the bike uphill, to the barn, and then I would charge downhill, standing on the pedals, round the barn, on a rather poor, gravelled carriage way. When I reached the asphalted main road I would start pedaling. The speed was breaknecking, I couldn't reach the breaks. I was like Superman; stretching far in a primitive cage. Thanks to drivers with excellent reaction I am here to tell you this.

You have to love those old fashioned ladies' bikes.
This picture also from the internet.

My sister and mother shared a red ladies' bike. I didn't use that much. The seat hurt my lumbar when I pedaled, which is a pity, because you would break when pushing the pedals backwards. It could have been a slightly safer alternative than the crazed ride I was in habit for.

Oh well, finally, my 10th birthday. When in the 4th grade we were allowed to start riding a bike to school. A rule which in many places is still current. During the previous years we had to walk, but now we were allowed to ride a bike. Oh the joy, the expectation, the pure excitement of rising in the ranks. We would now enter the league of older pupils.


My parents had promised me a bike for forever, and I knew I would get one. Of course I would: I needed one to go to school!
All my friends and peers had gotten a silver ladies' racer bike, with gears. (At that age boys are not taken any notice of, not back then anyway; they had "boy-cooties". Whatever bike they had didn't matter.)

I was out on the fields, when I heard the family car back up in the farmyard. The new, dark brown Saab went silent, and I ran as fast as I could downhill to be there when they opened the trunk. I wanted to be there when the wonder was revealed.
It was my 10th birthday. I still remember the run, my border collie, Nell, was dancing around my feet as we ran.
I heard the cardoor open, I heard it shut. I was almost there.
Almost out of breath I got there in time, leaning slightly over to get the full view of the trunk when it was opened. And there it was: A brand new bike. All mine!

Hey, wait a minute... this was all wrong! I asked my dad where my bike was? "Silly you, this is your
bike. Isn't it nice?" "But it's not like the bike my friends got." I could feel my throat choking up. "No, this is different, I know. This is even better! This is a really solid bike; this will never be broken".

I don't even know if this bike has a name in English, in Norwegian it is called a "kombi sykkel" (= combined bike).
It was dark green, tiny tires, no gears and I was the only kid at school having one.
I can still taste the disappointment.
Later on another girl at school got one too, which I thought was pretty neat, cause then there were two of us at the far back when on a bikeride with the class.

I went everywhere on that bike, for years. I settled with the bike knowing it was that bike, or no bike at all.
And we became good friends, the bike and I. I still have it stored in the barn at the farm. My brother promised me he would keep it untill I come and get it. I might restore it, just for sentimental reasons... or maybe as a reminder to be grateful for what you got, even when it is really, really difficult.

13 years ago, after two pregnancies, I gained quite a few kilos. Having one son eager to ride his bike, and a 1-year old in a pram, I decided to buy a bike. I got myself a lovely, white ladies' bike with a basket up front and a children's bicycle seat at the back. I even got my first helmet! Both my kids loved our trips to the store. My thighs ached and my back hurt, but I was riding a new bike, my hair was waving in the wind and I was loving it!

I got a flat tyre, and had to fix it... after I put the tools away. When I got back outside my bike was gone. Stolen! My neighbor's fashionable, hitech, alloy bike was still parked outside his house, but mine was gone.
The lock was cut and left behind.

Some people are loyal enough to stick with their motivations. I am not one of them.
It took me years to get a new bike.

So, I got myself a new bike. Apart from the occasional bikeride with my kids, I left it alone. Standing in a corner in the yard with soft tyres and the bicycle chain turning more and more the colour of fall.

Now, on the other side of the world a man, not in the best of shape, got a bright idea about two years ago, or so.
Suddenly he posted pictures of himself on facebook with very revealing bicycle gear. You know: the proper shirt tight as sausage skin, bicycle shorts, helmet and a very impressive bike.
The pictures he posts show impressive mileage and a steadily firmer appearance.
The other day I sent him a message:
- You weren't this keen on riding a bicycle a couple of years ago.. mid life crisis? Bored?
The reply came swiftly: - Fuck off! and yes. I am so fit and loving it. Lost 30 kgs.

30 kgs. I could do with a weightloss like that.
Unfortunately my son refuses to let me ride my bike without a helmet, so I have finally bought one. One of these days it will arrive in the mail.


