Queen of Rambles

I want to write a really cool and interesting post tonight, but alas, my cool and interesting mojo is broken. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today, but I’ve been on edge and grouchy. I tried to reign it in with Erik, but the poor kid got slapped on the hand for touching my sewing machine and yelled at more than a few times. He’s really into pretend right now, especially pretending that a witch is chasing him, so when I would feel the need to explode I would yell at the invisible witch.

Also, I taught him to fart at the witch to make her go away.

We’re classy over here.

But hey! I read an article about bully-proofing your kid in Wondertimes and it said that the best way to keep your kid from getting bullied is to teach him not to get upset when people say rude things. They should have a come back instead. So if someone bullies him, he can make a fart joke and not get his block knocked off.

Oh yeah, baby. I’m always thinking. Maybe I need a few parenting classes.

Also, apparently I am Canadian. I just posted a long comment about the Wiggles (they’ve invaded my home again) over at Some Pig’s place and spelled household with one of those Canadian u’s–househould. Is that Canadian or just plain wrong?

I had three packages to get in the mail this afternoon (Grain Damaged your shoebox is on its way!), which was partially what was stressing me out. I ended up ripping out a few seams from the block I made yesterday and re-doing the edges because there was a small size discrepancy. As I was standing over the iron I started feeling really woozy and thought I was going to faint. I don’t think fainting with an iron in your hand is ever a good idea. I was trying to figure out if it was low blood sugar or high blood sugar or what, but I never did get around to asking Dr. Google. I just ate some M&Ms and hoped for the best, while screeching at Erik to leave me alone. I really don’t need a half-naked child climbing up my leg while I’m trying to iron.

Nor do I need a child trying to stick his head in the toilet while I’m peeing. He was trying to find my wiener and refused to believe me when I explained I don’t have one. He thought I was hiding it from him and was determined to find it.

Nor do I need a child who poops his pants on the playground after I’ve just cleaned out the backpack and forgotten to restock it with clean underwear and wipes.

Nor do I need a child who thinks 6:15 is a great time to wake up.

It was a FUN day today! Let’s all do a cheer!

Now I’m feeling a little guilty for saying I don’t need a child who does those things. I wish he wouldn’t be so naughty, but I need him like I need air. I never wanted kids and now I don’t know what I would do without him. Funny how that motherlove can fill up even the most cynical heart.

Ok, I just checked Dr. Google to find out what the hell is wrong with me. There is no entry for “feels like you have fire ants crawling through your body with a good dose of dizziness.” Perhaps my search terms are too descriptive. I have a feeling it is a good dose of anxiety about our financial situation. Mike’s job is about to get on my very last nerve and there’s not a thing I can do about it. I am encouraging him to send out his resume, but though I love the man dearly, he is not quick about anything. Heck, I moved to Sweden in September and rather than buy a bed that would accommodate us both, he slept on a trundle bed until November because he had to think. What’s with all the thinking? Go out and do! He probably thought I was going to take one look at Kiruna, the northern most city in Sweden, and run away. I was too gloopy in love to do that, even though Kiruna will never make my top ten list of places I’ve lived.

This is a ramble. I’ll give you that.

We had a very long weekend here at Chez Possum. I joined a Round Robin quilting group on LiveJournal and my block is just about over due. I’ve not had any time with my sewing machine thanks to vacation and company, so it was a do or die situation this weekend. Mike doesn’t understand my quilting hobby at all and I’m not sure I can blame the boy. The curse words were flying and my frustration levels were at an all time high on Saturday. My brain was mush and this ugly freaking block was the best I could do.

It was much too embarrassing to send out, so I had to spend yet another day as a slave to the sewing machine today. Things went much more smoothly thanks to a new bobbin and some better color choices, and I’m very proud of my new center block. Yay!

