Home Sweet Home

For the first time since we moved to Norway in August 2010, we traveled "home". First that meant one week at home in Minnesota, for a whirlwind visit with four grandparents and a silly aunt and uncle, not to mention a few lucky friends. Then we traveled to New England, namely to the Upper Valley of Hanover, New Hampshire and Hartford, Vermont, which was our home for six years before moving to Norway. There we spent 10 days hopping from one guest room to another, squeezing in as many coffee dates, play dates, dinner get-togethers and two-day trips around the region to visit dear friends as we possibly could. 

The Green at Dartmouth College in Hanover, New Hampshire
snapped as we drove out of town on our last day in the US.

We have mixed emotions about going and coming "home"--to Minnesota, New England and now back again to Lillehammer. I was worried, and anticipated, that the trip would be much harder, emotionally. That I wouldn't want to leave the United States and that I would dread and curse coming back to Norway. I'll be honest--there was a little of that, but those feelings were not nearly as strong as I had feared. 

We had a little bright spot along on this trip, happily and easily adapting to new beds, new/old friends that she didn't remember, new/old haunts that she didn't remember. All that our four-year old daughter remembers is life in Norway, and for that I am a little sad. She had no problems whatsoever in switching into full-time use of English, and for that I am very happy.

As we drove down Main Street of the quintessentially New Englandy Hanover, New Hampshire, a street which I drove nearly daily for 6+ years, a street where I bought coffee and Christmas presents, ran into friends and patients, braved snowstorms and summer heat alike, Greta asked me from the backseat, oblivious to the emotions spinning ‘round in my head and heart: “Mamma. . .  which land (i.e. country) do you like better: Norway or America?”

I sighed.  Such an innocent, simple question. If only the answer were so simple. “Ohhhh. . . that’s a really difficult question to answer, Greta. . . “

Undaunted, Greta pressed on, “Pappa? Which land do you like better?”

Erik responded, also a little torn, but prepared to give a slightly more diplomatic (and non-binding) answer, “Well, there are parts of both countries that I really like.”

Greta responded, rather decided in her answer, “I like Sweden best.” 

Greta's First Ski Race

All smiles before the race

Back in mid-March, on a sunny Saturday morning, my phone rang. It was a friend and mother to Greta's beste venn (best friend) at the barnehage. The little boy proudly told Greta he was going to do a ski race that day and would she like to do it too? With a personal invitation like that, how could she resist? She eagerly shouted "JA!" and we were off to the races. . . 


I was, myself, both skeptical and a bit worried about how the day might turn out. But the race was on our "home course", located on a farm a kilometer or so from our front door, and sponsored by the neighborhood ski club, so we felt compelled to get involved and perhaps meet some of our neighbors who had been hiding in their homes all winter long. Well, when they weren't out on the ski course, that is.


A little background before I continue. . . you may or may not know that Erik was, once up

A little chocolate and verbal encouragement
midway through from Pappa

on a time, a talented and competitive ski racer, training full time for over half a decade after his college career was over. And while I briefly competed in high school, I would never call myself a competitive nor talented cross country skier. That said, getting our 3 year old daughter on skis has never been with the intention or hope that she would someday be a superstar skier. Greta was a late crawler, a late walker, and even today struggles with tasks that demand leg strength, like climbing stairs. The fact that her barnehage focuses so much on outdoor play and activity in nature has been one of the things we appreciate most. Kids in other barnehages are outside a lot, too, but this particular barnehage takes the kids out hiking, skiing and biking nearly every day, in addition to regular outside play. And there is something about group mentality and being encouraged by a teacher (and not a parent) that encourages a 3-year old to ski/walk/hike/bike longer, farther, and more often than that 3-year old might be willing to do at home. 

At least the view was nice!

Greta had been skiing several times a week since the first snowfall in December, including an entire "ski week" at barnehage, where the kids learned how to get their boots into the bindings, how to stand up when they fall down, how to untwist their skis when they get crossed, how to go fiskebein (herringbone) up a hill and how to crouch and balance their weight down a hill. (Keep in mind that her barnehage is located next to the 1994 Olympic ski trails and continue to host elite level skiers from all over the world). However, the focus has all been about having FUN and the teachers emphasized that ski sessions with Greta should be short--10, 20 minutes max--and positive experiences. 


That's why I was worried about this ski "race" for our 3-year old. Would it be fun? And would it be short? 

Encouragement and company from a best friend

Thankfully, it was a short course: just 400 meters for the youngest kids. Unfortunately, it was not flat. After a brief flat start, the course gently sloped downhill--just enough to make Greta very uneasy, require physical support from her Pappa, and still manage to crash and burst into tears within the first 50 meters. The downhill continued for another 50 meters before it began to (gently) climb for the next 200 meters. Tears and complaints were met with encouragement and short goals rewarded with bites of chocolate. She was given the option to stop, telling her it should be fun. But she wouldn't quit. She knew if she didn't finish she couldn't "win" (her goal, not ours!!!). Her best friend, now finished with his 400 meter race, came to provide a little company and cheering half way through. After about 300 meters, the trail dropped quickly, twisting and turning back on itself before heading to the finish. By this point, the elementary and middle school kids were finishing their 1km and 3km races, sprinting past us (classic style). Even some adults, racing a 5km loop, were finishing. Greta finished in 35 minutes. (Or at least that's what the final results said. We actually think they stopped timing.)

