Exploring the island: Agaete

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This weekend, quite by accident, Per and I discovered Gran Canaria’s answer to the Amalfi coast. If any readers were present at the 2010 Svendsen wedding, you’ll know exactly what I’m referring to… a beautify, twisty road along the Italian coast, with cliffs to one side and a steep drop to the water on your other side.

On Saturday, we drove north into the mountains, and then took a sharp left to find the coastal road to Agaete we had heard a bit about.

We were not disappointed.

Per Christian surely won’t remember anything about the trip, except perhaps the fabulous new teething biscuits he’s fallen in love with…

There’s definitely a lot more to the island than sun-bathing at the tourist resorts! Hopefully we’ll have plenty of chances to get out and explore some of the lesser-known sights over the coming months.

I hope you all had a great weekend also!

The myth of the Baby Jogger

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Once upon a time, a woman who considered herself a runner became pregnant. She and her husband were excited in all the usual ways a newly-pregnant couple are excited (in other words, they were completely naive and clueless).

And they, like all newly-pregnant couples, began to buy things. Not a ton of things (in their minds anyway), but things that were considered “necessary.” A car seat, for example, which you cannot even leave the hospital without having installed (this was not a bus-going kind of couple). Top of the list, like all newly-pregnant couples, was The Perfect Stroller.

The runner/newly-pregnant woman was already envisioning long, leisurely jogs around Songsvann lake with her blessed child peacefully asleep in his or her jogging stroller. She researched and read reports and talked to other runners online, until finally – to the great relief of her husband and Albeebaby.com – a decision was made.

Fast forward 18 months later, and you’ll find this same woman sweating and cursing at this originally-beloved jogging stroller as they struggle up a ginormous hill in Gran Canaria. It’s not because of the stroller, which is lightweight and manageable and blah, blah, blah all things a good jogging stroller should be. It’s because jogging strollers – although brilliant in concept – are a load of BS in reality.

Here’s why:

1. You can’t use your jogging stroller for actual jogging until your baby can sit upright and hold it’s head steady. Makes sense, of course, but by that time your miniature companion is most likely a 20-pound weight in the saddle. Get the most lightweight model on the market, you’re still pushing around a pretty hefty meatloaf. It makes running on even the slightest incline very difficult.

2. By the time you can run again after the delivery of said meatloaf, you’re going to really, really miss the old days. Your body will jiggle like it never did before, and in places you never really imagined. I’m not talking about just a pair of saggy boobs, either – those can be held in place with some magnetic force fields and a good running bra. I’m talking about those nether-lands that began to drip, drip, drip… ever since you got pregnant and still haven’t stopped. Nature’s laughing at you, my post-partum friend, and the baby jogger ain’t gonna make that one bit easier to bear.

3. The best part of running, in my mind, was always to get away from it all. Not to bring it with me, for heaven’s sake! So imagine you’re finally back in your running game and finding your stride again. This is the perfect opportunity to leave the baby at home with pappa, and go out on your own. It took me four months after Per Christian was born to actually take a few minutes to myself for a run around the neighborhood (which, let’s face it, was more a walk/jog at that point). I was so happy, I honestly cried mid-stride. No joke.

So forget about finding the perfect baby jogger to take them with you on your runs – instead, force your partner to get fat and out of shape for the next nine months while you enjoy some time off (quid pro quo, my friend…).

Don’t get me wrong, I do love my jogging stroller as a stroller in general – it has a great canopy for the Canary sunshine, it reclines back when Per Christian wants to nap (ha! as if…), and it has an ample basket underneath for when mommy & pappa take their Prosecco to the park. But there isn’t a jogging stroller in the world that makes it better than going out and running on my own.

So, for the meantime, pappa gets to put on a bit of weight while mommy gets out for her runs. The way I see it, he can complain about it only after his nether-lands start dripping…

Big barnehagen decisions…

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The “barnehagen” in Norway is like daycare or nursery school in the US, except that it’s free for everyone (via our enormous tax dollars). But although you’re technically guaranteed a barnehagen placement by law, I’ve heard too many woeful tales to believe it. For example, you might get your place as promised, but it’s in a school across town from where you work, or you have two siblings in two separate schools at opposite ends of the city. Or you can have your place, but only beginning in August whereas your maternity period ends in February, thereby leaving you stranded for six months. The theory is great, but it sometimes falls apart in practice.

On the other hand, I love the concept because of the below photos – this is what you see around Oslo on a daily basis in good weather (and sometimes in rain… remember that there’s no bad weather in Norway, only bad clothing and lots of skoposer).