Luckily it wasn’t all doom and gloom yesterday. My best friend from college is on Facebook and is always telling me to call her. Problem? She never answers her phone! I’ve been trying to get a hold of her for at least a year and yesterday she finally called me back! Have I ever mentioned that I am the worst person ever at keeping in touch? We were best friends for two years and I haven’t talked to her a single time since 1996. We simply must do better. She wants to go to Vegas together, but I don’t think I’m up for that. She always was something of a wild child, but I’ve never enjoyed drinking. Maybe we could go to a salsa club and I could dance. Not that I’m a good salsa dancer, but I totally love it anyway. Do you think Latin Cardio style salsa would differ from the real deal? I’m thinking I would make a complete ass of myself.

Yesterday I discovered that my computer has a card reader so I no longer have to find the cord every time I want to download pictures. DUH! I’ve only had this computer for two or three years. I so smart, I am. I was really sad to see that we barely got any pictures from the Swedish Invasion and I seriously doubt they will share their pics with us. They were showing me pics from their vacation over a year ago. Still on their camera. I don’t think they are big on the picture thing like I am.

I was telling a couple of people that Mike’s niece is his total young, female twin. It is almost scary how much they look alike. They were sitting next to each other at dinner one night and I should have taken a picture. I couldn’t stop staring because they are so identical. She, obviously, is more feminine and young, but the features are uncanny.

Here’s one of the only good pics I got of her:

And here’s a pic of the Mikester for comparison:

Are those Possum genes strong or what? I guess I know what a girl will look like if we ever have one. My SIL says Erik looks exactly like her oldest son did when he was a baby. Will Erik grow up to look like this?

It certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to Mr. Lady’s Man Social Butterfly.

We took him to the nice park tonight and it was full of little girls that he chased all around. I’m afraid Evelyn is probably going to be out of the running for my daughter-in-law because he prefers lady’s at least two or three years older than himself. Really, he prefers their parents. That kid can talk up a storm to just about anyone he meets. I’m really happy he’s so social, but am never sure what to do when he starts jabbering with an adult.

Also, what am I supposed to do about his peeing habits? Suddenly he wants to pee on or in things. Blankets, bowls, his Halloween pumpkin (which is his favorite and most versatile toy oddly enough), the big toilet (he’s way too short), piles of clothing. . . whatever. He’ll just drop trou and go if we don’t catch him at it. I probably didn’t help matters at the park, much. The bathroom was so disgusting that there was no way he could sit on the seat. It was covered with stuff. I contributed to the disgusting levels by holding him over the sink and letting him pee there. Give me my mommy of the year award now, please.

Ok. Off to bed for me. We are doing a full scale weaning attempt, which means I get to sleep in the guest bed all by my lonesome while Erik and Mike share the big bed. It seems to be working to some extent, but that kid inherited every scrap of stubbornness ever leaked into the Possum clan. I did not plan on co-sleeping and nursing this long, but that’s just how it has worked out. Honestly, though, I can’t complain too much. He’s one of the cuddliest kids I’ve ever met and I love that. If this is the price we have to pay, I’m willing to pay it.

I would totally be doing the Happy Dance of Guests Going Home, but Erik is so sad about the whole thing that it’s difficult to be overjoyed. Their flight left at 6 pm, so Erik was awake and aware when they loaded up into the car and left. He cried for a long time, then he packed up his little suitcase and suggested we go in the black car, since he knew they had the blue car. Sorry buddy, but the black car was returned to the rental agency.

This week was so much better. I don’t know if it was just because I took a chill pill, or what, but I think I was having fun. Once I decided to let things go and just be I could tolerate things a lot better.

I think a HUGE part of the problem is the bitter, cruel voice of my grandmother that lives in the back of my head. Every word out of her mouth is bitchy, bitchy, bitchy. Whenever we leave somewhere, she immediately fires up the old criticism cranker and starts lobbing bullets. They were too dirty, they were too clean, they were too quiet, they were too loud, did you SEE that color? Did you HEAR that noise? Did you LOOK at their toilet? What awful/rude/overly polite/oppressed/dirty/abnormally clean/smart-alecky/abused children! How could a mother feed them so much/starve them/dress them like that/buy so many toys/have a complete lack of toys/blah blah blah blah blah?