Approaching the finish line with determination and a little help from Mamma

The organizers didn't hand out any prizes or even finishers ribbons that day, which I thought was really unfortunate. Greta was wiped out and brittle, and a medal or ribbon could have boosted her spirits immensely and really ended the whole experience on a high note. Instead, little shot-glass sized "trophies" were handed out at the annual awards night several weeks later, which we did not attend. A hug from her best friend and plenty of pølser (hot dogs--a staple at any event hosted by Norwegians) would have to suffice for her reward.

A job well-done pat on the back from a best friend

Despite the tears and complaints on her end, and that nagging feeling of did-we-push-too-much on my/our end, she was quite proud of herself afterwards. On Monday morning she proudly announced to her barnehage teachers that she had done a ski race, and being the professionals that they are, they responded with the appropriate level of surprise, praise and admiration.


If anything, it was a beautiful sunny spring day in Lillehammer. We met neighbors and folks who we'll likely be seeing in the school yard, at birthday parties and at the grocery store--not to mention the ski trails--in the years to come. And perhaps most interesting of all was participating in the most Norwegian of all possible activities--a ski race, this time on the local level where the indoctrination begins!

The work, party, test update

Last week's three biggies are behind me: first day of work, birthday party, and the Norwegian language test. All went about as well as one could have expected. 

I began working last week as, essentially, a nursing assistant in an assisted living facility. However, seeing that I am not licensed as a nursing assistant (guess what lovely agency I'd have to apply to for that? My favorite Norwegian bureaucratic agency of all: SAFH!), I am paid an even lower wage. I was hired specifically to work in a one-to-one patient assignment with a dementia patient. I, of course, cannot elaborate much more than that, due to patient taughetsplikt (confidentiality), but I am learning a bit here and there about the Norwegian health care system (pros and cons), employment (pros and cons), and dementia (all cons). And just what my priorities and limits are. More on that later. Like 6 weeks later.

Today I also began doing a little "spring cleaning" at the local museum, which was advertised as being a one to two week job, but will more likely be four weeks. I frankly don't have four weeks to give them. But it also looks like I might be able to work a few days here and there with them this summer, and perhaps a bit into the fall, as well. So I haven't completely lost my opportunity to dress up in period costume!

DING DONG!
The party's starting!

We had a fun little belated birthday party for our newly-minted four-year old last week. Greta's birthday fell on the day before the barnehage closed for Easter vacation (what do you mean your daycare doesn't close for four days surround Easter? What kind of heathen country do you people live in?), so we delayed the party by 9 days so she'd actually have some friends in town to celebrate with. Four other 3- and 4-year olds joined us for homemade macaroni and cheese (no norsk pølse at our birthday parties!), chocolate cupcakes and Rice Krispie bars (which the children ate with great suspicion).

And then the Bergenstest. The five-hour long, five part written test of Norwegian language, designed primarily for those foreigners who wish to be admitted to a Norwegian university. I do not, in fact, wish to be admitted to a university, but I do wish to take a month long required nursing course in November, and to do so I need to pass this test. 

I believe the test went well, but not well enough. It consists of 5 parts--a reading comprehension of 3 different texts with both multiple choice and short answer, a listening comprehension of short 15 second conversations/newsreports/telephone messages, a listening comprehension of a 5 minute interview that you then turn around and write a 30 minute "report" on, a 350 work essay (this time on whether or not drivers licenses for new, young male drivers should have more restrictions on them or not), and the cursed A-B sentences. . .  

What are A-B sentences? 

A: Mari said, "Pappa can drive us to the theater".

B: Mari said that Pappa could drive them to the theater.

A: I shall not pass this test, although I studied very hard.

B: Although I studied very hard, will I not pass this test. (according to norwegian word order).

A: She has it like the yolk in an egg at her new job.

B: She really has it good at her new job.

Huh? 

The first two examples are (relatively simple) grammatical sentence switcheroos. Those I can handle. It's the third kind--the idioms--that throw me because you just can't study for them. You just have to have heard them once, twice, a dozen times. 

At any rate. . . that's my prediction.  

(A) I'll have my results in 6 weeks. 

Or. . . . 

(B) In 6 weeks, shall I have results mine. 