I can't wait! I love this!


And I am saving up to buy the bike of my dreams.

With the right equipment I'll look dashing in no time!

After all; we all know the right gear is what it takes to make a lifechangeing effort!

Word has it being busy is not a requirement.

I love words. I memorize and collect them. Still have to admit I'm not very good at using them, but I keep them, kind of savour their meaning and look for a perfect opportunity to really let the word carry the importance of my statement. I never really have that moment. Just like Meg Ryan in the movie "You Got Mail" from 1998, I come up with beautiful and eloquent replies which could have made even Shakespeare weep with admiration. Not untill both the moment and the person has long left, though. Doesn't do me much good then.

Being this balmy and corky has, of course, a lot of downsides to it. I read and hear use of language which make me burst into unintentional giggles, totally inappropriate, of course, and yet unintentional puns created by poor knowledge of language is very funny. Most likely this is a personality flaw created over time and related to occupational hazard.
I am the one likely to put up additional signs to emphasize what is wrong in a statement (This is
also how I often correct papers my students hand in... seems like as if they then get it, rather than me talking about lack of prepositions.)

Unfortunate sentences and use of the wrong word is one thing, we all still get what is meant, even though most people say expresso, instead of espresso.

Words changes meaning too. I still like to think that being gay is to be merry and cheerful. However, sometime back it turned into a sexual preference... and therefor also, I am sorry to say, an invective. There are numerous examples like that. Not only do I risk making a total laugh out of myself as soon as I open my mouth, it is also very confusing.
I have no idea why totally good and solid words with long linguistic traditions should suddenly be something totally different. I don't even understand how that can happen? How do you "plant" and reprogram a word in an entire same-language-speakers' community... let alone world? How is it done?

What whizard performed the consulting? and who acted as communications advisor?
Very cleverly done! I don't like what you did, but it was a master plan executed to perfection.

There is maybe one other thing I dislike even more about today's common use of language: I don't like how some words are being used to make yourself look better and your conduct more presentable.

An example on that is the word "busy". It is such a worn out word, and it's lost its meaning. I mean; I some times claim I'm in a stress mess, but I don't regard that to be the same thing as being busy. Not anymore. Not after I discovered how some people abuse the term.

To be busy has become an excuse which allows you to get away from anything:
I can't talk, I am busy.
I can't do that now, I'm busy.
I don't have time, I'm busy.
I'm sorry, I can't come, I'm busy.
And you know what? We respect being busy so much, that any further explanation is neither asked about, nor offered.

Some people are so busy it makes my head spin. It must be so hard to recognize  one's own thoughts when all the doings and appointments clash into a cacophony of busyness. There is a LOT of activity, but in all honesty there really isn't all that much action. Or...?

It makes me feel stressed out, and some times I struggle and feel guilty because of the way I feel and think about other people. You know, those unwelcome comments which whisper to you inside your head: "Why does she say on the phone she is busy? We are drinking coffee, for crying out loud!" And then it strikes me: she is busy because she spends her time on me.  At the end of the day there is a chance she does hurry, it's just that she doesn't rush.

To make days add up it's almost a demand to be on top and keep an overview of what happens to, and around, each and every family member. And then comes the feeling of being overworked and overwhelmed by the demands at work and at home.
You may be able to work a few 60-hour weeks, but eventually you will be so burnt out that you lose the ability to be creative and innovative. Without that you have no joy or pleasure left in what you are doing.

Holding on by my fingernails through every day, trying to work crazy hours, not only being good at what I do, but strife for great and amazing. Then at home I try to be supermom baking homebaked cakes and cupcakes and cookies, staying up untill 2am to get bakeries done and planning tomorrow and grading papers.

And yet; even though I work as if though my hair is on fire I feel like nothing gets done, ever. The feeling of being unproductive and inadequate is always present.
I have bought into the culture of busy.

We hustle and buffle and create a lot of drama and draw attention to everything we have to do.
And yes, we all claim to be busy with conviction, but do we really do it all?

Yes, I do struggle making days and things add up. But in all honesty: When I listen to what I'm saying and see what I actually do; things are not quite as it seems.

I am not remotely as busy as people think.
Half of it all just doesn't get done. If noone is crying, noone or nothing smells bad, and we are both full and warm enough, I am at peace with the state of things.

