Cats in the hood

I am getting old. It is inevitable; it's happening, so I might as well admit to it.
It's not something I dread or anything; as a matter of fact I actually feel more liberated the older I get. My eccentric strike is more approved of, and the demands society has on my looks and appearance are more agreeable with my own standards: I don't have to be stylish and/or groomed, as long as I am clean.

Part of getting old is becoming more grumpy and annoyed at things which really should be trifle details, but which is actually worth giving a more profound thought. Because I am old, and all, you know?

One of the things which annoys me, and this is becoming more and more of an issue, is cats' droppings. Cats have a way of leaving behind all kinds of repellant stuff, like hair, catch of the day like mutilated birds and mice, and yes: poop. Cats dump their filthiness on the most strategic places, and that really doesn't suit me. I don't like it one bit.

My son is allergic to cats, and the hairs on our garden furniture is really unfortunate. Whatever furniture I keep outdoors, will soon be a preferred hangout for the cats living in the hood. It's like a headquarter for the cool guys. Often they don't even care when they see me charging them, broom, high heels, crazy hair, and all. They probably know me too well, by now. They know I won't hurt them. I just want them away. I can want all the way to China, they don't give a toss about me and what I want.

Every morning when I am off to work, I see the the rear end and a dishvelled tail of a cat rushing off in sheer panic. I know he sleeps in the doghouse, I just never can catch him red handed. The thought he is afraid, very afraid, of me, gives me a much needed psychological barrel over him. It is war. A war between me and the unwanted, stinky sleepovers.

Even though I have had cats before, I am not a cat-person. I have a dog. Having a dog in the house it is infinitely annoying to have cats with self-proclaimed permanent residence permit in my yard. The catty smell of what they leave behind when they do what they do, is really annoying. Even more so when I find it in my flower jars (!) and beds.

It is extra annoying as I, because I am a responsible owner of a dog, am expected to pick up after him, which I do, but catowners don't have that duty. Catowners are exempted that nasty obligation. Cats are, after all, stray animals, and they got rights! They need to wander about where ever they choose to wander in order to be happy. At least that is what I am being told when I moan and mope.
To me it is self evident that cats should be under the leash law, just like dogs, but somehow most people don't see that.

Unfortunately cats don't read signs, and folk remedies like
orange peel, black pepper, garlic, grind coffee and
 anti-cat remedies bought at the store, really don't work. 

I've even heard that cat's do not litter on their own turf, unless they are forced to. They my have 9 lives, but some time they will have to go do their business, just like any other creature. They can not hold it in for days. And when they go, they prefere doing it elsewhere, which makes sense: If I could deside wheather to stink up my own house or the neighbor's, I would not choose my own house and garden.

Some will say I am pretty crazy for bothering making a fuzz about cats on the loose pooping in my garden. To be honest I don't find it to be a trifle thing at all.
It is my honest opinion it is way too easy to get a cute kitten, and you get it for free, and you adore it while it is small and adorable.
You let it out to do its business, and one day it is too much trouble to let the cat in and out, so you put the bowls with water and food outside as well, and suddenly you haven't actually seen the cat for weeks.... but the food is gone, so you are sure it's around. Somewhere.

So these stray cats keep their house, which they no longer actually live in, clean. And they do what cats do in my garden.
There is a reason we have a dog: We are not catpeople! We don't like cats! And my son is allergic! So why would a neighbor want to be our bad neighbor, and make their animal our work? Why do my kids risk stepping into a stinky poop in our garden? We are not talking about one or two; in the course of a week I am sure we get at least 40 droppings strategically placed in our garden. No kidding! And they place them where I can't see them, but I can smell them, and then have to look for them.

I like cats. I don't hate them. I just don't want to be burdened with them. I want people to let the cat in at night so it doesn't keep me awake with its flirting and fighting.
I wish cats were more expensive. I wish all cats got a yearly checkup with a vet, shots, cures and dental treatment and castrated. Yes, I do not want more unwanted cats in my neighborhood. I wish cats had to be kept indoors at night.

I want to stroll about on my own land without fear I'll get smelly, nasty stuff on my shoes or between my toes. I want to open my windows and doors to let fresh air breeze through my house, without getting uninvited four-legged visitors who enter my castle for the only reason to fight my dog.

And I want to sleep at night. I want to sleep at night without wondering is that a baby? or a cat? probably a cat.... but what if it's a baby?...

I want not to worry about animals I never wanted to worry about.

Home

I was walking my dog the other night, like I do every night. It was so freezing cold every step on the ground gave a loud creak. The snow we got two nights before, had frosen into this moonlit glittering duvet which seemed to have tucked in the entire world.
This very late, most windows had that warm glow they get, when it's cold outside and so very comfortably warm inside. Others had turned lights down, but I could see the blue flikkering lights from a TV. Some were asleep.
Like the eyes are the windows to one's soul, the windows are the spy holes into a home.
A home is so private. What we call home is where we feel we belong.

Looking at them, as I walked by, bringing a broken silence to the night, I found myself in soaring thoughts about how, in all of these houses and apartments, people have decided to live and nest. They have surrounded themselves with colours and things they love. Valuables, memorabilias, sensible and smart tools, device and equipment, rubbish and just... stuff.
They have all chosen their style and standard, or lack of thereof. Every home is where somebody returns to after going away. That is where they belong and create their life.

Like thoughts often do, they wandered. They wandered to my parents, who no longer can live in their own home. And I thought about how we all refuse to let them mourne their home.
We ignore the sadness, and keep telling them that where they are now is just brilliant, so easy to clean, so perfectly downsized, so bright and modern... It's all very convenient and efficient, but it's not home.

Some of their things they found space for, most are left behind, in a home they probably never get to visit again. They are sad that where they fought and made up, brought up their children and grandchildren, worked hard and played hard is now abandoned. Not counting much to anybody, except in the stories we tell. It has become a treasured memory.
And we forget how important we find our own home, how worthy of huge expences when we find it's time to reorganize and redecorate.