No April Fool's: I got a job

When it came down to it, I had 3 job interviews, and 3 job offers. Nothing terribly exciting, but job offers nonetheless. First, there was the Maihaugen museum shop position. Then I interviewed with the kommune (municipality) for a nursing assistant-type position for a one-on-one patient assignment at a local assisted living center, and was essentially offered the job on the spot. The third position was in a nursing home, but on a short-term floor with patients who are in-between the hospital and perhaps another nursing home, or between hospital and home. This third position would likely have been the best position in terms of speaking Norwegian, learning medical terminology and being in the most "nursing" type of environment. However, since my main goal right now is to Make Money As Soon As Possible, job #2 fit the bill. Job #3 didn't start until June. Job #2 starts. . . . drumroll please. . . the 10th of April. 


The next two weeks will be busy: we have two birthdays here in the next two days--a Pappa and a Greta, so the kitchen will be put to good use. I already put in a solid afternoon making going a little Martha Stewart for Greta's barnehage birthday treat: 30 frosted Winnie-the-Pooh sugar cookies, about the size of the palm of my hand. 





Greta was hurra'd, crowned, cloaked and tossed in the air and sung two birthday songs this past Friday. She celebrated early, seeing that next week is påskeferie (Easter vacation) and there will only be 6 kids at barnehage on her actual birthday. This seemed to be fine with her, as now she has "three birthdays" (barnehage, home and a small yet-to-be-determined-when friend party). 

April 10th, job starts;  April 14th, enormous Norwegian test, which I should be studying for right now. On that note: vi snakkes. (We'll talk). 

Halloween in Norway: Knep eller Knask?

Living on top of a quiet, steep hill last Halloween, we didn't have a good idea of exactly how Halloween was celebrated in Norway. We've had a number of folks tell us that the holiday didn't come to Norway until about 10 years ago, and it seems a bit slow to catch on.

Halloween in Norway is a holiday that celebrates the scary, ghoulish, and gruesome. It also seems to be a holiday aimed at the school aged kids, but not so much the pre-school or high school kids. So no adorable pea-pod costumes for the babies, no Curious George costumes for the toddlers, no princess costumes for the 3 1/2 year olds. . .

. . . that is, until Greta came to town.

Seeing that our life these days can best be described as chaotic, I hadn't given Halloween too much thought, until a local American-married-to-Norwegian friend invited us to come to their home and neighborhood for Trick or Treating. I felt guilty for about, oh--two seconds, over the fact that Greta didn't have a darling new Halloween costume. Then I realized that she's 3, and has no clue what Halloween is about. For that matter, we have no clue what Halloween is about in Norway, so I quickly got over that initial mamma-guilt.

I dug Greta's fairy wings and fairy crown out of storage, and she lit up with excitement when I did the big costume reveal on Halloween night. Voila! Your regular dress-up purple princess/fairy dress and fairy wings that you haven't seen in 4 months! She was all for it. We layered up on wool long underwear and fleece, and we were set. That is, until she spotted a single square inch of pink satin sticking out of a bag.

"What's that?" she asked, curiously.
"Just. . . uh. . . a pink hat." It was, in fact, an entire pink satin princess ensemble lent to me by my friend Kim the American as a possible costume for Greta. In the spirit of "keeping life simple" and "what does she know about not wearing everyday dress-up clothes for Halloween anyway?", and in a hope to avoid any post-Halloween breakdowns when we had to give the costume back, I had kept the pink costume in a bag to return to its owner.

"What hat?" she asks, eyes wide.
"Oh. . this one? Do you want to wear it?" I ask, acting surprised. I manage to do a fancy, magic mamma move and keep the dress in the bag while only pulling out the hat--one of those pointy, cone shaped princess-in-a-tower kind of hats, with the streaming, glittery tulle off the top.

Greta has already removed her fairy crown, but her little mind is too sharp. "What else is in there?" she wonders, and she reaches for the bag.

"Oh. . . this pink dress?" I'm doomed. Greta is tearing off the fairy wings and yanking the purple princess/fairy dress off her shoulders. She couldn't get that pink dress on fast enough.

We went trick or treating with Kim and her 8 year old daughter and niece--all 3 witches of some sort, as well as two dads of American/Norwegian families and their two respective 5 year-old sons, who were a skeleton and a dragon. The dragon costume was totally awesome. And totally American. Kim escorted us around the neighborhood, which seems to have a high proportion of Americans, Brits and Norwegians-who-have-lived-abroad-and-understand-the-concept-of-Halloween living there. The neighborhood was certainly not mobbed with Trick or Treaters, asking "Knep eller Knask?", not even half the homes were participating, and most of them didn't have jack o' lanterns out. But it was a wonderful crisp fall evening and Greta was thrilled to pieces.

As for the princess costume, it was a big hit, with kid, neighbors and parents alike. The neighbors were delighted to see a charming pink princess instead of a bloody, bludgeoned head on their doorstep. And Greta practically floated around the neighborhood. I think we have some time before she embraces the gory, Norwegian Halloween, which is fine with me. On our walk around the neighborhood, she announced, "I don't like the scary costumes, I just like the pretty ones."

Perhaps we'll start a campaign for Cute or Clever Costumes for Kids for Halloween.