So when someone comes to my house I’m always trying to anticipate the litany of criticism that is sure to be spewed as soon as they are out the door and in the car. It makes me anxious, which magnifies everything and makes me look like a total bitch and it just makes all the more things for them to say about me behind my back. Only do people really do this? I mean, yes, of course, I know we all gossip. But are people really as mean as my grandmother? I don’t think so. I know that when I’ve been to someone’s house I don’t go into the litany of shame as soon as I’m out the door. Instead, I focus on the really fun thing we just did or the really cool doohicky they just bought, or whatever. Sure, there are some people that are total whack-a-doos and I have fun making fun of them, but that is not the norm. I think. I don’t know. You guys only hear the bitching and the weirdness here on this blog since it’s not as fun to tell about the totally normal stuff.

I think it also helped that my SIL started interacting with Erik this week. She has four children, so she must like kids, but she was definitely not into playing with him like my BIL and niece. She even read him a few stories today, which totally blew my mind because he certainly doesn’t sit still for me to read him a story.

Also, I think she got a new insight into me when I told her that I feel like I belong at the children’s table during big holiday gatherings. She seemed offended at first, but when I told her I am only five years older than the oldest nephew her jaw dropped and it seemed like she had a total perspective shift. This morning she told me she was awake all night thinking about it and about how different my life is from the life of that oldest nephew. It was a nice bonding moment.

I also had a good bonding moment with my 20 year old niece last night. She’s been talking about the peanut butter balls I brought for Christmas one year, so finally last night we had a chance to get into the kitchen and make a batch. She is pretty good at English, but much too afraid to say anything, but doing an activity like that forced us to talk to each other. I think I would really like her a lot if we spoke the same language. I’m not saying I don’t like her now, just that it is hard to know if you like someone if you can’t communicate with them.

So. . .

Now what am I going to do with all this freedom? I almost hate to drag out my quilting stuff again because we have our upstairs loft so clean that it is functioning as a little living room that Erik can run around in. The call of fabric is too much, I’m afraid. I am in a quilting round robin group and MUST get my center block in the mail this weekend. I haven’t even decided what block to make. At this point it is looking like I should print out a list of possibilities and throw a dart at it.

Plans for tomorrow are simple. I’ll hit the gym, then finish gathering things up for Grain_Damaged’s shoebox swap. Hopefully I’ll get it in the mail tomorrow afternoon!

ARGH! My leg/groin area is killing me. It feels like it did in the three months prior to Erik’s birth. I only know one way to cure it, but since there isn’t a baby to cut out I don’t know what I’m going to do. My c-section scar has been acting up as well, which is irking me. It should not be having weird, random twinges after three years.

And no, I’m not pregnant.

Things are going a lot better here. I have been regulating my sugar intake a little better and I’m in a much better mood. Sugar is like poison for my brain chemistry, but it’s just so sweet that I can’t help being addicted. Ah, the tangled web. I’m grouchy, so I eat sugar to make myself feel better so I get more grouchy. Repeat.

I think making my dinner plans clear in the morning has also helped the kitchen situation. I know she is just trying to help. I do know that. It just feels weird and strange and like my mother.

On Monday night we went out to Great Falls park on the Maryland side. It was a lot of walking, but totally amazing scenery. It really helped me reset my brain somehow. If you are ever in the area, Great Falls are not to be missed! I don’t know what it looks like from the Virginia side, but the Maryland side has a really long boardwalk over the Potomac and an island. The only bad part is that there are several places that would lead to certain death for a curious toddler, so if you have young children you should skip it unless you will have them in a sling or stroller the whole time. We had five adults to supervise Erik and he still gave me several heart attacks.

I think my brain is also doing better because I’ve been to the gym every day this week. I only went a couple of times last week and my brain NEEDS those endorphins. Who ever thought such a big, fat cow could be so addicted to exercise? I’m still a big, fat cow but you guys should see my arms. They are getting totally buff. Now if I could just figure out a way to make my double belly get buff, I’d really be on to something.

I think I need to bite the bullet and invest in a real yoga mat. The gym provides flat foam mats, which are really kind of gross to use. They replaced them with brand new ones this weekend and now I have a major problem. The new ones don’t have a thick layer of grime coating both sides, thus they have no friction. Ever try to do (knee) push-ups when your knees are sweaty and you are sliding all over the place? Today I totally collapsed with laughter because what else could I do? I certainly couldn’t do whatever crazy thing the teacher was trying to make us do.