I know people who on regular basis throw all their accessories and ornaments out, and replace it with current modern style.
I know people who cherish everything they have brought into their house, and refuse to change anything, except for adding another piece of toiletpaperroll art, carefully created by a familymember at kindergarden or school.
I know people who keep their home a showroom, and I know people who live and let live in their home.

I thought about how I left my own home, as I rushed out the door to let the pacing dog do his thing: Starwars lego was carefully lined up at the coffee table, unfolded socks piled up at the dining table,,, I do hope they are all pairs this time, the cushions in the sofa scattered about and notebooks, belonging to subjects like science, French, English, maths, religion... carelessly left on where ever was a free spot at the time homework was done. I thought about my dreams of how I would furnish my house, and how it turned out. It doesn't refect my taste, but it does reflect my heritage and where we come from.

My home is lived in, I wish it was more of a showroom, but I have this solid belief there is a difference in untidyness: the kind we create by doing stuff, and the kind created because we don't care.
I care... I just don't have the capacity to nag all the time.
Instead I am going to appreciate more I have a home, and am allowed to live there.

Hospitality we need.

Hospitality; it's a concept I find more and more people have a rather alien apprehension of. It's no longer the norm to just pop in on someone for a cup of coffee. We can no longer expect people to put things aside and just waste time the high quality kind of way: in good company and friendly chit-chat.

Since I have something to say about it, I thought it would be appropriate to define what hospitality really is, so in order to get it right, I found the proper defenition of hospitality online.

It refers to the relationship process between a guest and a host, and it also refers to the act or practice of being hospitable, that is, the reception and entertainment of guests, visitors, or strangers, with liberality and goodwill. 
Hospitality is also known as the act of generously providing care and kindness to whomever is in need.

The Bible say something about it too:

In the New Testament, the Greek word translated “hospitality” literally means “love of strangers.” Hospitality is a virtue that is both commanded and commended throughout Scripture. In the Old Testament, it was specifically commanded by God: “When an alien lives with you in your land, do not mistreat him. The alien living with you must be treated as one of your native-born. Love him as yourself, for you were aliens in Egypt” (Leviticus 19:33-34, emphasis added).

I got this thought in my head that I had something to say about hospitality, so I told a friend that I was thinking about writing a blog about that.

"What will you write in your blog about it?"

Well, I hadn't written the text yet, but from the top of my head I told him that I wanted to write about how easy it is to invite and be friendly and welcoming to people you know really well and have close relation to, and how spotless you feel your house must be for others to see.

"Ha!!", he replied, "Let your closest friends see you really live, but those who are outside the circle see you live in a pristine world".

How very facebook. That is the image we like to give on social medias, unless someone stage a cluttered house, carefully arranged in an effectful way, and post a picture of how terrible their house looks.

I don't have to stage clutter. It is the natural state of my house, but then again: I would rather be caught dead than post a picture of it.

Yet, in the midst of unfolded laundry, toys, books and you name it: in my chaotic place you will at times find all kinds of people drinking coffee or tea, and enjoy the fact that someone has a house messy enough to tell a tale about.

And the funny part of it is, they don't seem to care too much, any of them.

Some times, when my boys have had friends over, and the house is extraordinary untidy, I can literally hear them plan how to tell their family and friends about my poor housewife skills, spicing up their story with embellished descriptions on the state of my house.

I would never keep anyone stand on the porch, just because I am afraid of the inevitable talk. Let them have their moment of relief and friendly haughty laugh.

At the end of the day, I am confident my house is clean enough to stay healthy and messy enough to stay happy, and at the bottom, on the surface of the floor, you will find it is spotless and impeccable clean.

My house is very happy based upon the mess.

I remember vaguely when my parents, on Sunday afternoon, announced: "We are going to pay a visit!" Most often we went to relatives, but also friends of my parents.

Back in those days kids didn't have their own agenda, we lived by the rules and the doings of our parents'.

We went for impulsive visits, often after having been on a hike in the morning and had dinner (tea).

Some times we were the ones getting visitors, and there was always a cake or some other homemade treat served with coffee. 

My mother baked the week's bread and cakes every Saturday. I have no idea what happened to the cakes on the Sundays we didn't stay at home.

We kept up this social life, even after having a phone became common: It was important to see, and spend time, with other people.

Today, with all the health-gurus, and the rules of what to eat and when, and even more important: peoples' constant dieting and attempt to cut back on this or that, people don't bake anymore. We tend to buy something sugary instead, and that's fine, but we shouldn't think anyone expects more than your company. A mere cup of coffee, tea or a glass of something cool is quite sufficient... if you want to offer something.

There are countless reasons to why we don't pay visits anymore, not to the same degree we did before, anyway. We are entertained in our own home by digital and electronic gadgets and medias, apparently we don't feel the same need for company anymore.

Another reason is that people are busy. We work, kids need a lift here and there (and some times everywhere), we need to keep our house and garden, and days go by and time just doesn't seem to add up. The recipe to the classic time pressure and stress mess.

In an ideal world, we wouldn't sacrifice spending time with friends and family. In an ideal world we would still plan and agree upon doing things together.

I am sure I would never regret doing that, but there is a good chance I would regret I never did.

I often get the question: "How do you do it? How do you find the energy to invite people into your home?" Truth is I very seldom do, but I always invite people who ring the doorbell in.

I don't have more energy than other people, I have come to terms with my limits, and feel comfortable with the consequences. I have to admit I suffered from a stress attack before I settled for far less than a perfect house.

Just like everybody else, we have special occasions when we want the house to sparkle. And we do fuss about cleaning everything; floors, door knobs, windows... you know: a thorough, total, old fashioned "cleaning the house".

But we don't do it every day just because we fear someone should see the state of our everyday house.

In many ways I have escaped the merry-go-round. I do not deliver instamoments in form of three courses, or perfect displays. (I love candles! They are everywhere in my house, but that's not the same thing.)

I can't live up to the expectations, and my health tells me I can't even try. So I create my own standards. And I am actually a tiny bit, secretly proud, to be breaking the code of "good housewifing".

In a society, where the image and the deceitful lies prevails the community, it is easy to forget that friendship and fellowship are about letting people into our lives and homes. Vi need to be together, talk with one another, laugh together, play, share and listen to one another.