The Norwegian barnehagen lifestyle is unique because the kids are always out and about. No worries about liability or other nonsense you would have at home, they’re all dressed in florescent vests and out they go. I’ve seen them in the parks, walking down the sidewalk and overtaking the public trams and metros. Loud, rambunctious and lively without anyone complaining – how good it is to be a kid in Norway!

Now that Per Christian is reaching his first birthday, we’re looking for a similar environment down here in southern Canaria. There is a Norwegian barnehagen practically opposite Per’s hotel, which is a great option. It’s filled with Norwegian children and teachers, so I’m sure he’d feel right at home. It seems normal enough – toys around the room and someone keeping a close eye on the kids. It’s clean, convenient, has space available and is in our price range. Simple decision, right?

Not so much.

Yesterday I visited another option, one that I described to Per as the “Cadillac of barnehagens.” It’s a 20 minute drive from our house to the town of Maspalomas, and wow – it was impressive. A big open space with children as young as three months and as old as three years from all over Europe, including Norway, UK, Finland, Germany and Spain. The working language is Spanish, but they do teach some English and German songs when they’re in the oldest 3-year group.

Per Christian was taken to the “La Luna” playroom for children under one year while I had my tour of the school. When we came back 20 minutes later, he was staggering across the floor in one of those baby walkers (which we don’t have at home), sharing a toy with another boy in the group and looking at me with the hugest smile. In typical Marguerite fashion, I did a very poor job of hiding my tears. (I can’t even blame this on post-pregnancy hormones anymore, I’m truthfully just a bucket of emotions wherever my son in concerned.)

So this option is also nice, they have space available, it’s in our price range, but it is not convenient. I know my mind is already made up though, I noticed it as soon as Per started questioning the school last night and I kept defending it even though I’d only spent one hour there during the day. My gut says this is the best place for Per Christian, but it really makes no logical sense since our perfectly good Norwegian option is right around the corner.

It’s kind of like the car decision we made last year – we ended up going for what we wanted even though it wasn’t necessarily the smartest choice. For better or for worse, this is a typical Svendsen family decision.making trait. I guess we haven’t suffered too badly from it in the past, but should we allow it to guide our big barnehagen decision as well?

Baby travel tips

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Per Christian just passed nine months. During my usual routine of overly-emotional reflection, I realized that this kid has traveled more in his first nine months than I did my entire life before college.

Wow. The times, they are a-changin’!

That’s a lot of airline miles and a lot of lessons learned the hard way. I decided that – finally! – perhaps I do actually have a bit of baby-related wisdom to share.

So I started a new page of this blog to document some advice, entitled “Baby travel: Tips for Survival.” My hope is that other tried & true parents more experienced than myself can add to the list with your own insights. Maybe it’ll be helpful to someone in the blogosphere world or maybe not – either way it’s public information now.

With that, I leave you with the latest milestone achieved here in the Svendsen household (please ignore the trash bags in the background, it was New Year’s day so mommy & pappa had a lazy prosecco morning….):

Ta da!!!! He’s so proud of himself….

 

Cleaning out the cobwebs

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I suppose everyone disappears over the holidays, and this blog was no exception. My apologies to those readers sitting on the edge of their chairs, eagerly anticipating blog updates. If you do indeed exist, please forgive my absence.

I was traveling with our meatloaf from December 3 until the 28th, a trip that included Ireland, South Carolina and finally Disney World. (… admit it – you’re all picturing a crazy bag lady at the airport, holding up security lines with a stale meatloaf wrapped in saran wrap and mumbling incoherently…)

It was a great holiday in many ways, most of all because our little Per Christian got to meet and play with his cousins for the first time. He spent intense hours examining the inner workings of the laundry room with his cousin Thomas, and he finally discovered someone that spoke his own language with my niece, Emily. (Mommy of course stood on the sidelines with overly-emotional tears in her eyes, which is about normal these days.)

We then returned to the Island and had a quiet New Year’s Eve with multiple bottles of bubbly. Too many bottles actually, but that’s about normal these days as well.

We did our usual year-end reflection as the fireworks went off, recalling all the good times in the year that brought us our son. And I realized – selfishly, of course – that I am so happy that 2011 is over. This was a hard year, folks, the hardest of my life. I won’t lie to you, there were days (and looooong nights) when I wished I could jump ship and run away. I am self-admittedly NOT a baby person; I do much better with someone I can boss around and who does what I want. I love my son beyond belief, but I do not miss those early baby days for one second. And I’m leaving them all in the past with the turning of the clock.