Can I mention that I hate yoga and pilates? Our Zumba teacher is really into both, so at the end of Zumba we do a bunch of yoga/pilates stuff. Yoga is not designed for women with boobs, double bellies and big thighs. I don’t think the stick-like teacher understands that I have actual flesh hanging in the places she says I am supposed to be putting other parts of my body.

Ok enough with the fitness talk. How about the mommy talk? Should I be worried that Erik identifies most with the villain of Dora the Explorer? Instead of trying to be Dora, he is always swiping things like Swiper or being a grumpy troll. Am I destined to be the mother of an ex-con? I guess he just thinks it’s funny. He thinks most everything is funny. Let’s hope he keeps his good humor without becoming a criminal.

Thursday. Four more days. Thursday.

I can make it till then.

I feel like such an ungrateful bitch when I complain about the in-laws because they are really quite lovely when it’s all said and done, but it is so exhausting having people here in our little apartment. The introvert in me wants to pack my bags and head for the hills. I told Mike if I wasn’t home when he got home from another day of sight seeing, to call Kentucky. He’s now convinced that Kisha and I have some sort of pact, but no. I was just hoping I would be welcomed when I showed up with my boy and bleeding non-Swedish ears.

Obviously, I couldn’t really run away from home, so here I am. I mean, yeah. I’m a grown-up. I COULD technically run away from home, but can you imagine? Wouldn’t they have a story to tell? “The crazy American left the state! We could not find her!”

I think a huge part of the problem is the language barrier. It’s not so much that they can’t speak English, I think it is that they use words slightly wrong so that the subtle connotations drive me out of my mind. Her biggest phrase is “You must. . . . ” I think maybe she means “It would be a good idea. . . . ” Or “Maybe you should. . . . ” But she says “You must. . . ” and the little rebel in me says YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME and I get a bad attitude and blah blah blah.

I remember one year we were at Mike’s dad’s house and he handed me a recipe for sunflower buns and told me “You must bake these.” I was confused, but I thought I better obey since he was so adamant (he doesn’t have very much English at all, so that’s about the extent of what he said to me during the whole trip.) I went into the kitchen and started baking them, even though I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Turns out he meant “When you get home, you really should try out this recipe because it’s good.” He had no idea why I was taking over his kitchen. Embarrassing, much?

The big southern fried dinner was a success. I wasn’t sure how anyone would respond to the fried okra, but they really liked it. I didn’t make nearly enough because I am not a great hostess, but I suppose I can make some more later this week. They didn’t like the black eyed peas at all, claiming they taste just like their homeland’s brown beans. I don’t understand how this is possible. I’ve had brown beans and they were the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten, with the exception of just about any meal my mother ever cooked. They were full of sugar and tomato paste. Yuck yuck yuck. I guess there must be different preparations because there is no way the two compare in my book.

Last night we went to Mike’s co-worker’s place for dinner. I ended up doing a berry cobbler, which everyone claimed to love. I didn’t even try it because I was too focused on the most fabulous brownies ever. I ran out of vanilla half-way through my baking, so tasked Mike with the all important job of removing the cobbler from the oven. When I got home 20 minutes after the cobbler should have been removed, it was still in there boiling away. I had to close my eyes and count to 30. He was very contrite and I love him very much, but he’s lucky I didn’t jump on top of him and start strangling him. The lack of charred bits was the only thing that saved him. It was VERY well done, but not quite burnt.

Erik took a nap before the party so he made it until 10 pm. He crashed and burned hard, so we had a really awful ride home. He fell down and had a little gash in the palm of his hand that wouldn’t stop hurting. He was screaming about it for an hour. I thought we were all going to jump out of the car and make a spectacle of ourselves on the highway. With such a late night, I was convinced he would get up really late today. Instead, he got up an hour early and has been a cranky little whiner all day. Fun times! Tomorrow will be better, surely!