Our time is becoming a time for hundreds of contacts and likes. We have fewer friends and close relationships than before. We are afraid to let our masks fall; to show who we really are has become somewhat of a hazard. 

Our kids think they are with friends when they sit alone in their rooms, gaming with their friends who sit alone in their rooms.

While we waste time on social medias in order to post funny quotas, like strangers' dinnerplans and ignoring the rules of safety online, our single socks and dirty dishes pile up. We tell about the scandalous kitchen floor, but don't take time to sweep up the crumbs. We settle for telling about how good we feel about having done it.

We tell the world about our wannabe selves, forgetting that when we are sure about who we really are, it doesn't matter if things are a bit thrown out of gear.

Instead we keep up appearance diving into different sizes screens.

In Norway vast amount of money is spent every year on redecorating and nick-nacks. But many of us never show anyone our displays, other than to create instamoments and facebook likes.

I find it sad. Our most widespread disease is lonelyness. We miss the parts of the conversations which we replace with emoticons.

We are made to have companionship, to be affected by others face to face. Being together makes us alive and present.

I think our entire society will be a better place if we dare to step back, to leave our mobile phones, tablets and computers alone and pay eachother a visit.

I hope dropping by will be in fashion again. I hope we have not lost the art of real fellowship. I hope we get brave enough to pay eachother visits again. I hope we can get past the wall we build between us and those we perceive as different. I hope we become generous enough to invite those who cross our path for our own sake. Otherwise, we will turn into a people in need.

No, not really interesting, just a whole lot of other nothings.

Someone asked me: "Done anything interesting these last few days?" I sat there thinking through my routines, habits and doings, and I was totally sincere when I replied: "I never do anything interesting. I am pretty boring like that; I'm caught in everyday life, being busy doing a bunch of nothings all day long, just like everybody else."

Then I started to think my day through; What was my last 24 hours really like? What happened that made me remember the day as gone by just as sudden as a wink of an eye?

Well: Yesterday I woke up in panic. I had overslept. I have never been late for work, except for one year we had two days with snow and icy roads. Traffic just didn't move at all. I was late... but so were my students. Anyway, I have been on time for years and years, I wasn't going to be late now.

I am not really the kind of person who occupy the bathroom in the morning for an extensive length of time. I use very little make up and my hair is just straight and, well, not hair I need to spend time on. But I like to feel fresh...  my routines this morning went by in the speed of lightening, as opposed to my usual sedate listless speed.

I woke my youngest son up, made his breakfast and lunch and walked the dog while he got ready for school. When I got back from the walk I gathered my bags, and his bags and extra pair of shoes and a hat, got it all in the car and off we went.

I dropped my son off at the before- and after school program, and drove to work. I didn't even take time to stop at the gas station and grab my free cup of coffee, which I do every morning. I consider that elixir of life, and enjoy sipping to it while driving to work. It is how I get ready for the day ahead: driving to work. sipping coffee and thinking through the day's logistics.

I got a bit puzzled as I pulled up outside work: there were no cars at the parking lot.Usually we compete about the parking spaces... we, who teach at the remote department from the main schoolbuilding, rent parking spaces. We get a good price, though, but the fit, working out, tattooed Hells Angels-like, rough guys at the gym upstairs usually beat us to them. They don't pay for parking, why should they? There are free parking space, noone's car is there when they arrive.
Usually I have to park my car illegally during first lesson, waiting for the guys upstairs to finish their work out before work and take off. (Some times I run up the stairs and call out to whoever feels the shoe fits to move their car. Or... or... or else I will be very cross!)
A glance at the clock made me look twice: one hour early!

My poor 8-year old told me later I had treated him badly. Very badly! He arrived at the before- and after school program, and the door was locked. Because he thought maybe he was late as well, he walked to the school, only to find noone was there... so he walked back to the before- and after school program, and was the first kid to arrive that morning. He is never that early, so they asked him why he was so early and he told them we overslept... even he picked up on the strange looks the staff gave eachother.

On Wednesdays we always have meetings after classes. This Wednesday we were summoned to teamwork on evaluation- and curriculum. My team members were not present, they were scattered around doing other things; One was making a set of suggestions to exams, another was at the hospital supporting her daughter who was in labour.... you know: there are numerous perfectly good reasons why it is inconvenient to show up for teamwork.

My "teamwork" involved talking to coworkers who were supposed to engage in their own team's activity, and then I had a unit's meeting all by myself. Very efficient, but not very creative. Not quite sure what came out of it was of great quality either.

Came home from work, and charged my mobile phone while cooking dinner. It was low on power because I had been trying to update and upgrade the software all day, but didn't have enough space.

Went to my youngest son's schoolplay on Torbjørn Egner's "People and Robbers of Cardamom Town", which was a wonderful, very impressive show. I am so in awe over those teachers who make the young 8-year old pupils behave and act and remember the lyrics to songs and manuscript.

A couple of weeks ago my son wanted to fix his own costume. He was Jonathan, one of the robbers.
When he came downstairs and showed me what he was going to wear, the little rascal had found a pair of scissors and cut holes in a perfectly fine shirt and a pair of trousers.
He looked smashing!

So the show started and I had placed myself in a great spot for good shots... guess what: I had power enough, but not enough space, and I realised this when my videocam on the mobile shut down, just in time for my son to go on stage.  In panic I started to delete a lot of photos I had duplicates of, but I didn't get that done in time to record his performance.

Well at home again it was bedtime for my proud actor. I didn't have the heart to tell him my camera failed. I have always recorded all their performances, and I have always recorded the entire show. My mobile phone is just wonderful like that: LOTS of space and excellent quality on both picture and sound.

It took me quite a while to realize there was no hot water.
For many months there were countless attempts to get hold of our plumber. I sent text messages, emails, called him.... absolutely no response. My efforts to get hold of him were met by dead silence.

I found it very annoying because we had an annual service deal with him, and paid quite well for it too. Months went by, I gave up and contacted another plumber who was willing to take on the maintenance of the entire water and gas installation.
BUT, he was on a vacation and will not be back for another three weeks.