2012 will be the year I get myself back. This will be the year that Per Christian takes his first steps, spends his first day in the kindergarten and celebrates his first birthday. I’ve paid my dues and gotten him this far, now I get to sit back (relatively speaking, of course) and watch him grow. This is the year I get to figure out what the f#$@ to do with myself here in Gran Canaria, the year I get my body back into pre-baby shape, and the year I can put myself first for the first time in over 18 months (relatively speaking, of course…).

So good riddance 2011! You brought me the best of times and the worst of times. Now I’m ready to re-even the score.

Enjoy the photos below from our holiday travels. I wish everyone a happy 2012!

The maybe game

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Are you still looking for the perfect holiday gift for new parents? Or are you a new parent yourself and looking for ways to entertain you and your partner over the holiday season? (Because – let’s face it – your childless friends will be out on the town, but you will absolutely be home alone with a baby and multiple bottles of bubbly…)

Then I recommend this year’s hottest new item – The Maybe Game (designed exclusively for P&P fans worldwide). This exciting mystery puzzle takes a modern spin on the age-old activity of trying to guess what the f* is wrong with your kid.

To play this game, simply gather a group of parents around the table and select a card from one of the decks labeled “Sleepless Nights,” Mysterious Crying,” or “Parental Karma.” Read the situation on the back of the card and discuss. At length. And repeatedly.

Example #1:

You select a card from the Mysterious Crying deck that reads:

“Your baby is crying.
Maybe it is gas.
Maybe it is hunger.
Maybe it is tiredness.
What do you do?”

At this point, you and your partner sit on opposite sides of the table and discuss possible solutions ad naseum.

Winners do not exist because there are in fact no correct answers. (What – you thought you had the answers?! HA! You over-confident schmuck, you must go directly to the Jailhouse of Dirty Diapers for the next three turns. Do not pass Go and definitely do not look at your partner for assistance.)

Example #2:

You select a card from the Parental Karma deck that reads:

Your baby slept like an angel on your cross-country flight to grandmother’s house.
You should therefore expect either:
A. Continued angelic behavior
B. Total meltdown

(Hint – the answer is not A.)

The Maybe Game never ends. Repeat the same cards in another 20 minutes and enjoy all the fun you have trying to figure them out the second time. The possibilities are endless!

Recommended Players: 2 or more (partial ownership of at least child is required in order to participate)

Time Required: 30+ years

Goal: Survival

Give the perfect gift to all the dazed and confused parents on your list this year!

Giving thanks abroad

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I’ve been living overseas on and off since 1999.

That’s a lot of missed turkeys.

Thanksgiving abroad is a mixture of blessing and curse – if you’re willing/able/crazy enough to put on a feast for your local friends, it’s a day you’ll never forget. Thanksgiving is probably the one remaining 100% American holiday that hasn’t been exported abroad, so your presence is essential for it to happen. And you go so far out of your way to do everything “properly,” things you’d never actually consider doing at home… ordering a freshly-butchered turkey weeks in advance, cleaning an entire pumpkin for hours to bake a real pumpkin pie, making stuffing and gravy and cranberry sauce from scratch because the boxed versions aren’t available.

Per and I made a traditional turkey dinner with all the trimmings for eight friends in Stavanger in 2009. Naturally, as there were Norwegians involved, the festivities lasted until 3am the next morning. We had an apartment slightly larger than a shoebox, so the table stretched from the far wall to the kitchen counter. It was tight, cramped and absolutely fabulous. A real Thanksgiving.

But if you don’t have a group of friends yet or they aren’t readily available, it can be a recipe for one gigantic, disastrous case of homesick-ness.

This year is a bit unique, as you might expect since I’m typing from my lounge chair in a bikini top. There’s no big dinner planned at the Svendsen house, but I can still do my slightly-cynical list of thanks. Over the years, I’ve discovered this to be a pretty good remedy for delaying the onset of turkey-induced homesick-ness.

So here goes….