2am and a drunk Norwegian uncle

We spent about 24 hours this weekend up at the Rustad Hotel in Sjusjøen, which is operated by friends of ours. One of Erik's former American ski-racing buddies married a Norwegian woman, and lo and behold, they now live just 20 minutes from us, operating a great mountain hotel on a lake called Sjusjøen. The happy couple was celebrating their wedding (from last September) and about 70 Norwegian, Danish and American guests joined them at the hotel. Besides ourselves, the American guests were limited to Mike's parents, aunt and uncle, and a cousin with her husband. 


I go to these sort of events always with both trepidation and anticipation. How ostracized will I feel? How much Norwegian won't I understand? But also feeling happy to get out of the house and socialize, happy to get out of Lillehammer (even by just 25km) and into some new environs. 


I would call this outing a success*, albeit with that pesky asterisk. Excuse my brief foray into Mommy-Blog, but I feel the need to vent:


Greta's the kind of toddler who thrives on a schedule, and who also really needs her sleep. She's an 11.5 hour at night, 1-2.5 hour napper kind of kid. Bedtime is 7:45pm. So, around 8:30pm last night, after eating loads of cake and charming the bukser off the Norwegians and Americans alike, Greta and I headed to our room for bedtime. She had been so excited about sleeping in her pack and play again. We did the general routine (teeth, books, binky, goodnight songs), into the pack and play. I won't get into the details, but let's just fast forward three hours later,  and this child is still awake! She pulled out every delay tactic I could have imagined (okay, here are the gory details), including pooping in the only diaper we had along with us (c'mon! She's potty trained! She uses one diaper a night! Why do I need extras?), then peeing in the too-small emergency diaper I miraculously located in the car, unlocking and opening the door to the veranda next to her pack and play (calling out "Mamma! The door's open!"), switching to a big-girl bed, climbing out of bed to "check on something in my bag", refusing to close her eyes after professing a desire to "nap", and somehow convincing me that cuddling with her in the big girl bed would actually be helpful. 


Around midnight she was asleep. I was exhausted, frustrated, now in pajamas, and had missed 3 hours of the party. (In Erik's defense, he offered help but I sent him back to the Norwegians, on whom I was blaming this disastrous bedtime). It felt like a really crummy way to end a fun evening, but I was in no mood to return to the winding down party. 

But I rallied, got dressed again, put on some lipstick, and rejoined the party. Around 1am Erik and I were cornered by a somewhat tipsy Norwegian aunt and uncle (educators of some sort). After chastising their new nephew-in-law on his lack of Norwegian skills after living here for over 2 years, told us over and over, in no uncertain terms how impressed they were with our Norwegian skills. Specifically, my Norwegian skills. Over and over. . . "Americans. . . speaking such good Norwegian. . . it is just so impressive, I am so impressed. . . ". To be clear: this was said in Norwegian, not English. 

Now, Erik has impressive Norwegian (for a non-native). Norwegians try to pin him down. . ."where are you from?" "what's that dialect?" Some assume he was raised here as a child, but moved away; others that his parents were Norwegian, and it was spoken at home; some that he grew up in a different region of the country. This particular Norwegian uncle seemed rather impressed by his ability to speak in a Voss dialect (a region where he spent his first year of Norway, from 1993-94), and understand certain quirks of the dialects. And it is impressive: he went to school in two very distinct regions of the country, two distinct dialects, for under two years. And then returned to the United States for 15 years before returning to Norway! 

But for this tipsy uncle to be saying to me, "after just 10 months. . . very impressive, very good Norwegian,". . .  honestly? It made me cry. It could have been the fact that it was 2am, or that I had waged a 3 hour bedtime battle, or that I had way too many glasses of wine, or that my contact lenses should have come out hours ago. But that flood of compliments were too much for me to hold back the tears.

It's a Fun Happy Positive Blog Entry!

My father told me "it's time to post something nice on your blog. Your last two entries have been negative." (This was prior to my scathing Påske post). And then he corrected my grammar. TWICE. 


Sigh. . . okay, Dad. I'll write something nice. Like, how about. . . . your visit to Norway! 

The Three G's: Grandma,
Grandpa and Greta

My parents are pensjonister (retirees), and are spending my inheritance* by buying and then driving an RV around Europe for 3 months every summer**. This will be Year #4. They kicked off this year by first flying to Norway to visit us for a few days, and will wrap up the summer by eventually driving the RV to Lillehammer (by way of England) and storing it in Norway for the winter. Year #5 (2012) they will tour Scandinavia.


So, Grandma and Grandpa visited Greta, and provided great laps and cuddle time with lots and lots of story reading. And despite the jetlag, we visited a few must-sees: the ducks up the road in the canal, Greta's barnehage, the view from the top of the ski jumps just up the road from us, and the view from the bottom of the ski jumps just down the road from us, and of course the open air museum Maihaugen. It was a bit chilly, but sunny, with beautiful views of the valley below. But let's face it: they didn't come to Norway to see Norway. . . they came to see Greta.