Mike it back to work tomorrow, so it is just me, the out-laws and Erik. I believe tomorrow is supposed to be a relaxing day then Tuesday is Amish country. Wednesday they’ll have to spend the whole day packing. They’ve bought new wardrobes, which makes sense since clothes are so much cheaper here. I have no idea how they’ll get it all home, but I guess they’ll figure something out.

Now…does anyone have a good book I can read?

I feel like such a fraud right now. I’m serving a large, southern style dinner tonight. Yet here I sit, typing an entry. There will be fried chicken and potato salad, both prepared by the Amish, fresh tomatoes prepared by mother nature, southern style black eyed peas prepared by a canning company and fried okra prepared by yours truly. That’s a lot of meal with very little prep work. Dessert, half a strawberry-rhubarb pie and half a peanut butter cake was also graciously prepared by the Amish. My grandmother would be having seizures if I called her and told her I was serving a meal mostly prepared by other people. My mom would give me a high five and ask if the fried okra was really necessary.

I thought about making mashed potatoes and gravy, but peeling potatoes? Do I really want to do that? Nope. I thought about making buttermilk biscuits, but with all those other starches would it really be necessary? I don’t think so.

So here I sit in a pre-dinner stupor wondering when people are going to want to eat. One house guest is on the balcony reading, one is MSNing and one is taking a hot bath. At 6 pm. I’m glad she’s out of my hair, but it just seems a little strange.

I had a really easy day because they spent the bulk of it off touristing and Erik took a nap, so I finally had precious, precious alone time. I needed it. I can be more sparkly and gracious this evening, as long as people stay the hell out of my kitchen.

So shall we talk culture clashes?

Any of my VERY longtime readers (Heather and Kisha and my FFF buddies) will remember I used to talk about the complete lack of customer service in Sweden. I would become enraged at what I viewed as rudeness and disrespect. I suppose it really is a cultural difference even though I was never able to understand it because my sister-in-law becomes ENRAGED by the customer service levels here in America. If a salesperson talks to her in a friendly manner she gets huffy and won’t by anything from them if she suspects they might get a commission. How dare they LIE TO HER! Because, indeed, Swedes view friendly chit-chat as lying. I guess. I’ve heard this before but have never understood it. If the cashier asks how you are doing, but doesn’t REALLY care about how you are doing, it is a lie and how dare they lie! I can logically with my brain sort of comprehend this idea, but I’m such an American that I can’t process the idea and really make it make sense in any meaningful way.

Also, you should have seen the scene she made in Hannah Anderson when the cashier asked me to spell my last name and I spelled it the American way instead of the Swedish way. There is nothing wrong with the Swedish way, except for one tiny little detail. It has a letter that doesn’t exist in the English language. Heck, it has a letter that I can’t even SAY or HEAR or UNDERSTAND. For the curious, it is an A with a little circle above it. It mostly sounds like an O so I suppose a more proper way to Americanize our name would be Polsson, but that’s just weird so we stick with the A minus the ring and people still have trouble spelling it but it works. So I’m trying to spell my name and she’s flipping out, telling the cashier it is wrong and it must be spelled right at a Swedish store and the little Chinese gal checking us out is confused and I am irked and it is FUN FUN FUN. But now Erik has a shirt that says Malmo on it so everyone is happy even though I compromised and got him a size 90 even though I know he needed an 80 but my SIL wanted me to get him an 100. The 90 will probably fit him by mid-winter, I suppose.

Bitch bitch bitch. Is that all I do?

Seriously, they are really nice people but I have to get some of this out of my system. My SIL is a lot of fun, but I think I need to take her in much smaller doses.

Soooooooo. . . should I go fry the okra? It’s a good thing Erik took a nap today because I don’t think we will be eating before 7.

Now for a vote: Do you prefer triple berry (raspberry, blueberry and blackberry) pie, cobbler, or crisp? Do you really make cobbler by putting some butter in the pan, mixing together sugar, self-rising flour and milk then pouring the fruit on it? Does that really make something? Is it cakey or crusty? Tell me, people! I am not a fruity dessert person. I’m going to make the brownie recipe that Sweet Pickles gave me a long time ago plus a triple berry something or other for tomorrow.

