A Great Day in. 30.01

Ay, its been a funny day. More precisely a fun day, much better than yesterday when we spent the best part of the morning in the local health centre (not to be confused with a health club, clinic in other words). Daisy and Minnie woke up at some ungodly hour. Daisy and Minnie? Yes, Daisy and Minnie. My wife’s idea, more personal than I. and A. Yes its my younger daughter Minnie´s turn to be sick now so that’s why we went to see the doctor yesterday. Instead of now berating the state of the public health service here, which, for the information of those who talk gushingly (is that an adverb?) about the Nordic Welfare State model, is no better ( or worse for that matter) than the NHS, I will give you yesterday’s highlights:

1. “Any vomiting?” the doctor asks “No, not at all” I answer. As we went to wait our turn for blood tests, Minnie proceeds to throw up all over the waiting room and the gents’ toilets.

2. After this we go home and I try to offer my daughter some soothing broth. No way. “Well what do you want then?” “Eggsky, beggsky and tomatsky”. That’s my girl, just what you need after chucking up your guts, a good old English breakfast. Why eggsky, beggsky and tomatsky I hear you say. Well, as with everything stupid my daughters say, its my fault. A bit convoluted,but bear with me. I have, since my teenage years, been an avid listener of hard rock and heavy metal music. One of my favourite bands was/is Saxon who I finally got to see live last autumn. Great to see you’re still alive lads! (just in case they’re reading). Anyway, Saxon have visited Finland before, some time in the eighties I believe. In those days these people were my heroes and I hung on their every word so reading about them was as important as listening to them. In an interview with a Finnish music magazine, the singer Biff Byford told how he overcame the language barrier at breakfast whilst touring here, “Eggsky, beggsky and tomatsky” What devastating repartee! What wit! And so its been with me ever since and now I’m handing it down to new generations.

3. After spending the afternoon trying to get Minnie to sleep. I hit upon the ruse of going to lie down on my bed and reading books. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep next to me and then I was perfectly positioned for a little snooze myself!

Spag Bol Sunday 27.01

This blog was originally going to be called “How to be a vegetarian for the rest of your life – and enjoy it” (bit of a mouthful I know). It was going to be the account of my adventures in the world of vegetarianism with posts entitled “Ten wonderful things to do with carrots” and such like. Well, it hasn’t happened yet, so this idea will have to go back on the shelf. I think it was Roshi Philip Kapleau who said, “Don’t give up meat, let meat give you up.” I guess that really is the clincher, if you don’t really have any great conviction and the attachment remains then any attempt to give up meat is going to be temporary. Then, you feel guilty because you’ve failed which then leads you to taking drugs and beating up grannies on the street. So, to avoid this course of events, I shall wait until the little voice inside stop saying, “Forget the meat, a simple meal of rice and pickles will suffice” instead of “mmm..spare ribs basted in hoisin sauce and cooked in a low oven for three hours”.

(Roshi Philip Kapleau went to Japan after the Second World War to report on the War Crimes Trials and there took up the study of Zen Buddhism which he then helped spread in the West. For more on him and his life story, visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philip_Kapleau)

Another idea for this blog which, surprise, surprise, came to me on New Year’s Day, was me recounting how, step by step, I was giving up my vices and turning to a virtuous, healthy, balanced life. I was going to have a little chart informing you of my weight, how much fat, carbs, alcohol I’d consumed each day until I realised that Bridget Jones had already done that. I am happy to inform, as I sit here with a glass of excellent German lager (all the way from Lidl) that I have given up coffee.

One step at a time, eh (name that TV commercial).

So, back to the point. Today was Sunday and as tradition dictates, the highlight of the day is Sunday lunch. A tradition which, I might say, I wholeheartedly concur with. This not being the UK, lunch was not preceded by a lunchtime session down the Bear and Staff, but with a very enjoyable morning of sledging with the girls and their friends. Although the hill was quite small, it was rather an extreme experience as it was totally covered in ice. We stopped when A. careered off the intended route and I thought she was going to be clotheslined on one of the playground fixtures. So, our appetites whetted, we went home for Spag bol (spaghetti bolognaise as it is called in English middle class families. Funny how you can’t mention anything about England without class coming into it). This is, As I. pointed out to our lunch guests, her favourite food. She also added that it was A’s favourite food, And daddy’s and even mummy’s. And the the fact that there was no leftovers for tomorrow´s lunch bears this out.