*It's okay--I can make this joke--they did it first!
**You can read their own crazy adventures on their blog. Yes, my parents have a blog: www.ourtravelswithrover.com

Birthday celebrations

Norsk flag hung in honor of her
birthday at the Barnehage

Barnehage celebration

We had big days at our house this weekend: Erik's birthday on Saturday, and Greta's 3rd birthday on Sunday.

The celebrations began, however, on Friday when Greta and I brought 36 pink frosted cupcakes to the barnehage to share with her friends.

She was feted with the Norwegian birthday song, had an enormous pink crown placed on her head, wore a purple cape, and sat on a throne. The Norwegian flag was even hung up in her honor (Erik and I had discussed loaning the barnehage our American flag for the occasion, but forgot).

On Saturday, Greta felt it was important to make Pappa a crown, too. I thought this was a sweet gesture, especially as I was a little concerned about her understanding that Pappa's birthday must happen first before her birthday. This didn't seem to be an issue, although she was a little concerned that we weren't baking Pappa a cake, too.

Making a crown for Pappa's birthday

Greta and her Pappa on his birthday

For her actual birthday on Sunday, we had invited the 3 other 2-nearly-3 year olds from the barnehage to come for a little party, along with their older siblings (3 more kids) and parents, plus one infant. I was a little worried about how to entertain all of these kids, but letting them run wild through the house, explore new toys and rooms, and top it all off with crown decorating seemed to be enough. We served the kids homemade mac&cheese, the adults got Minnesota wild rice soup, and we wrapped up the afternoon with homemade chocolate cake, Grandma's special recipe.

It was utterly exhausting, and I have since decided that the perfect number of guests at a 3-year olds birthday party should be 3 kids and 3 moms. The additional siblings and parents made for fun socialization, but a little stressful for me and a bit chaotic for Greta. I've since realized that I was probably the only one who perceived it as chaotic, as all of the other parents have more than one child, and have likely been to at least one child's birthday party before. Having just one rather calm child, and never witnessing a birthday party (as an adult), it seemed a bit out of control. Also, having a house full of Norwegian speakers wasn't nearly as disorienting this time around as it was back in December, but it did help that one of the fathers is British, so there was a fair amount of English being spoken as well.

Stress of the day breaks through

Småtroll (2 year olds) at Greta's party

Happy girl on her new tryhjulssykkel

Cuppy Cakes for Greta

Mmm. . . deilig!

There are moments, as a newish mother, that it hits you that you are actually a mom. Making 36 cupcakes for Greta's upcoming 3rd birthday to bring to the barnehage tomorrow was one of those moments.

The cups are pink with balloons, the cake is chocolate, the frosting pink, and sprinkles pink, green, yellow, brown (and applied very carefully by Greta herself).

Tomorrow (is Friday, and her birthday is Sunday) at the barnehage she will be Hurra'd and get to wear a crown and a cape and sit on a thrown cut out of a tree, and kids will dance around her and bow, curtsey, nod, spin, jump and dance. Norway has a very lively birthday song. No wonder they don't mind that we're bringing sugary goodness: they burn off all the calories singing their birthday song!

Frisør for Greta

Crazy morning hair.

Well, if nothing else gets done on this vinter ferie, at least Greta got a cute haircut.  The morning snarls were becoming a bit unbearable, and she has a cowlick in the middle of what would be bangs that make actual bangs a little difficult. She's also not entirely agreeable to pigtails or hairclips every morning, so. . . what's a mamma to do?

Greta got one Norwegian haircut back in October that set us back 320Kr ($57). (Are you kidding me? I hadn't remembered that, but my reconciled Quicken account doesn't lie). Trust me, it was not a $57 haircut, even with the 25% tax. I was considering cutting it myself this time, but. . .

Quite pleased to be sitting on a hest at the frisør.

oh. . . so nervous. . .

Our landlady recommended a little frisør (hairstylist) in Lillehammer who cut her own toddler's hair, a nice bestemor (grandmother) type, who did a nice job. Off we went, and Greta sat quite happily on the antique horse while the bestemor frisør clipped and chatted and layered and worked with those curls. And, I must tell you, I explained to her på norsk (in Norwegian), how we were hoping to grow out the bangs, what a mess her hair is in the back in the morning, maybe cut to here, some layers to bring out the curls and lighten it up. . .

End result? Darling.

And as somber as she looks, she's really quite
pleased with the results (as am I).

Cost? Just 190Kr ($34). Well worth it. Actually, when she said to me, "190 Kroner," I thought to myself "Really? Wow. That can't be right. I probably didn't understand her (entirely possible). I'll wait for the receipt to double check. Wow! I was right!"  (I know, still utterly ridiculous for a 2 year-olds haircut, but this is Norway prices I'm dealing with here, and you just have to trust me.)

Super Duper Truse!

Super Duper Truse!

Not only is this blog an account of our life as ex-pats in Norway, it's also a blog of regular day to day developments in our family life. And lately we've been. . .  (drum roll please). . .