It's about time I stop bragging about how busy I am.
The busyness we claim to be a victim of isn't really being busy, most times it is an expression to illustrate the list of options we choose from.
Is it fair to say that we suffer more from having to prioritize, than actually do a whole lot on limited time?

I choose not to be busy. It doesn't mean I don't have a lot to do all the time: for example kids to drop off, bring, help, listen to... but I, as an adult, can choose not to define that as being busy: I can define it as being present.


Yeaah.... I fell for this one. And yes, I spent at least 40 seconds.

Imperfect perfect life.

I work full time outside our home. Even though we have children, a fairly sized house in constant need of cleaning and garden there was never any doubt or discussion whether I should stay at home or not.

My husband got a full time job outside our home, but he`s on a rotation: two weeks away from home working offshore, and then four weeks at home... during those four weeks he does a bit of work for his employer, but he also does quite a bit of charity work, he jogs and he reads quite a bit. All these activities take about a full working day, every day. (A full working day in Norway is usually 8 hours, minus 1/2 hour lunchbreak. A full week is 37 1/2 hours.)

We are far from poor, but we need two incomes to make the wheels go round the way we want them to.

We have plans for how to help and spoil our boys, help them start their adult life and get a comfortable life. We have a number of donations we choose to keep up. And we live! In short: we have a good life.

We actually like working as well. It is fun, challenging and fullfilling to use your abilities to something else than clean and tidy up what will be unclean and scattered about within an hour.

It is lovely to see other adults. I so cherish the small breaks when I hear conversations about other things than what happens in the wonderful world of young boys. I don`t even have to participate! Just to hear somebody mention a world chrisis and give their opinion on fashion is like balm to my soul. It gives me the extra boost I need to both smile and be patient and listen to my little miracles.

We do a LOT of LAUNDRY. We spend a lot of time helping and listening to homework. We wash a lot of dishes. We clean the house and vacuum and take the garbage out. We explain and listen and say "no" so many times every day it is hard to remember how to say "yes". We attend partents` meetings and attend community voluntary work and buy groceries. The amount of milk and bread we bring into our house every week is unbelievable.

We try to leave the house tidy when we go to bed, and yet, in the morning, the house looks like a miniature tornado hit sometime during the night while I was asleep.

There is an awful lot to do in our house every day. Most of it noone will ever notice or even think must be a time consuming chore.

We cope, but it is an ongoing race against what people would say if they happen to drop by.

I think it`s fair to say we are happy, but our greatest fear is that some aunt, or other relative, should drop by. Someone likely to tell our mothers about the true state of our house.

Women`s liberation has been good to us women. Depending on your goals in life, Norway is probably one of the best countries in the world to live in.
But... having the opportunity to fullfill yourself has a price.
There is no possible way to be excellent and on the alert on everything.

I am me, an individual with independent views, opinions, feelings, needs and abilities. In addition I am a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a collegue, a careerwoman, a housewife, a friend, a pet owner, a wannabe writer and I do not wish to eliminate any of those roles. I want to hold them all; more than that: I need them to be and feel like a full person. If I had not known them all, they would not have already been a part of who I am, and I could be a full person without them... I don`t know, but I need to be everything I am.

Still I am fully aware that to have these demands to my life creates a big gap between what is desired and what is possible to achieve.
Leaving the house to do a full time job outside our home leaves a full time job at home open.
Many of my friends depend to a large extent on grandparents. I don`t have that luxury, but I understand that is a huge load off the heavy weight of being present.
Grandparents can be wonderful listeners and audience and guides to the many mysteries in life.

I try to do well on all arenas, but I know I don`t succeed much. My biggest worry is I will reach the point of regret some time in the future, of what I don`t know, but there is a good chance I will have them.
It is perhaps particularly hard to agree I can`t have a perfect home the way I want it to be perfect. There is no way I can do what my mother used to do when she was younger and an at home mom. I made a choice and got myself a career and a family. I just never thought getting it would make me feel like such a failure.

My comfort, though, is that we are perfectly happy there, even though it is far from perfect. Or perhaps living a happy life embracing all of our perfect imperfections (like the song says) is a far better way to put it.

To be "hit" on hits hard.

Women have, as far as I know, always been subjects to unwelcome compliments from men. The men, in their cocky ignorance have whistled after, shouted out or gestured what they thought were expressions of admiration, while women often have taken it as insults.