Another week over 26 January

One week and not a sausage. Yes, it’s true and I’m sorry but it has been a hell of a week. Notice the lack of exclamation mark which would have denoted that I actually meant that I had had an immensely exciting and wild time. But no.

Last weekend I spent practising martial arts (more on that in a separate post) and the whole of last week I have spent securing alternative accommodation for my mother. Why does my mother need a new place to live? Its a long, slightly complicated and for me, heartbreaking story. One day I will tell it in its entirety (if I have the strength to go down that road) when the court case is over but for now here´s the canned version. My mother looks after my grandmother and they live in the same house. A decision has been made by the local government that will permit the demolition of the house. We have been fighting a losing battle and now it looks like time has caught up with us. My grandmother is ready to go to an old people´s home, the house where she lived demolished and my mother homeless. Not anymore, as when all this happens she now has a place to live.

As much as I accept on a logical, rational, Buddhist level that all things are impermanent, time waits for no man, all things must change, blah de blah…it still cuts me up that the place that figures so prominently in my childhood memories will cease to exist. Then again, without my grandmother it is nothing but an empty box, being only the scene for all those happy memories, not the cause.

Am a gettin’ maudlin’ or something along those lines. Thank God I have two wonderful children who keep me cheerful and on my toes otherwise I would be a right miserable sod. Even their cheekiness is endearing. As I. said to me as I went out the other night, “Daddy, its so nice that you’re going”. Or maybe she was just happy that her father got have some time for himself too!

Dressing children started 14th January

You’ll be happy to know that I’s fever has subsided and although she still didn’t eat anything she was in good spirits. Now back to the post I started a few days ago:

I spend a lot of my time time each day dressing and undressing the children. The way I gauge my progress in parenting is by how long it takes me to get out of the house after starting to dress the children. First attempt, three hours. Latest, got it down to 40 minutes. To those of you reading this in temperate climes or who don’t have two children or have never tried to dress an octopus in a string vest, then let me enlighten you:

From about the end of October to mid-April we have the time when children have to be kitted out in the kind of gear used by North Sea fishermen or Arctic explorers. The usual way autumn-winter-spring goes is that first the days get shorter, then it either starts to get cold or then wet, usually both. By November when you leave the house in darkness, come home in darkness and spend the intervening time being peed on from above, you really start to question the logic of living in such a place. But then you have Christmas, Oh joy! A beacon of light in the darkness. The white Christmas that everyone dreams of is not just a catchy lyric, the snow really does help to lighten the gloom, reflecting the light of the moon and the stars. In my own empirical study (testing people’s English skills by telephone), people who live in the far north of Finland do not complain of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder i.e. winter blues) because, they say, they have loads of snow. Well, you better learn to love it, because it can be with you for over six months of the year! Thanks to the global warming, we don’t have to worry about snow anymore. Instead, we have sleet or if ‘re lucky, icy rain.

So, as the Finns say, “The weather´s no problem, it’s just a matter of dressing right”. In the case of my kids, this means

1. Knickers/nappy and vest

2. long-sleeved T-shirt and tights

3. One piece woollen undergarment, can’t remember what they’re called in any language at the moment, but the kind of thing you see hillbillies wear, woollen socks

4. One or two piece ski-suit type of thing, mitts, woolly hat, scarf, winter boots.

5. If its really wet then on top of this goes rubber dungarees and coat.

It would take me about 20 minutes to dress in all this (this includes the time it takes to look for each garment) but imagine now that each item of clothing is a mini-battle, the covering of one’s body being the act of a cruel despot, to to be resisted with all one’s might. And then multiply it by two. Get the picture?