At 23:30 I sent a text to a friend of mine and asked if he knew about a plumber who was top notch and available to fix my problem the next day. An hour later I got an sms from a man I had never heard about before saying: "I will be there at 6, if you are not up by then, please leave the key under your mat".
I was up well before 6.

While waiting for a reply from my friend about the plumber, I sent text messages to other parents I knew had been filming the schoolplay and got hold of the scene I was missing. I transferred the pictures and videos on my phone to my laptop... and suddenly the software started updating too! (I know, I should at least have suspected memory was that low on space.)

Anything interesting? No, not really. Just a busy day doing a whole lot of everyday-nothings.
Hobbies? I have loads, and one day I will have time on my hands to try them out... meanwhile I keep trying to learn how to write.

Redecorating

Spring is (nearly) in the air, and in the true spirit of the season I'm redecorating. Now, I'm not very interested in interior design; maybe because I don't have many choices when it comes to furniture and art: most of my furniture is not chosen, but inherited (old, home made treasures that are solid and stained in dark hues) and the art is for the most part painted by relatives. Not really interior I can get rid of and feel good about it. They are gorgeous, I have to say, but not really fashionable. And they are really hard to move about, simply because of their size. Another thing is that I can't very well place an armoire in front of a window, can I?
Sometimes it seems as if everything in my house has a history and a story.
I have a fairly new house, though, so the walls are up for changes. They don't hold that much precious past... yet.

One of the major benefits of having a husband who works offshore in the North Sea is that he is gone, away from home, for an extended period of time.
I'm not thinking about the fact that he's gone, like physically, that's not really all that cool. We miss him when he's not around, but it does open an intriguing window to possebilities not many really have.

Being a single parent now and again is incredibly frustrating, sometimes; When he is gone, I have my routine and there isn't a lot of room for unforseen troubles. The children know what I expect of them, and all chores are done without the big confrontation.
When he comes home, it creates tamper in the system, and every effort I have put into making a flawless system and dicipline is out the window. That's just how it is and as it should be, because we are so different as parents. Still annoying, but how it should be.

No, I'm thinking about the fact that when he is gone, he is not at home, so it's my house and my castle: I am all-powerful queen of the home.

Last time he left for work, I was up for winter break. Last week in February all schools have a week's break. A full week at home. For once the car wasn't going to be packed with luggage, skiing equipment, winter clothes and 20 pairs of shoes. My youngest son wanted to attend the before and after school program (which we call SFO), my teen was going to a winter camp and my oldest son had to go to work. It was going to be a week when I could enjoy several days at home alone during the day.

This was an opportunity I could be tempted by. And I was. And I gave in to temptation.

My living room has been ripe for renovation for a long time.
Ever since the house was new 10 years ago, the livingroom has been a constant annoyance.
When the house was new, I decided to invest in a pricy wallpaper in the living room which I really liked. It was a wallpaper I fell for, and I rejoiced over having it jewel my walls. A golden yellow silk wallpaper with stripes. Absolutely beautiful, light and dainty.

You will never believe how badly I have regretted my choice! It began with our agreement with the carpenters who would mount the mouldings after I had hung the wallpaper. I hung the wallpaper... and when I was finished the plumber came into the room, ran his hand over the smooth and napped stripes and  the first black rainbow appeared on the wall.
In retrospect the kids have been lying upside down on the couch. Dark shadows from worn socks and sticky hands have been carefully covered up by wall decor ala large stickers with poppies. The charm and joy of the tapestry lasted, in other words, not very long.

This time I have been more reasonable. We chose an environmental wallpaper with narrow stripes. I say we, but the truth is that my husband chose it. It was a good choice.

First thing on the project was to get the man out of the house.

Second thing on the agenda: Tear down the old wallpaper.
A terrible job. When wet it behaved completely "Jelly". It had to be torn down dry, and I have to give myself the credit: it was thoroughly papered! It was quite stuck, it was fragile, and had to be pealed off the walls bit by bit, and it took for ever. Nearly the entire winter break went by drinking coffee while I stared fiercely at the walls, before I pulled myself together and continued.
The disadvantage of such projects is that once you have started, you must complete.

Third thing: Base coat.
I went shopping. Primers, wallpaper paste, rolls, brushes, masking tape ... and since I was at it anyways: I chose the colors of paint I wanted... (still find them gorgeous).
I think I was incredibly fair when I bought the paint. The palette, different shades of gray, we had agreed upon.
You see: We have a new TV! A huge black monster that dominated the bright living room. The only thing which caught the eye when you entered the room was the big, black, curved screen. A darker color will "hide" it more; make it less obvious.

Color samples were laid on the floor, I took a picture and emailed it offshore. In my opinion he was both warned and consulted BEFORE I asked them to blend and mix the paint. (He did not answer until late that evening, but that is a totally different side of the story. Fortunately the answer was: "nice colors.")

When you have boys in the house who eagerly help, a lot of work around the house takes way too long. So I borrowed a good working-light of a friend, and worked after the children's bedtime. I know it's not common sense to do this kind of work after midnight every night, but it works fine for me.

The base coat was done in a night, and hanging the wallpaper also went by fast and smoothly. One of the things I am the most satisfied with is how all the seams and edges are really smooth and crisp.

Of course redecorating the room took a lot longer than I expected. So when my husband came home, he arrived just in time for the real paintwork to be done.
With horror he noticed that the TV was gone from the living room and the electricity was gone. I had taken the covers off all switches and contacts, in order to get the work done properly. (Next time "we" want to redecorate, all it will take is a coat of paint.)

He rolled up his sleeves and just got to work. The wall where we are to mount the TV was pained within a few, short hours... and then he slowed down. He continued to paint the walls, but now cross country skiing world championship was on, so a lot of the time he watched TV, rather than helping getting the room done.
I don't really mind. He's got his ways of doing things, and often I step back so we don't get in eachother's hair.

Now all which is left is to remove the masking tape and patch up the paint with a small brush. Skirtings and mouldings as well.
But I paint those in about three weeks ...

When the prise is Brilliant and Shiny

It's that time of year when I'm struggling to see the humor in how children's sports are run here in Norway.