Not because it has been too obvious to both people they know and strangers alike. Just about anyone who hears what’s been said, and see who is commented upon, causes us to crumble up inside, because we are sure we know what’s going on in their head. The men who do this are not really affected or in any way looked down on, not in my experience anyway, but the women who have gotten the attention feel far from admired.

Men who pass by assess the woman, and I am sure they think: “Hmmm….. okey, nice legs, but what’s with the hair?”, “ Hmmm…. Too much make-up for my taste, but the low cut is pleasant”.

Women are not that nice, usually, when they evaluate other women. I am sure they think: “Hah, yeah, right; that’s the kind of guy she gets attention from”. Or “Really? She’s not that great looking, not really”.

To be commented upon, loudly, on the street, or anywhere for that matter, brings the self-centred sides of us out. We speed up a bit to get away as fast as possible… not too much, just enough to feel we get out of there quicker. We hardly ever slow down, to give the passers by an extra close look of how good we look… unless we are in an extra good mood and nothing can disturb the feeling of being extraordinary. We scan through every detail about our looks, from when we last washed our hair, if the mid-life spread shows really well in this top, if the nails looks fine,  if the coat is the right colour, if our legs are shaved… the list of visible and invisible details is pretty long. And sadly enough: we always find that one thing which makes the attention thought upon as spiteful.

At work I was told (by a man) that I should wear more colours… it would compliment my personality more. Another man then said “Oh, she looks great in black”, on which I replied “Yeah, everyone looks slimmer in black… you do realize that whatever you say now; it will be wrong, right?”

He just shook his head and told me it’s too hard to be nice to anyone these days. I know I was bad, even though I said it with a laugh and didn’t really mean to criticize, it was more like laughing it off, but men do have a hard time finding nice things to say to women these days, which is not perceived as being hit on. We tend to forget that people can be just friendly, and to say something nice to someone might be just that: a friendly comment.

Now the interesting new thing has emerged: Men get spooked when they get approached by another man, because he might be gay, and they feel hit upon. I don’t know why they expect everybody gay to jump them and want more than you are willing to give, but it seems like they have that impression of gay men.

Women, when they get approached or complimented by other women, feel appreciated and acknowledged (unless it is obviously an ironic comment and it hits a hundred times harder... and irony is most times how we perceive nice things said to us, and we turn out to be nasty in reply, rather than nice to each other.

Men… well, they feel giggled upon, as if everything about them is wrong. No matter what mood they are in; they feel the amusing value of it all entertain whoever is in the vicinity. No matter if it is a woman or a man, regardless sexual orientation, who approach them.

What used to be a friendly comment to gain contact with someone, is a threat to their manliness. At least that is how they refer to the incident, if they feel they have to comment upon it.

What if my best friend in the entire world, regardless of sex or sexual orientation, is out there, and the only way he/she knows to get in contact with people is to give a sincere compliment? Whose loss would that be?

Another autumn... of gale

Autumn or fall, both names trigger that mellow feeling of change. To me this season is about a new start, crisp mornings, morning dew, every day a new sensation of nature’s breathtaking colours.

Rainy afternoons when you slow down and stay indoors to read with a mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream in your hand, or the occasional warm and sunny hours to spend in the garden; preparing everything for a healthy, empowering winter sleep. Anticipating the early spring sunny days when everything is brought back to life and bloom.

Pretty laid-back and almost romantic, isn’t it? Well, those are the feelings I get when thinking about this season, and it is puzzles me why it is so.

As I am experiencing this season right now, I both live and remember what it is really like, and it is nothing of the sort I think of it being like.

Working life is hectic and straining. I get to meet new students, and they all have their own history to tell about what school is like for them. We try to give who need it a new start; to give them new possibilities to show what they actually know, instead of proving them wrong. It takes a lot of time and patience. To gain the trust of young people who have experienced failure way too often demand advanced tiptoe dancing between choice of words, choice of reaction and knowing when it is important to listen carefully. Often they disguise their problems in rude language or acting up.

Noone acts up because they are looking for trouble, there is always a reason. Most of the time it happens because this is how they have behaved in the past, and it is the only way they know how to behave. I understand why they do it: to talk about feelings is very hard. To find the right words is sometimes just too hard. As an adult it is important to ask the right questions to find out what is going on in their mind. We can’t perform magic, and we don’t read minds.