  1. I’m thankful that I haven’t accidentally killed, disfigured or injured my son yet. Well, there was that one big tumble off a bed last month… so scratch the injury part. The other parts still apply.
  2. I’m thankful that I’m typing from my lounge chair in a bikini top. Until I look down and see my post-preggers pooch-y stomach laughing at me… so scratch the bikini part. The lounge chair thanks still applies.
  3. I’m thankful that I have very special guests visiting this week and next. And that afterwards I’m traveling to visit very special friends and family during the holidays. Except that means long hours alone on the plane and the road with Per Christian, who has entered his I-hate-being-strapped-into-anything-and-everything phase… so scratch the travel part. The friend and visitor thanks still apply.
  4. I’m thankful that I have a husband who apparently still loves me despite all my CFM madness. I suspect he spends a lot of time laughing at me behind my back, but it’s probably well-deserved.
  5. I’m thankful my grandparents are still alive and will join us for Christmas this year to meet their 28th great-grandchild. No joke – that’s some serious family, folks.
  6. I’m thankful that we have a bit of money in the bank. It’s not a lot, it’s not even a medium amount. But it’s enough that we don’t have to worry about where we’re going to live or how we’re going to eat. The number of people who can’t say the same thing grows every year, so we should never take this for granted.
  7. I’m thankful that I don’t live in the US and therefore don’t have to deal with vicious Black Friday shopping crowds tomorrow. Except that I am seriously craving a bit of retail therapy (the absence of which probably accounts for #6 above), so scratch that…
  8. Most of all, I’m thankful that my son just napped long enough for me to write all this down. I feel much better. Except that he’s awake now, so scratch that too….

Happy Thanksgiving everyone, and pass the turkey!

I have a plan…

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I’ve decided to use my son as fish bait to find new friends. This might not get me the Mommy of the Year award, but I’d be willing to bet actual money on my success.

I’ve never been a modest person in general, and certainly not about my son. He’s been grabbing attention ever since I popped him out, and he’s only improved with age (this is, of course, a totally unbiased mother’s opinion).

But I really never anticipated the overwhelming reaction Per Christian has received in Gran Canaria. Strangers stop to coo over him at every turn, and I’m not even exaggerating. Yesterday our waitress at lunch stole him out of my lap and walked him around the entire restaurant. (This is not a complaint. Per and I sipped wine in peace for at least three blissful minutes…) This morning, I literally had a woman chase me down the street to stop and give him a little spanish beso. She started telling me what sounded like a very interesting and lively story, but I didn’t hear the words “cortado” or “cerveza” in there anywhere, so I got a bit lost in translation.

And don’t get the mistaken impression that it’s only the women, either. The men are just as eager to stop us on the street and sing praises to this miniature meatloaf. But they don’t usually get rewarded with his cheeky little smile – even at such a young age, Per Christian is a committed ladies man.

So my brilliant new plan is to beef up the Spanish lessons, strap Per Christian into his Baby Bjorn and hit the streets. I’ll just walk around until someone stops to admire him, then I’ll amuse them with my witty language skills and lure them into my friendship web. Bam! Amigos galore!

Feel free to forward my Mommy of the Year nominations to your nearest social services office.

In other news, crawling is, like, so last week, y’all….

Hope everyone had a great weekend!

Nature vs. Nurture: Is beach snobbery genetic?

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After three weeks in Gran Canaria, the Svendsen family finally hit the beach.

It was NOT a huge success.

Per Christian isn’t a stranger to water. He’s been swimming in Greece, he’s been sailing in Norway, and he’s been in the pool for several baby-swimming classes.

But the poor chap didn’t care much for the crowed beach of Amadores this weekend. Being packed like sardines in the sand is apparently not his idea of a good time. I wasn’t heartless (or resourceful) enough to snap photos of his misery, but rest assured he looked something like this for the entire 20 minutes we were there:

To be quite honest, his parents agree. Call us beach snobs if you will, but crowds, heat and sand do not mix well in our opinion. Apparently Per Christian inherited those genes, which is just fine with us.

So we gave up the beach and went in search of something else. We passed by all the obnoxious boardwalk restaurants where waiters hustle the tourists with cheap beer and cheaper food. That’s also not our thing.

We finally stumbled upon the Amadores Beach Club. And then Momma, Pappa and little Per Christian lived happily ever after….

Later that afternoon, we created our own little exclusive beach club at Casa Svendsen. Baby nudity is allowed and in fact encouraged here, but I’ve been informed that those photos are not for public consumption:

We also made our first venture into Las Palmas this weekend. We only checked out a tiny portion of it for now, reminding ourselves that we actually live here and don’t have to absorb everything in one trip. So more on that another time.

Per Christian also started his Spanish lessons, which so far consist of tearing pages out of mommy’s Spanish dictionary. We’ll keep you updated on his progress.

Hope everyone had a great weekend!