POTTY TRAINING!!!


Hurray for Greta!!! After a few half-hearted attempts over the last, oh, 11 months, I think we actually may be doing this for real. In the fall, when I mentioned to her teacher at the barnehage that she was occasionally using the potty, she responded, "oh, we don't usually do that until they're potty trained at home." I thought that was a bit of a cop-out, since she's at the barnehage 5 days a week. . . are we just going to potty train on weekends???


But her teacher noticed when the kids went outside to play after lunch, Greta would eventually, ahem, fill her diaper and then ask for a change. A bit of a hassle for the teacher, seeing that Greta was wearing about 5 layers of clothing. So she suggested to Greta that she sit on the potty before going outside, and lo and behold, Greta produced! This went on for a full week, and in the meantime she began wearing "Big Girl Pants"at home in the afternoons and evenings. Last Saturday we made a family shopping trip to the local mall to buy Big Girl Pants, just like Elmo did with Baby David and his Pappa. (Ok, Elmo bought Big Kid Underpants, but you can see why we used a little literary license with that one). These are also known around our household as Super Duper Truse, also borrowed from a new favorite Norwegian potty book, which heavily utilizes pink, purple, stars and stickers to reinforce the Great Fun of using a potte. 


And one week into it, with a full week at the barnehage wearing Super Duper Truse, she's only had one accident on Day 1. Granted, she's in a diaper for outdoor play and naps but is generally dry after those, too. We've been told, quite proudly by our little one, that not only is she staying dry in her Truse, she's also using the big Doen (pronounced doo-ehn) at barnehage--the Big Toilet--just like the Big Kids. 


And honestly, there is nothing cuter than seeing that little bum running around in little pink polka dot underwear. 

Godt Nytt År!

We were invited to spend New Year's Eve with our Norwegian friends, Roger and Merete, and their two boys who are in Greta's barnehage. Erik's parents are visiting us for a week or so over New Years, so they joined us as well. Apparently their 5-year-old, while very excited that Greta was coming to visit, was not so excited that she was bringing her English speaking grandparents, and disappointedly asked his mother before we arrived, "Do we have to speak English tonight?" Not that he was doing much speaking, but having his mother speak it limits his own understanding of our conversation. I know how you feel, kid!

Since I didn't see a TV in their living room, and I have no idea if there is a Norwegian equivalent of Dick Clark or the Times Square ball, I asked, "How will we know it's officially the New Year?" They responded that there would be fireworks set off around the neighborhood.

This was an understatement. About 10-15 minutes before the New Year, individual homes began setting off their fireworks. Roger and Merete live on in a hillside that looks over much of southern Lillehammer and Lake Mjøsa: the view is quite spectacular. We all gathered out on their deck, in jackets and blankets, and a little champagne and watched probably no fewer than 50 homes set off thousands of kroner-worth of fireworks. It was amazing!

Photo by Stian Furuseth, from http://hagenigutua.blogspot.com/

Incidentally, their 5 year-old, who was so excited to watch the raketter (rockets) at midnight, fell asleep around 11:15pm. He was an absolute noodle at midnight, and impossible to rouse for the fireworks display. Greta, on the other hand, was too wound up from playing with her friends and sleeping in a strange new environment was out of the question. She rang in the New Year in her jammies, wrapped up in several blankets in our arms, out on the porch with the rest of us.

I hope you all had a festive New Years, and have caught up on sleep in the meantime. I am looking forward to the new adventures this new year will bring: first of all, my language classes starting on January 3rd!

Lesson learned: Norwegians are prompt

This past weekend, Lillehammer hosted the World Cup ski jumping competition. It was another freezing cold weekend, and spectators were sparse, but a few of Erik's colleagues decided they wanted to attend the competition as a group. Seeing that we live just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the venue we invited his colleagues over at noon for some Christmas cookies and coffee before the finals on Sunday afternoon.

We planned on making a few American-style Christmas cookies, and bought a Norwegian kranskake for our tabletop as well. Saturday afternoon we busied ourselves with decorating the tree and making cookie dough, and Sunday morning we jumped right into baking at 8am. By 11:30am, the final batch of gingerbread cookies came out of the oven, but we still had to finish the dishes, sweep and vacuum the floors and carpets, change our clothes, and eat some lunch (since I hadn't had breakfast, other than sampling the cookies coming out of the oven) before guests arrived at noon.

However. . . at 11:50, the first two guests arrived! As I sprinted to the bedroom to change out of my grimy yoga/baking clothes, the second family arrived! By 12:10, our house was filled with about 15-20 of Erik's colleagues and their children. Erik told me later he had gotten a text from a colleague saying he would in fact be coming to the party, but would be arriving a little late. . . at 12:30.