MInd you, I am not thinking about the coaches and arbitrators and all the other adults who get involved to keep teams and athletes in active exercise. They do a great job! They sacrifice time, energy and social life to organize children's sport and interest. Through all kinds of weathers, they are out there, on the field and track helping to educate children to become active, team oriented people. They do it voluntarily and without payment.
When my boys with brilliant and shiny eyes hold a trophy in their hand after a chaotic tournament, I must admit that I feel a lump in my throat while I think of the great adults who have made it possible.

No, I think about the funding of sport.

In the United States, and many, many other countries, sports are driven through school. If you play football or chess, you represent your school. When you play in bands or is a gymnast, you do it for your school. It costs the kids time, and there is an expression called "soccer mum", which describes parents who sacrifice time to watch the kids when they are active, and otherwise support the team.

Here in Norway we have sports teams, or athlete clubs, and although they are run on a voluntary basis, nothing is really free and it costs money. Sportssuits and shoes we have to buy and pay yourself, but the club keeps equipment, firld, court and hall. They also pay insurance on the kids ... as soon as parents pay the yearly fee.
But then comes the central organs of sport.

I have two boys playing soccer. I am very proud of them and I see how they grow from playing matches. They understand how to be good losers, but even more important: They learn how to be good winners.

But. Each year NFF (Norwegian Soccers association) send out raffles to be sold. The two boys get 20 scratchcards each, valued to Nkr 30, - to be sold "door to door." My boys do not go on doors to sell lottery tickets. They know that all the other kids in the street, both football, handball, showjumping and other sports will go in the street and sell the scratchcards to their lottery... at about the same time of year. There are too many "no, I'm not having any" and "I don't have any cash at home."
We don't have family who live in the area either, which many depend upon for selling. So the invoice, that total nkr1200, - (about $200,-) that are included in the envelope with the scratchcards, gets paid, and we are stuck with a lot of scratchcards, we bought ourselves.

In mid-November, advent calendars arrives in the mail. 11 scratchcard-calendars each, 2 boys, equals 22 pieces a nkr 50, - to be "sold door to door." For the tidy sum of nkr 1100 - (about $ 180,-) It's no surprise that my boys do not go to our neighbors' doors to sell calendars. They know that all the other kids in the street, both football, handball, showjumping and other sports go in the street and sell ... at the same time of year. There are too many "no, I'm not having any", and "I don't have any cash at home".
We don't have family who live in the area either, which many depend upon for selling. So the invoice accompanying the advent calendars gets paid, and we are stuck with a lot of scratchcard-calendars, we bought ourselves.

And I have not even mentioned the huge bags with rolls of toilet paper (about $190,-) stored in the shed, and which we got invoice for, to pay for the tournament for boys 8 years old. We could sell them off, but everybody is selling toilet paper because... well, because. It's almost as if it's mandatory, like scoutgirls' cookies.

None of us can bear the thought of scratching calendars every day, from December 1 to December 24. it becomes an insurmountable and time-consuming project. By January I set off one evening and find the coin. The deadline to submit raffling with prices is March 31.
The boys join me for as long as they can be bothered, but it doesn't last long. Somehow there is no motivation in it for them when one route after another thanks for the support, but "Thank you for your support" gives no hope of a price.

2013 the advent calendars were red. Then I won Norway's, perhaps the world's, most expensive micro fiber cloth. That's it. A microfiber cloth.

2014 the advent calendars were purple. Yesterday I got two envelopes in the mail. Each of them contained two long teaspoons in stainless steel. I think I've got Norway's, perhaps the world's, most expensive teaspoons ... but they were at least brilliant and shiny.

Time-manage ment

A new year, full of great hopes that this year, finally, my resolutions will be fullfilled. This time I won't desperately hang on to my intentions, only to realize time after time how I fail.
This year things will be better. I will do better. Life will be better.
I don't really know why I wrote that last statement, because I have a good life. I have nothing to really complain about, so when I say "life will be better" it is mostly because it's a cliché I feel almost anticipated to strive for.

The only thing I have given some profound reflection on is the stressmess I constantly find myself in.
I work full time, I have kids who need follow-up in school, sports they are active in, and of course just attention for the sake of bonding.
I have a house and a home which needs tending: shopping (which I really don't like but still have to do), cooking, cleaning, laundry and mending clothes (Where do all the the sweatsuits and towels come from? When did we get hold of it all? How did it all end up in the laundry basket with ripped holes and seams?) , tidying up toys and dishes and the constant chase to keep up my intention of placing everything at its place.
My dog needs its walks, my friends deserve attention, and I really, really deserve a hot cup of coffee now and again.

My familie has paid attention to my complaints about how I never have time to read much, so for christmas I was given a few books. I still haven't had time to read them, and yesterday I was really upset about that: at my work's general meeting our principal decided it was appropriate to give a detailed summing up on two really good books he was given, and had read, during the holidays. I got both.

Anyway, in order to pursuit the quest of becoming a better person I have been reading up on time management. I thought that since it's true that to earn money you must spend money, the same thing goes about time: To save time you must spend time.

The vast amount of books, blogs and articles which have been created to address the concepts of time management is almost unbelievable. I found countless of seminars on the subject too. I never thought it was such a big issue. I’ve been soaking up information on how others bring order to their lives, creating more time and taking better advantage of the time they have.

I took time I don't have to read about time management and how to get time to do everything you want or need to do.
I read through a lot of online articles. I picked up a recommended book about it. I talked to a couple of people who say they got it all under control.

I can't believe how structured people's lives are. They can set off time to do just about anything they want. Anything from crafts, golf, gardening... to reading.

A couple of hours into me ploughing through the literature I found a distinct difference between men and women. Now, I admit it could be just fluke created from my selection, but even though the tips for good time management are aimed at all layers and genders I was struck by how many time management gurus are men. And most women don't tell me how to make "me"-time happen, but they are eager to tell me why I should schedule "me"-time.

I suspect only people getting paid to find out how to spend time more effectively have the kind of luxury it is to spend time thinking out strategies on how to spend time the best way in order to do what you want, and need to, do.