Another day almost done. How many left? Of this visit, that is. Not of life in general. I’m not at all sure I’d want to know the day I’ll day. What if it is tomorrow? That’d be much too stressful. Wasn’t there a story about a guy who knew he was supposed to die, so spent all day avoiding death only to have some freak accident at midnight? Or something like that? I’m sure there are many stories along the same lines.

Mike and the in-laws were out of the house by 8 am and on their way to the Washington monuments. Erik and I went to the fair with my friend and her little boy. It was very fair like. I bought some home grown orange tomatoes that were mmmm. . mmmmm. . good. Erik had an ice cream cone that was anything but mmmmm. . . mmmmm. . . good. We watched a chicken hatch and it took FOREVER. The poor little birdies get completely worn out as they try to work their way out of the shells. Is it any wonder new born babies are tired when they arrive on the scene (if born the traditional way). They don’t even have the ability to get partially free. They’re trapped in that too tight birth canal until mama can work her ute muscles. Or something like that.

On Saturday we are going out to Mike’s co-workers house for a multi-family dinner party. I am tasked with bringing dessert, which my SIL thinks is bizarre. I’ve explained that it’s a very common practice here in America, but she just can’t wrap her head around the idea. I didn’t have much to talk about at dinner time, so tried to elicit some dessert ideas. Mike’s niece loves to bake, so I thought it would be a good topic of conversation since her mother asked me to engage her in English a lot. Apparently my SIL took this to mean that I expected her to make the dessert and was none too pleased. We got that cleared up, at least. You’d think it would be nice to have someone take over all the cooking for a group of six people, but I have a teeny-tiny kitchen with perfectionist tendencies. I like my menus and my plans, so when someone goes in and starts cooking dinner when I already have things going on in my brain it just doesn’t work for me. It makes me a weeeeeeeee bit cranky.

As my friend said, my SIL fills up a room. And I don’t mean by weight.

Anyway.

Dessert for 13 people. How about some kind of fruit pie (whatever is in season, probably blackberries or raspberries) and then some kind of chocolate thingee? What kind of chocolate thingee? I had a recipe for some sort of meringue crust filled with a chocolate ganache. It sounds good, but possibly way too good. Would it make people puke from the richness? Not that I can even find the recipe again. It was on allrecipes.com somewhere. Maybe some kind of chocolate peanut butter tart? Who knows. I guess I’ll figure it out tomorrow.

Also, I am getting really irritated with one of the moms groups I belong too. I know most of the members are Christians and that’s fine with me. I like and respect them because of who they are as a whole, not because of their religious views. However, there are a couple of new people who assume everyone believes as they do and regularly send out things that would make sense if we were a happy little church group, but that are very off putting for a group of diverse women. It’s not so much that they talk about their beliefs. I have many friends who talk about their beliefs and it doesn’t bother me in the least. In fact, I respect many of them because they are so solid in their faith. Instead, I am bothered by the casual assumption that every single other person holds the same beliefs. If you want people to pray for you, that’s great. Could you add a disclaimer “If you’re the praying sort. . . ” or something? This casual assumption of everyone believing the same thing is where the whole school prayer argument totally derails for me. Do you REALLY want whatever teacher happens to be in the room leading your little Mark and Mary in their prayers? Think on that for a minute. Sure, Mrs. Jones goes to your church, but what about the other teachers on staff. If it didn’t make me so angry, it would me me laugh. Can I lead prayers to the flying spaghetti monster? Banning organized prayer in school is as much for the religious PROTECTION of your child as it is for the non-religious protection of everyone else.

That was an unexpected tangent. I really need to let that group go and stop dwelling on it.

I’m horny and there’s nothing I can do about it.

The end.

I have 26 minutes of battery power, so no blog reading for me tonight! I have to write an entry super-fast!

I don’t know how people who live packed into a tiny place with lots and lots of people stand it. Why do they know go completely nuts and start shooting each other with high powered rifles? I’m not to the shooting stage yet, but I know I would be if we had to live like this month after month, year after year. I need my space! Mike needs his space!