At home this is the time of year when the pile of laundry is at its biggest. The warm summer rain is history, now we get cold showers of rain, which often falls in all directions following the moody whims of the wind. Ones again the kids wear disagreeable rainwear and waterproof boots. Being hampered by what they wear, after a summer when shorts gave them freedom to be wild and vast and free.

The wet nature causes wet clothes, muddy boots, grass stained trousers and jumpers, the numerous changes of socks empty the sock drawer in no time.

Soccer season is at its most hectic, and towels pile up in the laundry basket and on the bathroom floor.

Beginning of the school year is an affliction for parents. Everything is to be read thrice with an adult, an adult must sign for homework done in every subject. An adult must check the kid knows the new words added to the vocabulary in foreign languages… it’s like we’re back in school; missing out on the lessons, but doing the homework.

Once again I leave the house every morning, having packed lunches and gym bags and satchels. Carrying five bags and outerwear for every kind of weather. There is no way I can keep up appearance, even though I started out pretty presentable.

This is the season when I never have a good hair day. Using an umbrella is very adult, but pointless. The rain is pouring down horizontally, and the umbrella dances in all directions… unless it turns inside out and point forward, like a satellite dish ready to  receive messages from the weather gods.

We have those crisp, sunny days, when the wind is still. But somehow they are easily forgotten in the overwhelming impact of autumn gale.

 

Totally perfectly imperfect

Sometimes I feel my entire life is an endless series of worries. It seems like everything I have, am and do brings along its (un-) rightful amount of concern, which adds to what I already got on my mind. Then I talk to some person, and during the conversation something comes up, which I have forgotten to worry about. Reading what I just wrote I scare myself when I realize how little I focus on my joys and prides. The good things in my life just tags along in my existence; my worries (mostly about things which might happen, but never actually do) chew the rag in the background of my mind.

So, in order not to drive myself insane I measure it down. I start sorting the important worries from the unimportant ones, only to discover within minutes my thoughts are drifting into pondering about how that can be possible? In my opinion every part, and all the participants involved, together makes up what I call my life. If someone or something loses priority and attention my life is changed… and in spite of a lot of things I am quite happy now.

I often worry I'm not measuring up as a mom. Even though I have all the right intentions; I fail.

I'm not feeding my kids the right foods, all the time. Too often I end up serving the easy meals. The food I know they will enjoy eating and which takes no time at all to prepare. In other words: Less vegetables than I wish. Rice or mashed potatoes mixed with frozen vegetables is an improvised solution I often turn to, even though I know there is a heated debate whether they are as good as fresh ones (of course they are not, they taste differently).

I'm yelling too much. Maybe not really yelling, ‘cause I keep my voice down, but I nag.  I know they can hear me, but I also realize they are not listening. I’m starting to believe my voice makes my words sound like a continual senseless murmur not worth paying attention to. It is just another sound in the ocean of sounds surrounding them.

I find it hard to find time to watch every soccer game my sons play. Last week my youngest played one game as well as one practice. He is still so young the parents are expected to attend their practice. My middle son had soccer practice on Sunday afternoon, match on Monday and Thursday for his own team, then played a match for the b-team on Wednesday because they were a player short. It’s just too much for me to keep up with. Even making sure the suit is clean is quite an achievement, I think. I wish I was one of those faithful soccer-moms who attended every match, drove to every away match and cheered my son along… BUT I do set aside the weekends they play in tournaments and cups.

I've hindered their own style by choosing their clothes until they were 6. Up until then I made the choices regarding their clothes and the assemble they wear. I still buy their clothes, but they dress themselves.

I have learned to ignore the patterns and colours don’t match. That was a defeat I faced when my oldest son was a baby and his father dressed him. I sulked for a while, wanting my son to look nice, but then I remembered that a father is just as much a father as I am a mom, so I swallowed the camel and comforted myself by the decision to dress the kids for special occasions myself. (Stupid thing to do, though, as now I have to lay out the outfit for the entire family every time I really want to take time to look presentable (for ones) myself.)