Fever 16th January

I have had, like many other bloggers I imagine, fantasies of being a writer. Can´t be that difficult, you just sit there and write stuff, then send it to the publishers and hey presto! Another J.K. Rowling is born. “Come on, I could have wrote those books” we all think. But we didn’t, probably because we can’t. After two weeks of writing this blog I’ve come to realise that it is just as well I don’t write for a living, at my rate of output we’d be destitute! So hats off to J.K. who managed to bring up kids and be a successful author!

I haven’t had much fun in the parenting department this week. After our shopping trip on Monday (see the previous blog which I haven’t finished writing yet) went back home and had a quick lunch which was a childhood favourite of mine, fried spaghetti on toast topped with a fried egg. Didn’t work out quite as I expected though- I. ate the egg, A. the bread and I was left with all the spaghetti. Daddy NooNoo to the rescue! (For those not acquainted with Teletubbies, NooNoo is the vacuum cleaner creature that sucks and slurps up everything in its path). Then it was with I. to the afternoon club. Took A. back for her siesta. Just before 4 we went down to pick up I. As her friend S. had turned up we went to the playground to play. I. seemed to be out of it and wasn’t sliding down rocks or splashing in puddles with her usual gusto. In the end something quite unheard of happened. She asked me if we could go back home. Usually it takes about half an hour to herd up my offspring and bring them home. A. was having none of it though and affected deafness as I tried to get her attention. Got them finally and after getting their outer clothes off I. ran off to her room. A couple of minutes later I find her in bed under the covers.It turned out that she had a temperature of 40 degrees celsius. And so its been for the last couple of days, a poor little feverish girl, lying around the house looking quite wretched. She´s had some paracetamol and her temperature has come down a little but if it hasn’t gone down by tomorrow morning then its off to the health centre for us.

Friendship 10-11 January

The opening line from the movie “Stand by Me” goes something like ” You never have friends like the ones you when you were 12″. (That’s totally from memory, I just spent about 20 minutes on the Net trying to find the script but I got totally hacked off with it, so if you know what the actual line is then please let me know). I have always remebered that because in my case its true. I have three “best friends”, one of them I met the first day of big school, we were 11 and one we starting hanging out with the following year. “The Three musketeers” my mother used to call us. My oldest friend by far was born in the same hospital as me. Our mothers were childhood friends and so we were thrown together from an early age. Even so, it was only when we got to about the age of 12 did we become true friends.

Friendship has been on my mind as I have watched my daughter I. over the last few days. She has two best friends she tells me Ii. and S. They met in the afternoon club near our home and became a mini-musketeer group there. Now the afternoon club trio has been broken up with S. going to daycare. This has caused some heartache here and so I arranged to go out to the park at the same time as S. so I. could play with her. It then turns out that S had already been out and gone in in the time it took us to get ready. When I told I. that we were not going to see S. it was as if the bottom had fallen out of her world. I. started to sob in solidarity with her elder sister too. So, we went round and knocked on the door and asked if we could come in and play. We had so much fun that they asked us to stay for tea (ok music buffs, name that tune!) and we did, tucking into rice and meatballs like there was no tomorrow. Food always tastes better in good company! As we left S. gave I. and A. her toys as gifts. I. ac cepted gratefully but A. rather spoilt the gesture by throwing the little fluffy rabbit on the floor and saying disgustedly “It’s wet!”

The close friendship carried on the follwing day when they got to play together all day. I. returned the compliment by giving S. some of her mother’s artificial flowers. Friday afternoon, we were in the local playground and S. and I. were playing at opposite ends. First I though that they had enough of each other, maybe a result of the rather boisterous antics of the day before. Then I realised that this was one of those things you can do with true friends, totally ignore them confident in the knowledge that next time you meet you’ll just pick it up from where you left off. I’m working on this level of friendship with my wife but she doesn’t get it.

Toilet talk 09 January

Another fantastic day, I’ve even managed to start writing today’s entry today. Is this the start of a new me, one that is organised and punctual. Let’s not be too hasty!