New Year's Eve together.

Celebrating an event or occasion alone with the kids isn't really the most festive thing to do, neither for me nor the kids. We have different expectations to what makes a great party, so it was with profound relief and gratitude we agreed to come and celebrate the evening with my best friend and her family. 

Last year we  celebrated in my house. She was alone, with children well to note, I was alone with the children, and we invited a single friend who had nothing more exciting to do. 
There is only one thing more sorry than to celebrate something and you are the only adult, and that is to be utterly alone. (I've tried both, so I know a little about that.)

Children have so much to do, and they will happily do things on their own, so you are left to have soulful conversations with yourself. One can always knit, but how fun is that, on New Year's Eve, when you know the entire world is out there welcoming the new year having a blast?

Anyway, a year ago we were three ladies and three children, and we had a real nice evening. A lot of good food, snacks and good-natured fireworks. 

This year (or, strictly speaking, last year, but you know what I mean) we were invited home to her family.
That is ... until she called me and told that she had lent her house to her son, who had invited so many guests with babies, that they were tight on room  when the babies should sleep.
BUT we were welcome to spend the evening in his apartment.

Well, it's not exactly the same as being in a familiar and accustomed place, so I said that we could be at my place.
Since she had invited us, and then given away "the premises" to someone else, she insisted on cooking. She is so generous that it sometimes becomes a strain, but it is always well intended ... and it's really heart-warming to be taken care of like that. Annoying because I can make do on my own, but at the same time nice.

She arrived bringing turkey, sprouts, ready peeled potatoes ... a pot with some carrots (the rest lay in her driveway, but she had a pack of carrots for me to peel), a delightful mashed rutabaga and sauce.
A single friend was bringing a Waldorf salad (someone other than the previously mentioned ... but she also came; they both had nothing better to do).

I went to the store to buy milk, and met a woman I know who said they had no plans, so I invited them as well. The more, the merrier. She insisted on bringing something. She couldn't come without bringing something to the table... so we agreed she could bring a cake.

Just before dinner on New Year's Eve, I learned that a neighbor family would be celebrating alone, so I sent a text message and asked them over after dinner. They could certainly come to dinner, but I knew they had already cooked a tasty meal.

The guests arrived and waited for us to serve dinner. While waiting, my friend's husband found every adult a unique mug and offered the adults coffee. I tried to tell him where the good cups were, but he didn't listen. Our diverse collection of mugs with photos, commercials, soccer teams, names and chips were handed out and appreciated. That's when I tell myself "I'm just normal, we all have those mugs, the difference is just they probably hide them when having people over. Oh, why didn't I hide them? Why didn't I find the good cups and set them on the counter before they arrived? Men!" 
My frustration didn't last long. It's not the night for being hung up on petty details.

For dinner we were a healthy bunch of 16 people. Lovely!  Then came more guests, and it was time for the children's first round of fireworks. We never buy big packs with large rockets, but there is a lot of the smaller kind which makes noise and sparks and that kids like.

The dog behaved fine, with only a few, frustrated yelps, but he got so much attention that he completely forgot about all the bangs, howls and milling outside.

And there was coffee ... the kids came, grabbed a treat and quickly disappeared into the basement to play games... and the TV was off, that alone was absolutely lovely.
In Norway, when we invite someone over for coffee, or we "have coffee" during a party, there is always cake, cookies, ice-cream and/or sweets. It's like a meal holding everything you shouldn't eat. Ever so yummy!

We had barely swallowed away the first sip of coffee before a father burst out "Hey! Look at the clock, only 5 minutes to midnight! We must get out! Get the kids!"

Jackets, shoes, protective goggles, sparklers and lighters lying in a huge pile in the hallway, was quickly sorted, put on or put in pockets.
The rest of us adults came rambling along in a more leisurely pace and we managed to get outside in time, shout "Happy New Year!", throw our arms around everybody's neck to steal a lot of good and warm hugs, before we went back inside to finish our coffee. 
The men, and those who needed some extra fresh air, were left to supervise the kids and the fireworks.
They kept going for a long time. A very long time. 

We forgot about the champagne. We forgot about the non alcoholic pink champagne for the kids.

It turned out to be a family-friendly celebration of the new year. High spirits, good humor and good friends.
Some might say that it was hospitable to open the house in this way, but it's really not. The house has room for people, and I am not afraid of anything breaking or a little mess. Besides, guests are usually very good at doing the dishes. I am eternally grateful that I have people around me who did not want me to be alone.
Although I am often alone (I even thrive in my own, quirky company), I don't really mind. I am never lonely, you see. But sometimes it's good to have company.

I try to follow the golden rule: Invite others into your life. Kind of strange, since as a person I am rather private, I really don't reveal too much about myself, but I do enjoy the company of others. It's not certain they accept the invitation, but give them the opportunity to choose.
Having the option makes all the difference.

A lot of fun here, New Year's Eve. 

I really didn't mind picking it all up the next day, in the rain and wind, it was quite ok, actually.

Besides, there were some young guests who did a great job collecting much of it in a pile.

Taken ill the sorry way

Feeling very sorry for myself right now. I thought I had a cold, but that can't be right... not the way I feel, and for how long I've felt this way: I am sure I've got a flu. And it's bad. I am usually spared from tummy bugs, and I boast and behave overbearing when my coworkers have sickness absenteeism, but I am really not good at being sick myself. Actually I think I am perhaps the worst patient ever; I whine and moan and tell everybody polite enough to listen... or pretend to listen. I'm comforted either way.
I have barely any patience with sulking hypochondriacs myself, so I know they are far nicer to me than I deserve. Today I am well enough to realize that.

A week ago, on Saturday, I felt at unease, Sunday I got terrible muscle knots in my back and a temperature. I was pretty ok as long as I didn't move at all. I wasn't pretty ok much; those who live with kids know that staying immovable is not always an option... in fact: it's not an option at all.
I took a lot of muscle relaxing painkillers that day, not too many, mind you, but I maximized recommended amount of all the pills and mixtures I could find.

Monday I had a headache. My eyes were red and puffed and I looked as if I had cried my eyes out... all day. My students took one quick look at me and worked with their tasks in the most devoted way. They display lovely empathy some times.