Having a houseful of Norwegian speakers was a disorienting experience, and a little overwhelming. After about an hour of the party, Erik asked how I was doing, and I whispered, "I think I'm ready for them all to leave now!" I tried to put my finger on why I felt so off-balance, and I think it's because this house is my home, it's my sanctuary, my English-sanctuary, and it's easy to forget that I'm in a foreign country here.  I was a bit unprepared for the body-slam of Norwegian that came busting through my front door that morning. People literally poured in the house, some of whom I've never met, who I didn't know if they were spouses or colleagues, whose names I didn't catch, whose names I didn't dare ask they repeat for a third or four time "En gang til?" (One more time?), children who whispered their names, a few who looked at me like, "duh-we've met!" Then to wander from one room to the next, trying to play hostess, yet unable to just effortlessly merge into an on-going conversation, I felt like I didn't belong in my own home, which then reminded me how this just isn't quite "home" yet. I was grateful that Greta was a little clingy, as she also seemed a bit overwhelmed by the sudden influx of children in her home, playing with her toys and climbing into her crib (umm, hello?).

The other struggle that I have in both small and large social gatherings is my desire to blend in, and not be the reason that everyone must switch over to English. For one, it's important for me to hear Norwegian as much as possible. But on the other hand, I feel like I must appear to be either very shy or stand-offish, or submissive, as I stand there and say nothing, because I'm only following 25% of the conversation.

And 25% is just an educated guess. No scientific tests have been run to test the theory that I understand 25% of Norwegian conversations.

Thanksgiving in Lillehammer

Happy Thanksgiving!

We managed to find a 5.9kg (about 12 lbs) turkey, I still had a can of pumpkin puree in the cupboard that survived the trip over the Atlantic, and we never were a big fan of cranberries, so Norwegian tyttebær was a good substitute for our first Thanksgiving as ex-pats. It was one of the first Thanksgivings that we've hosted in the 8 years we've been married. Nearly every Thanksgiving has been spent with the Blumberg family in Thetford, Vermont, whom I affectionately refer to as our "surrogate Jewish parents", as they are parents (and in-laws) to our dear friends who live in Alaska, we feel like we fill a void around the table, and, well, they're Jewish. And we're not, so it's funny and affectionate. Really!


THIS year we invited our new friends, whom I will call R&M, and their boys K&S, who are at Greta's barnehage. S. is in Greta's class, and K. is 5 years old, and in the oldest kids class. R&M have been so welcoming to us, inviting me to M's 40th birthday party, to a workout group of women each week, and similar invitations for Erik as well. R. even jumped my car Wednesday night, when the battery died at the barnehage, and said to me in very clear English, "that's what friends are for." So, we felt they were worthy of the invitation, and they were enthusiastic guests. 


We tried a number of new recipes, including stuffing the bird with dried fruits and nuts (delicious), and a tasty sweet potato recipe with raisins and walnuts as well. The turkey was basted with an orange flavored liquid, so we had a fruit theme to our meal. I made two apple pies and a pumpkin cheesecake, of which Erik brought one pie and the cheesecake to work today, as it was his day for Friday "treats". The pumpkin-flavored dessert was a new flavor for the Norwegians, and since they ate 3/4 of it, I think it was a hit.


And now a quick Top 10 Thankful List, in no particular order.


I am thankful. . . 
1. That our house in Vermont sold before we left the state.
2. That our cars sold before we left the country.
3. That our dog is alive after flying in the belly of a plane during a hot August in Minnesota.
4. That we have a comfortable, warm, cozy home, if only for a year.
5. That my husband* is talented enough and intelligent enough and persevered long enough that this idea of moving to Norway actually became reality! 
6. For technology that allows me to see my friends and family, and talk to them for pennies, if not for free.
7. For my family, who instead of crying "you're moving where?" said "This will be such a great adventure for you. When can we visit?"
8. For Tina Fey, who makes me giggle and proud to be a outspoken, liberal-minded woman in my (gulp) mid 30s with brown hair and the need for corrective lenses.
9. For my rosy-cheeked little daughter, who delights and amazes me every day. 
10. That I'll be starting a level-2 language class in January**. So then, even if the class moves slowly, at least I can blame someone else for not challenging me, versus now, when at the end of the day I've learned absolutely nothing, I only have myself to blame. 


Happy Thanksgiving!


*I'm thankful for Erik for many other reasons, too, but I opted to make it a Top 10 list.
**It's true! Just got the news today!

First "real" snow

We got our first substantial snowfall on Friday and Saturday, perhaps about 5 inches of light fluffy snow. Unfortunately, too light to make a snowman, but enough to play in and make our surroundings that much prettier.

Warm Girl Waits for Snow 

Det snø!

View from the living room

Happy Girl Plays in Snow

What we do when Pappa's gone

Erik is in Trondheim for two days worth of meetings. Here is how Greta and I entertain ourselves while he's gone.

Greta watches ballerina videos on YouTube
(you can't see it, but she's wearing a ballerina skirt).

Yummy British beer and camembert for Mamma,
and Mac&Cheese for Greta
(it's called "Mississippi Belle"--how can it be bad?)