Today’s satisfaction centre round toilets and the increased use of ours by our daughters. Daughter No.1 (a friend of mine wrote to me objecting to me using initials for my daughters. They suggested I use nicknames, unfortunately they don’t have any yet) sat on the big toilet for the first time after bidding farewell to her potty last night. I put this life-ring type contraption on the seat for her. Unfortunately, as my wife later pointed out, the said contraption was missing a crucial piece. The upshot of this was that No.1’s number ones went up instead of down spraying herself and the bathroom floor. Nothing a shower couldn’t solve luckily.

No.2 daughter on the other hand did all her number ones in the potty today, instead of her nappy.

Signed

A proud father

Breakthrough! Part 2

I’m behind schedule in my blog writing. As you all well know, a homemaker´s job is never done and there is precious little time to sit and write? “How do you manage to write at all?” I hear you ask. Easy, Postman Pat’s on telly and peace and quiet reigns. I’ll start with breakfast in a moment.

To get back on track, here’s a brief synopsis of the last few days:

Saturday 5th January-Saturday´s my day off, so after all the morning routines and shopping I headed off to the city centre. I went to help out my chums at the Helsinki Zen Centre lay down a new floor. And how did I help? By vacuuming and cleaning of course, what better way to spend your day off! A great thirst was generated and to wash all the dust from my throat, a visit to the pub was necessary followed by the biggest pizza imaginable!

Sunday 6th January Epiphany/Loppiainen/El dia de los Reyes

As we were all sick at New Year we celebrated the end of Christmas as its known here. In true multicultural style we had for starters trout roe in Finnish style, the full English roast-duck,roast spuds, brussels sprouts, red cabbage, carrot and turnip, gravy followed by Christmas pudding, flamed with armagnac and served with cream. The Spanish bit? More presents!

Monday 7th January continued

By the end of our shopping trip, happiness abounded, despite being told off by the lady in the supermarket for eating stuff before paying for it. Now we know, its not allowed! Went to work, did my stuff, the kids as good as gold. I have to watch out what I say or do as I. tells all and sundry everything that happens in our house. Now she limited herself to talk about what she got for Christmas. Midday and home quickly for lunch-leftovers plus hamburger and mashed potatoes from the supermarket of which about two spoonfuls were eaten-how I love it when that happens. Clothes back on in double quick time as I’s afternoon club started at 1pm. Got her there just in time as they were heading out to play. Back home with A. Put her to sleep in her pram on the balcony and prepared to enjoy a little “quiet time”. Made a cup of tea, turned on the computer, just got the bills paid and when turning my attention towards my beloved blog when the crying started. A. was awake and looking quite forlorn when I brought her in. Nothing it seems could cure the ache in her heart, except, maybe, a visit to the Pingu website! Pingu, the oil to to soothe all wounds! That’s it for today, the rest you know, dinner, bath, bed.

Breakthrough!! 07 January 2008

I’m now writing out of sync. I’m sorry but I’ve had such a great day today that I really (the weekend was good too don’t get me wrong) need to write about it. The reason for my elation is that it seems that I’ve made some kind of breakthrough with the kids. Screaming and fighting were at the lowest levels I have seen for ages, let´s hope this wasn’t just a freak occurence brought on by the first proper snowfall of this winter!

Morning started off as any other,  A. and I. awake at some ungodly hour, the missus sleeping on the sofa whilst they watch Spot the Dog on dvd. I get up at 7 and start making breakfast – porridge, tea and milk.

Oatmeal porridge, eaten by millions, enjoyed by none! “But its so good for you!” the chant goes. There’s a saying here in Finland, “Tykkää siitä kuin hullu puurosta” roughly translated “He likes it like a crazy man likes porridge”. My daughters are total basket cases because they will, quite happily, eat porridge twice a day, breakfast and supper. Although I wouldn’t go so far myself I have to say that I’m not averse to a bowl of hot goo myself. After extensive research and practice I have actually learnt how to cook the stuff and have found the ultimate in toppings.