I've failed, it is bound to be a failure, at least for my own ego and my wish to look ok. Instead I end up blessing the fact I don’t wear much make-up (hardly any, to be honest), as I put on mascara on the way. I dismiss the sneaking, displeased thought that I WOULD have put on make-up and look good, if I only had been organized enough to start dressing an hour earlier.

Even though I have all these failures and setbacks I don’t really suffer from a total breakdown, because, you know what ... I believe we all have worries and setbacks and feel like failures. We just need to keep in mind, and believe, that our kids will survive this! Let's just love the heck out of our kids, and try again tomorrow, and LOVE the other Mamas out there knowing they feel exactly the same:

Totally imperfect!

Friday... or Monday too?

Friday. To many this is the day of the week they look forward to. The end of the week is finally here.

Oh, joy!!!!!!!! (Not an ironical “oh, joy” uttered in a deep voice, this is an ecstatic one! Feel free to raise your hands and shout it out.)

Facebook is swarmed with joyous illustrations with cheerful greetings for the weekend ahead.

On Monday, on the other hand, my Facebook has one posting after another, posted by different people or communities, showing and telling what a strain it is that Monday is already here.

My students moan and suffer from a bad mood… and tiredness. As if the mere day itself is a punishment inflicted on them by everybody else, so everybody else should suffer too; like they do. So they express their discontent… loudly.

I really hope that those who post, or express, either are not really serious; I hope they do it because it is a popular opinion to have and express.

I’m thinking that if you only live a good life two days a week, you are in BIG trouble.

I can’t think of anything worse than to wake up in the morning dreading the day ahead. It must feel like physical pain inflicted on you, every single day, all day. I might as well admit I know this very well. My last year on high school was terrible. To me it was so dreadful going to school I often discovered tears running down my cheeks when on the school bus. It is possible to feel so awful you don’t even realize you cry. But I finished. I completed school and then left the country. I just had to heal, and found no other option than to go away. I was supposed to leave for three months… I returned home a year later.

What an irony I ended up spending my working life in a classroom. I still find it hard to understand how I ended up like that.

I know for a fact that many spend their weekends alone, at home, with nothing much else to look forward to than cleaning, grocery shopping and watching TV. And still, they post excited postings praising weekend as the highlight of the week.

I used to know a man (he was our neighbour when I was child) who rode his bicycle to work every morning at 6:30am. He came home late, never mentioned overtime, let alone overtime pay.

In the weekends he fiddled about in his garden while humming out of tune. He was so pleased with his life. Always smiling, always a kind greeting.

He worked at the same factory for 57 years. He cut cupboard-knobs on the lathe, and was proud of his work.

I am not made to lead a monotonous life. I need variety and challenging inputs. If life gets too predictable I turn restless and edgy.

Maybe I am more of a fighter than a tender blossom, but I have problems understanding how people can settle for an everyday life with no challenges; a life offering challenges is one offering situations where you need to go beyond the limits of your comfort zone.

To take a stand on controversial issues, to care for others, to be opinionated, to be creative and find a balance in life where you truly experience satisfaction in both the smaller things in life like a nice sandwich and clean clothes, a good TV-show or whether to wear a red or blue t-shirt (I know there are people out there who revolve their entire life around what to wear, bless them, but that is not very important to me, so I list it as a trifle detail here) or the big ones like where to live, to settle down with a life partner or in any other way take on commitment. You know: to take part in your environment on your own terms and abilities.

Some people ask me why I stress my kids and my students should do well in school.

To me that is very simple:

I look upon school attendance as an investment in your own future. I find it very important to prepare for a working life of your own choice. Sadly it is hard to get any kind of work with no schooling these days.

It may be engineering, cleaning dishes, teaching or long-haul transportation… the bottom line is you should be free to make a choice of occupation which makes every day of the week a good one. Every day you wake up should be one you look forward to, and then a weekend off to recover from the bustle (a nice bustle is wearing too) you go through all week.

I wish for everybody to wake up Monday morning thinking: “YES! I’m ready. Bring on the week. This is a new start. Finally Monday is here!” And then you post a cheerful greeting on Friday saying how great it is that it’s Friday today… and on Monday you post a happy greeting telling how grand it is that it’s Monday.

OK, I might be a bit overly eager here, but wouldn’t it be great if we all could have 7 wonderful days a week?

No, I am not talking about a life without ups and downs: I’m talking about the consistent feeling of leading a life to satisfaction.