I repot new plants into boring white containers.
BTW: the upper left is not a "Christmas
cactus," but a "høst cactus" (fall cactus)

Quick jaunt to England

Victoria Memorial

About 3 weeks ago, I took a quick “mini-break” trip to England for a friend’s wedding! It seemed so close, so easy, so doable back in May, when I was still in Vermont. That was before the 6am train ride from Lillehammer to Oslo, the flight to Amsterdam, the second flight to London, the hour long tube ride from Heathrow to Victoria Station, and then the next afternoon the two hour train ride to Sussex.

No, it wasn’t easy. But it was a lot of fun.

Zipped up to Buckingham Palace

Yes, they really wrote "easyHotel" 
on their walls.

British efficiency bathroom: hey, it's
clean, cheap. I can't complain.

My travel companions for most of this trip were my Dartmouth midwife colleague/buddy Auben and her new beau, Rob. Auben and I both work(ed) with the bride, our Social Worker Super Star, Catriona, back in New Hampshire. Catriona is English; her husband-to-be is a New Hampshire native. I arrived Wednesday evening in London, and seeing that I had 45 minutes until I had to meet Auben for dinner, I dumped off my gear in my orange-themed “Easy Hotel” basement-level-windows-cost-extra hotel room, and buzzed up to see Buckingham Palace. Kind of my “pinch me I’m in London” moment. I then proceeded to get thoroughly and completely lost on my way back to the hotel, when I opted to take a “more direct” route. Thankfully, Auben and her beau were waiting patiently in the spacious lobby of Easy Hotel (you think I’m kidding about their name?), and we enjoyed an unremarkable dinner at a local Indian restaurant before we parted ways to see the London theatre of our choice. My choice, based solely on the recommendation of my parents, was “War Horse”. That performance might be the highlight of the trip. http://www.nationaltheatre.org.uk/warhorse  I opted to walk back from the New London Theatre to my hotel near Victoria Station, nearly a 30-40 minute walk, so I could take in the sights of Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey and the buildings along the Thames. My time in London was going to be limited to that night and a half-day on Thursday, so I wanted to make the most of it. My morning had started around 5am in Lillehammer, and I collapsed in bed around midnight London time, 1am in Lillehammer.

Art at the Tate. I know the feeling.

Thursday morning I met up with Auben and Rob, and we spent much of our late morning/early afternoon touring the Tate Modern. The first notable Language-Learning-Moment of the weekend was when I correctly determined that the woman sitting next to me at lunch was actually speaking Swedish, and not Norwegian. (I asked her, she verified). I was quite proud of myself. The fact that I’m putting it in this blog should drive that point home.

Anyway. . . Thursday afternoon we hopped on board a train bound for Bognor Regis, Sussex, (on the shores of the English Channel) where we took a short taxi ride to our lovely B&B in Felpham, and joined the out of town guests for a very tasty dinner at a seaside restaurant. We were quite an international crowd: there were the expected American and British contingencies, and myself unofficially from Norway, but also guests from Spain, Portugal, France and Italy.

Charming Sussex church

Friday was a bright, sunny day, although perhaps around 50 degrees F. Around 12:45, church bells began ringing through the village, beckoning us to make haste, and get ye to the church! My dear friend Catriona is a rather private person, so I won’t say much more than the bride looked amazing and the ceremony was a perfectly English experience. (Some Proper British women even wore Proper Hats!) We followed the wedding party to the seashore, where a group photo was taken of the 80+ guests with the English Channel behind us. 

On Saturday, I decided to take full advantage of my time in southern England, and hopped on a bus to Chichester, about 20 minutes inland. It had a bustling shopping district, with clothes stores far more tempting than what I’ve found in Norway. There’s also a large cathedral with lovely gardens surrounding it which were still appealing, even in late October.

Second Language-Learning-Moment of the Weekend:  Saturday evening the remaining crowd met up at a local pub for dinner. I had called home to wish Greta goodnight, and she asked what I was going to do. I told her, “I’m going to get something to eat. I’m going to a pub.” As any new-language learner might ask upon hearing an unfamiliar word, my two-year-old asked me: “What’s ‘pub’ in English, mamma?” Erik didn't miss a beat and responded, "You can't get more English than 'pub'!"

Charming bride and groom

Charmed wedding guests

And it is true. It was a great way to wrap up a great English weekend. Obviously, spending a weekend with good friends was a huge treat. It was so nice to reconnect and be with people with whom you share a past. It was such a treat to be able to travel and read menus, understand signs, feel confident about which direction I’m going on the Tube. . . . or not, as the case might be.  I found myself talking more to people just because I could, because I knew they could understand me. But it was a strange experience to hand my passport to the agents in Amsterdam and tell them, “I live in Norway.” And just 16 hours after I left Felpham, Sussex, England I was in my bed in Lillehammer. Just 16 hours.

Chichester on a busy Saturday at the shoppes

Chichester Cathedral

Auben on a chilly but sunny Saturday