To minimize the alert factor and avoid students asking too many questions I powdered my face regularly. As a result I looked as if I was wearing a strange mask falling off in layers and flakes. To be honest I'm not sure it improved my appearance any, it is possible I looked worse.

Yesterday I clogged up and my head felt like a pressure tank unable to explode. The outside world sounded muffled and wrapped in cotton, but inside my head I could hear these loud creaking noices and the sound of bubbles popping inside my nose. Much like thick ice breaking on a lake.
I used any remedy found in the medicine cabinet, and then some home remedies suggested to me in what must have been my friends' desperate attempt to shut me up. It was a quest of finding a cure allowing me to breath without gasping for air.
Something, or everything, or the combination of it all, and perhaps some time, must have helped.

Today I feel fine! A week of agony is over! I find myself cursing every day I feel great and take it for granted.
My coworkers greeted me good morning when I arrived for work this morning, like they do every morning, and when I greeted them back I got standing ovation.

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.

Wholesome meals.

I am very easilly distracted. It is a fact, and nothing worth discussing: I would lose that exchange of views; Big time! And being distracted is by many considered to be a flaw in one's personality.
I can't really help it, it's just how I am. Then again I haven't done a lot to establish habits or systems to make short shrift with the confusion it sometimes causes. It is confusing though, both to me and others, so I agree it's not a good thing about me. Come to think of it, I have many flaws and errors which affect others I surround myself with; Qualities which make me comfortably imperfect. Comfortable because being imperfect lowers everybody's expectations to me. It gives me the freedom to break out and behave out of standard. You know: dancing in the rain or serve waffles for dinner.

Which one of my imperfections and flaws is the biggest, varies by time and fashion. In example: Most of us act, and live, far from the norm of courtesy you would find in the 1940s. Not that I keep up to that standard, but a couple of people do... I have my values and standards on what is acceptable, and what isn't. I like to think I don't hold prejudices, but of course, like everybody else, I do. I know this, I'm just not very happy about it. So, I am distracted, I have prejudices, I am very shy and therefore perceived as arrogant... the list goes on and on. And yet, right now I think my biggest sin, in the eyes of society in general, is my body.
At least that's the impression I get, judging by the comments so-called friends and acquaintances have the nerve to say out loud to me and about me. A lot of it is ever so rude and quite hurtful at times, and yet those remarks, and their alike, have become socially acceptable. Not only that: they have become normal.

I'm not really fat... I can still tie my own shoelaces, but my belly has through the years become.... hmmmm.... spongy (I did not want to say "like jeasted dough, well risen" because that would have put you off rolls, baguettes and white bread for weeks!).
But unless you get some surgery of a kind done, that is the punishment you are given when you participate in life. At least that is how I comfort myself.

I recently went to the doctor to get my annual cancer tests done. People: it's October and the month to give some consern to the cause: Remember to check yourself for breast cancer (yes, men too!) and go

give the blood needed to get your healthy self confirmed!

(The American Cancer Society’s most recent estimates for male breast cancer in the United States are for 2010:

About 1,970 new cases of invasive breast cancer will be diagnosed among menAbout 390 men will die from breast cancer

Breast cancer is about 100 times less common among men than among women. For men, the lifetime risk of getting breast cancer is about 1 in 1,000. The number of breast cancer cases in men relative to the population has been fairly stable over the last 30 years.)

Since I was already exposed and feeling very small, I asked the female doctor if I by any chance could go on a diet or do any kind of work-out to get rid of my shame, aka: the appearance of my belly. She looked at me in the eyes and shook her head: "Nope, but I can arrange for excess skin to be removed and the appearance of your muscles more defined".
Her reply made me determined to prove her wrong. I can live a normal life, with variety as the core spice in every aspect of my being, and feel good about it. Without having the beautifying surgery done. So what if the trousers are unable to give me the lift-tighten-slim look no matter how I wiggle to put them on. I still get a muffin-top.

The medias have made it into something we should focus on and adopt as an obsession, and we read about it everywhere: in the newspapers, online, numrous books and magazines: The right diet and food can make us healthy, slim, strong, sexy, beautiful and adorable. No wonder we get so focused on diets: who wouldn't want to hit the jackpot and be all of above? These days to stay away from gluten is the new right thing to do. "No gluten" is the new "low carb" (unless the preferred diet changed during the last two hours).

Low carb was in 2011 the most popular word in Norway, and the most frequently googled word the same year. I can only imagine what "no gluten" will be like.
We switch to the better and more efficient diet with ease, and start eating the diet for yet another sickness. Not that many actually have lactose intolerance, but we stick with the diet to become a better person. Only 1% have intolerance for gluten.

There is an increasing pressure to take responsibility for our body and health. And especially women with higher education are very preoccupied with what not to eat. The no-list of food and ingredients gets longer day by day.  It's like as if it turns into an unhealthy obsession. The enthusiasm for changing the current diet is increasing, it's like taking over the search for meaning of life.

As human beings we are so predictable. We still most often think that going out includes a meal, and we choose restaurants by their rumour and the reviews. And then, after having chosen where to eat, dressed up and arranged for babysitter, we go to fancy restaurants only to move food around the plate.  We end up never eating the carefully cooked and presented dishes. What we ordered may be fashionable in the food world, but it is not by any means compatible to the diet world.
I used to love long and lazy meals with something nice in the glasses. I used to cook and find joy in flavours and good ingredients.
Not so much anymore. Many don't compliment the chef anymore, instead we hear about how many calories can be found in the meat, the bread, the sauce...; nothing kills conversation about life's peculiarities more efficiently than that.

I always took into considerations different lifestyles and allergies. Allergies of fish and eggs, even gluten, vegetarian and vegans alike.
One time my son was celebrating his birthday party and we served the traditional rice porridge. At Christmas a almond is placed in the pot of rice porridge and who ever finds it in their bowl wins a prize-usually a marzipan pig. And the lucky person who won the pig might say, to express his satisfaction, that he was in the middle of a butter island. That is to say in the middle of the hot porridge's melting butter.