"Inherent Evil of Things"

When I buy appliances I always look for, and buy, the ones with the least knobs, buttons and switches. Those which only have need-to-have functions, and no fancy extras I will never use.

The more buttons there is the more likely something will go wrong. And with my luck it goes wrong when I really need something to work. In this example: to be laundered; like Monday at midnight: my kid’s soccer outfit is really dirty from Sunday’s practice, and the match is on Tuesday early afternoon. And the drum just won’t turn…. Or the electronic display says “Error 2x86zz6y”, or something, and the only thing the laundry machine is good for is rising my blood pressure to undreamt-of heights (and unveil long forgotten vocabulary).

Those are the moments when I bless my not quite absent hoarding tendencies. To find an old laundry tub (why don’t we install those big utility sinks anymore? Because we trust our machines so much? Space? Next time I am to redecorate I will plan for one of those!) and wash by hand gets the job done, without any further ado.

I guess I’m rather traditional: When laundry is washed on the right temperature, on a program for wool, silk, very dirty or just a rinse, I am happy.

I used to have a laundry machine where you could program your own progress, time, temperature (individual for each process) and speed. The number of buttons and switches was VERY impressive and the machine lit up like a Christmas tree every time I pressed start. It lit up, but it didn’t always clean my laundry. The overpriced wonder was hardly ever 100% well.

Not like a car I used to have… which was very trustworthy. When he felt like it (The car turned out to be a “he”, because only a guy can make high expectations to an imminent event crash into unrepairable dreams of happy upcoming moments. Like this car did.)

One morning it was really important I got to work early. (Some mornings I have more to prepare before class than others, and often that has something to do with a test of some sort.)

I got all the bags and the kid in the car, started up, shifted to reverce, let go of the breaks: NOTHING HAPPENED! The car did not budge at all! I don’t think I understood the car stood still… I spent minutes trying to drive, stop the engine, start again…. I had to call the auto repair shop. The owner came with a breakdown truck, looked the car over and told me one of the rear wheels was locked. It was stuck.

The owner loaded my car on the truck, gave me a lift to the kindergarden, where I got a lift from another mum. I got to work just in time… Much the same thing happened one time I was going to the theatre (didn’t get there on time at all), another time to a funeral and an exam (I had time to borrow my neighbor’s bicycle and get to the exam only a couple of minutes late, and was allowed to take it).  

Because of the car, for me the events didn’t turn out the way I planned the night before.

To use a computer: same thing.

They used to be easy to use. Now it isn’t anymore. If you want to save a document, you are asked(???!!!!!!!) how to save it, and you get options like google document, dropbox or some other external site which you have to take a stand on. Not only have you got numerous options on saving what you write (you need to remember where you stored it, though, mind you). Scrolling through files to find something involves computer, files and library… and sometimes even an external harddrive you don’t even know where is!

Now, all of this I can live with, when you have followed the electronical development for as long as I have, you know a little about what is what (except hashtags…. I have to find out about hashtags). The thing I hate about it, is that when I, for once, have prepared a brilliant lesson, either it takes me forever to find the file or the network is down. Yes, it happens. Using computers for teaching is really vulnerable since servers have a tendency to shut down when traffic is heavy. Our fun, exploring, engaging high tech teaching intentions (decreeded by government, county and school owner and expected by my boss) very often end up in reading a text in a book and answer questions. It is better than having a full class watching me become a puddle of pure distress. I have learned to always have a plan b…. and c.

It isn’t just big items which play tricks on us like that, is it? Through the day anything from burned out light bulbs, a missing shoe, keys (Either you have the wrong one, you don’t have one or you can’t make it fit…. And then, of course, someone you are a tiny bit annoyed at, for some reason, takes the key out of your hand (even more annoyed) and the key fits perfectly, which is so exasperating…. so much so, I had to look for an appropriate word to explain just how annoying that is), alarm clocks… the more updated and crucial they are in a certain setting, the more likely things will let us down and make us react in manners we never ever suspected we had in us. They bring out the worst in me, at the most inconvenient times.

I have searched for a pen still working so desperately only a smoker with nothing to light the cigarette can understand.

Being familiar with things playing tricks on me (the more fancy and modern the harder it hits), knowing very well how I react to it, and being aware of what impact it has on me; I call it the inherent evil of things.