I’m such an ungracious bitch, aren’t I?

Really, they are very easy guests to have and even prepare their own breakfasts (because I am physically incapable of cutting up bell peppers and salami at 8 am) and buy their own groceries. However. . . my SIL is bossy. No. That’s not right. She’s not merely bossy. She’s B-O-S-S-Y. If I wanted a new mother, I would put myself up for adoption. I don’t need or want someone to tell me to put my recyclables away when they get a little full. I don’t need or want someone to tell me to bring a toy for Erik in the car. I don’t need someone to plan the menu, examine my fridge, tell me to turn the wrong way on the highway and so on and so forth blah blah blah. She’s a very nice lady and very fun in small doses, but as a rather bossy adult myself, I’m finding it a bit difficult to maintain my sanity. It’s a good thing they think I have no personality (a result of the language barrier) because if they knew the real me they would be freaking out over my bad behavior.

Mike is missing his alone time too, of course.

Today Mike had to go in to work, so it was decided that we would drive the back roads up to Frederick and find some antique shops. Hoo boy. They rented a super huge SUV so we could all travel together and I got to drive! I was having quite a time of it. I looked at the map before hand and have a pretty good idea of the general geography around here so I knew we were going the right way. Suddenly they freaked out because they saw a sign that I knew was meaningless since we were taking the back roads (it would take us to the main highway) and were convinced that we were lost and had to turn around blah blah blah. As anyone who knows me in person can tell you, I HATE conflict but I get a sort of evil sense of delight when I prove someone wrong. So I turned around and eventually they realized that I was right and they were wrong.

Battery is almost dead! Gotta go! I hope to be able to catch up on my FL and blogs tomorrow. Mike is taking them into DC again so Erik and I will be freeeeeeeeee most of the day. Really, again I have to say they are nice people, but I am such an introvert with high me-time needs that this is eating away at my sanity.

Have you all missed me? I’ve missed me. We’ve had house guests for three days. . . four day? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m exhausted and I have to be ON and HAPPY and SPARKLY for nine more days. I can only sparkle in very short bursts and even then it is more of a “not glowering” than a sparkle. I’m just not a sparkly kind of gal.

We went down to the Torpedo Factory Art Center today and I ate up all the beautiful, creative pieces of art. Too bad we had to take Erik and he was not pleased to be in a place where he couldn’t touch anything. Mike played the part of good papa and took care of him while I explored the different studios, but it was still stressful. I found several things that I needed, but I guess need doesn’t really include thousands of dollars worth of bright and happy paintings, jewels, ceramics and other arty-farty things. Lottery, where are you?

I bought a cheap cake mix at the store the other day and Erik helped me bake it yesterday. How embarrassing! I usually buy Betty Crocker and it is perfectly acceptable. This was Pillsbury, I think, and it was n-a-s-t-y. Ewwwww. No one wanted seconds, me included. I’m going to have to redeem myself tomorrow and bake something really spectacular. What, dear friends, would a group of Swedes deem spectacular? Don’t tell me I’m going to have to whip out the bullar recipe. I hate making those little cinnamon balls. Would a pumpkin pie do? Would a Swede eat a piece of pumpkin pie? I’d not think heavy pie in August, but it is downright cold here (in the mid-80s). The Swedes are complaining about the heat and I’m considering taking a blankie with me wherever I go.

Tomorrow I will be a little more free. They are going shopping just around Germantown and I am being BAD BAD BAD and skipping Erik’s preschool in favor of a BodyPump class. I need the endorphins. Lord oh lordy how I need the endorphins.

They keep asking me to make a typical American meal and I’m at a loss. All my typical meals involve Italian or Mexican or Greek. I think on Thursday I’ll go to the Amish market and get a batch of fried chicken. I’ll fry up some okra and open a can of black eyed peas and call it good. If I was really motivated I would mash some potatoes, but they’ll never know the difference if I just buy some potato salad at the Amish market, right? I am soooooooo not up to mashing potatoes. Well, the mashing part is no problem, but the peeling part gives me scabies or rabies or something. My fingers break out in little yellow pus bumps and itch like mad. I think I’m defective.