I knew one of the kids came from a vegan family, so I asked his mother if she had any experience in cooking the porridge using rice milk. She told me not to make too much of it. He had never participated in the almond in the rice porridge ceremony, so it was ok. He could bring food from home. I found that very touching that she didn't want me to be bothered with their alternative lifestyle, but it also made me even more determined he should not only participate: he should also find the almond.
I asked what I could give him as a winning prize.

I made porridge the traditional way for the party, and with rice milk for him. I explained to the 23 boys that part of the game was to trick eachother by rolling their tongue in their mouth as if they had found the almond... but never reveal it untill all the plates were empty. They ate so much porridge.
The boy had such a sneaky smile on his face it was priceless. I watched him, and he played the game with glory. He found one of the 6 almonds hidden.

When I gave him the chocolate bar his parents had agreed upon, he ran over to his father and asked if he was allowed to eat it... and he cried when his dad said yes.

There is a doctor in the USA who came up with the expression orthorexia.
It worries me that food has become something we use as a sign of personal excellence. A healthy, slim and well toned body gives you status and sends signals of self control, and the diets makes the strive easier and more concrete.
It IS a good thing to eat healthy and to be active, but I believe food gets a lot of unhealthy attention. More and more doctors and dieticians are getting really worried about the psychological and social consequenses people's attitude towards food may cause.

Some say we overfeed but malnourish ourselves. Some say we underfeed and overnourish ourselves. I just want meals to stay the highlights of a day, when we gather around the table and have those good, soulful and silly conversations.

When we face eachother and grant our senses the pleasures of smells, textures, tastes and colours, while we laugh, get serious, turn sad and silly and feel like a wholesome family of friends.
To dare to let go of time and the daily rat race. To use the senses we received as gifts when we were brought into this world, disregard the rules of a perfect appearance and just enjoy...
That is to live life to the fullest.




Who are more likely to see behind the "flaws" we might have? Men.... or women?

The Agony of Misplaced Idealism.

It's not easy to travel with teenagers. I have children with a span of 6 years between them, and I find I spend a lot of time figuring out how to satisfy and combine everybody's wants. Of course, at the time when we got them, we didn't know this would be a challenge. We were just happy they were absolutely gorgeous and cute and adorable. Little did we realize they would grow into mindstrong individuals... not to mention: TEENAGERS!
At home we have lots of rooms and doors; when on holiday that is not a priority. After all: we go on holiday to spend quality time together, right?

A few years back we invited our oldest son's friend to join us to the Middle East. It turned out a great success. The two friends were totally content having a peer, with mutual interests and priorities, around as a fellow allied. One of the standout causes they insisted on including to their list of what teens MUST do when on holiday was (and I have to admit this was our biggest challenge) their sleeping habits.
No matter how early or late they went to bed, they slept through the best hours of the day, every day.
We didn't get to go anywhere untill after lunch, which was sometimes very annoying and a stressfactor. By pure luck we stayed at a hotel with a nice pool the first week, and then we stayed for two weeks at a holiday resort with all facilities available. So while the young and the hopeful had their long sleep, we got a tan and learned how to swim.
And yet, when they DID get up: The patience they showed our two youngest sons was admirable.

Once they were up they were ready to go places and explore. Never even asking if we had any plans, they would stand by the door, hand on the handle and ask: "So? Are you not ready yet?" They loved to bargain at the market in old Jerusalem, they enjoyed and played in pools and the ocean, they played cards with the rest of the family and wandered through numerous, ancient ruins as well as experienced the adventures of other typical tourist "traps".
So, I swallowed my annoyance and took pleasure in beautiful, well behaved kid, when we went for another adventure in fascinating Israel.

Before we left home, we totally agreed on no internet. Quality time together, remember? I even deliberately left my laptop at home, bringing only my tablet.
It's all very good, and noone neither argued nor complained about it, except...: I am not very good at sleeping.

I have been thoroughly exposed in that aspect, due to social medias. People can see when I am online, and comment upon it. What they are doing online at those godforsaken hours I never ask, but since I've heard the comments so often, I find it annoying. If you wonder what I am doing online at late hours ask me then and there, don't bring it up three days later after having pondered and wondered and created possible scenarios about it.
Going on holidays, especially in summertime, is really the worst time to pull through my sleepless hours.

Small living units like holiday apartments really aren't suitable for me time. The slightest sound might wake up the rest of the family, and they all are sound sleepers who need their full eight hours, or more.
I have a wonderful tablet, but even with an external keyboard it really isn't a good tool for me when it comes to writing. And writing is more or less what I find appealing doing when I can't go online and I have read all the books I brought, and the book I bought yesterday was read last night.
Candy Crush is captivating for limited time only.

So I tip toe around the flat, wondering what to do. Lurking like a neurotic thief, anxious if I should bump into a light chair (which would cause a deafening noice scraping two inches across the floor) or the squeek of a door.
When we arrive I always listen and learn the sounds of a room: which door squeeks when, which step in the staircase creaks, can I hear water running in the next room?

Going for a walk is always an option, but my family doesn't feel comfortable knowing I am wandering about in the streets alone at dusk. I could lie, of course. Thing is, though: people have dogs, and dogs bark when they hear footsteps not supposed to pass their property... believe me, I have tried, and I still shrink with bad conscience thinking about the light which was turned on in a window upstairs. And what if someone called in an emergency call, stating a delusional, very confused woman is on the loose? You never know, right? And by the way; who would I tell? No wifi and Facebook really isn't an option, not untill we get to a cafe or something, and by then it is too late. The novelty of my soulful "me time" is gone.
Not to mention what my selfie would look like: no make up, no sane hairdo... much like a normal mug-shot. That is what happens when you delay your morning shower because you want to avoid hissing in the pipes this early.

I love silence. It is my favourite sound, and I can listen to the silence for a very long time, but I have discovered it is not so calming and certainly not such a relief, when I am overly aware of how I disturb the universe.
So there I go, the only thing left to do is to sit on the balcony, drink coffee, try to write on my tablet and curse my excellent idea of depriving the kids from the internet, online gaming, streaming movies and chats.