To cook a great porridge, one that is smooth, creamy and soothing to stomach and soul, is not difficult but does require some patience. Put equal amounts of oatmeal and water in a saucepan (I’ve got the bain marie thingy but I can never be bothered to set it up) and put on a very low heat. Stir it with a wooden spoon as you would a risotto, until it the porridge starts to, well, look like porridge. What do you call it when the oatmeal and water turns into goo? Coagulation, emulsification? And the ultimate topping? Butter and sugar. Yes, really its that simple. Forget the raisins, honey, banana slices, fresh figs and what have you and get back to basics. Trust me, I have done my research. Tried porridge Chinese style with fermented tofu and sesame oil, Indian style with lime pickle and fresh chili, even traditional Scottish (or so I was led to believe unless said Scotsman was pulling my plonker) with smoked herring. They’re all awful so don’t bother!

Anyway, back to the story, we  had a wonderful breakfast, kids got their clothes on without too much of a fuss, took the missus to work. Right on cue, as my wife gets out of the car, A. starts to cry. She manages to keep it up for the whole journey to the supermarket near my office where I park my car. I was supposed to go to work to tie up a few loose ends and thought it would make a nice day out. A. was having none of it so we went to the supermarket instead. Only saying the words, “Let’s go shopping” was enough! Her countenance changed and she climbed into the trolley shaped like a heavy goods vehicle with glee.

So what have I learnt? To keep a woman happy, feed her or take her shopping. I wish I’d known this when I was 20!

The Party´s over 3-4 Jan 2008

Thursday was much the same as Wednesday, just substitute orange and crispbread for Gummi bears. An interesting pattern seems to be emerging, you can stop children crying by giving them food, I’ll have to remember this.

Comment by I. to her grandmother on the situation, “It’s a good job I like daddy isn’t it”.

All in all a pleasant day which lulled me into a false sense of security and totally unprepared mentally for Friday. Friday my wife had to be in work for 07.30. A. was up watching TV when she left but I. still sleeping when she left. When I. did wake up, her first words were, “Where´s my mummy”. When it became apparent that mother was no longer in the house that’s when the crying started. And as big sister was crying, little sister had to join in! Having got wise to these situations (see above), I led the girls to the breakfast table and proceeded to boil them eggs. These proved to doubly effective, not only were they something to eat, but the peeling of the eggs proved to be detailed and time-consuming work which they were totally absorbed. Add to this the excitement of using the harp-like egg slicer, its a wonder we have a TV at all.
So, one crisis over, onto the battle of the clothes! As with all war, this was senseless and futile, and totally avoidable with diplomacy. Unfortunately, being the bigger, stronger power, I thought I could solve this through force. The girls had no wish to get dressed and go out (given that it was -6 outside, this was not entirely unreasonable) and visit their grandmother. “Why?”, asks I. “So Daddy can clean the house” (for Friday has now been designated cleaning day) I reply. To which I. goes and gets her play dustpan and brush and says, “I’ll help you”. Although I was taken with this gesture I still insisted that out they must go. So dress them I did against all the resistance a two and three old can muster, which I know now is considerable. At one stage they attacked me in unison, one from the front and one from the rear but despite this valiant resistance, I managed to get them dressed. From start to finish it took two and a half hours. And here comes the stupid part; once we got out of the door they were fine and really happy to be outside! So I carted them off to spend the afternoon with my mother (with whom they are usually as good as gold) and I got down to cleaning the house. As I am sure no-one is that interested in this I shall not write about taking all the blankets and bedclothes out to air and picking up about a million pieces of detritus off our floors, but it did take me longer than expected. I had to get my wife to go pick up the kids and postpone my shopping trip until after dinner. Add to this a visit to the Olympic Stadium and it was past nine in the evening before I was home and starting to feel a little tired and grumpy. So, my wife’s comments were not taken in the humorous vein they were intended and instead taking great offence, I proceeded to have a row with her. We made up by drinking a beer together and watching, “Silent Witness”- the show about the pathologist who solves the crimes, makes the tea, saves the world..Nothing like a dozen cadavers to re-kindle that loving feeling!