I want to go upstairs and do something creative and sew-y, but we have a guest up there and I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to roll over the air mattress to make it to the machine. Then I couldn’t pull out the chair. Then it might be a leeeettle bit dangerous to get out the rotary cutter and start cutting over the air mattress. I can see myself dropping it and ruining the poor girl’s bed. I’m surprised it hasn’t already popped. Erik likes to go hang out up there and jump on it. Who’d have thunk it?

Things are going very well, but I am an introvert who needs my alone time. I am hoping to get some tomorrow.

Ohhhh!!!!

I forgot the funniest thing ever!

We had a girls day at the gigantic mall, Tyson’s Corner. I thought my sis-in-law was going to poop her pants when we walked in. It is insanity, but it has a lot of plus-sized clothes so I knew it was the place to take her. Sure enough, she found plenty to buy and was quite happy.

There was a stand in the middle selling wind spinner, stainless steel dealie-boppers that have a picture in the center and spin around. They obviously work on commission and there was a little girl who was working her butt off to sell one to my sis-in-law. The girl wasn’t that great at English and neither is my sis-in-law. My SIL was planning on buying something for her 15 year old daughter and thought she might get one of these things. I think she would have, but she was totally unimpressed with the high pressure sales tactics.

ANYWAY! I swear there is a funny story here.

The girl asks my SIL what her daughter is interested in, and my SIL replies with a totally straight face “She really likes cocks.”

The poor girl about died and had no idea what to say.

I knew she meant chickens because she’d been talking about the hens and cocks several times, but I never corrected her because it seemed rude.

I suppose it was even more rude that I totally lost my composure and couldn’t stop laughing. I still can’t stop laughing every time I think of it. Mike’s poor niece wanted to die, but my SIL is very . . .hmmmmm. . . easy going. . . so she didn’t care at all. I think she may be getting a wee bit tired of my laughter, though. But seriously, how could I NOT laugh when she is telling the salesgirl that her 15 year old daughter is chiefly interested in cocks?

And on that note, I am going to bed.

But are they really eagles? Maybe I should say the penguins have landed? Except there are no penguins in Sweden. Even if your future spouse swears to you that there are penguins in Sweden and you crumple your brow in confusion, yet believe him because he lives there after all, there are still no penguins in Sweden.

Things have been going great. I don’t know what I was so worried about. They are very easy to take care of and have been loving up on Erik. He, of course, adores the attention and has had a great time jumping all over them. He is such a little dictator that he had them out at the sandbox making cakes this morning. They didn’t seem to mind.

Before they arrived, I went through our pictures and made sure he knew their names. Only, my Swedish isn’t so great so saying the name Ingvar is not my cup of tea. Erik’s Swedish is better than mine, but his pronunciation in general is that of a 2 year old, so he’s been calling him something closer to Ingmar, which sends them all into gales of laughter because it’s a female name.

They didn’t get a rental car because they couldn’t make the online reservation go through and they were too tired to deal with it last night. I think they are planning on renting a mini-van tomorrow or Monday. It will be double the cost, but it would mean we can all travel together. They aren’t exactly hurting for funds so if they want to do it, great! They are scared to drive down into DC by themselves and I don’t blame them. I’m scared to drive down into DC, too! At least I know the numbers of the main highways I need so can usually hit the Beltway and get home eventually. Sometimes that eventually is pretty iffy.

Today they took the car and Mike and are going to see some museums. I think they were relieved that I wasn’t going to try to force Erik to go with them. He is a wonderfully sweet, often well behaved little boy, but taking him to a museum is no fun for anyone. The poor boy was heart broken when they left with out him, but that lasted all of five seconds. I was getting a little worried that I was going to have melt-down boy on my hands all day.

Now I just need to figure out what our dinner plan is. We do our big grocery shop on the weekends and I somehow didn’t take that into account when I was planning their visit. We have no food. Well, we have lots of food, but we have nothing that would make a complete meal for five adults. And I’m not even getting my Indian buffet today.

At least the weather is gloriously cool and refreshing. I think we’ll go to the park later and kill some time.

Hope everyone is having a lovely weekend!