One Year Reflections (the bad)

Congratulations to Us!

It is very strange indeed to think that today on August 8th we celebrated our First Anniversary of living in Norway. I'm actually kind of speechless. I'm feeling this mixture of relief, exhaustion, loneliness, success, anxiety, and some hopeful anticipation. Hmmm. . . . lots of negatives in that list. Yup. I think it's fair to say that I am feeling a little negative right now, and actually am not surprised to be in this state of mind at this point.

Over and over again I have said--and written--"I knew the first year wouldn't be easy" and other ex-pats have warned me of the same. I felt quite prepared that I knew what the challenges would be: the language barrier, new surroundings, new culture and cultural norms, the lack of friends, the switch from full-time working mother to whatever-it-is I am now. So, when the lows hit, they did not surprise me. I knew they were normal, I knew why they were happening, I knew things would get better. But knowing all that still did not make it any fun! I still had to suffer through those lows, and somehow dig myself out of them.

Norwegians like to ask us, "Trives du i Norge?" which literally translates to "Are you thriving in Norway?" THRIVING? No, I am definitely not thriving. I am getting by. I have days where I like living in Norway. I have days when I dislike living in Norway. I have very few days when I love or hate living in Norway. But, like other Norwegian phrases, I don't know think the literal translation entirely captures its meaning. I think it can encompass feelings more along the lines of "are you happy? Are you enjoying yourself?" So, instead of a stark: Nei. Jeg trives ikke! (hell no!) I instead answer, "Noen ganger!"  or "Sometimes!" I'm not even sure if that's an acceptable answer to the question, but it's the most honest one I can think of.

Perhaps this isn't healthy to dwell on, but I feel the need to express what has surprised me most about our first year. And by surprise, I think I mean, surprising me in a negative way. . .

My Job Situation
When I left my job as a midwife in New Hampshire, I optimistically told everyone that I hoped I would be working within a year. I figured that would be enough time to adequately learn the language. Never did I expect that one year later I would still be waiting for permission to work as a nurse--and that my midwife license application would not even have been considered yet.

I had no idea that a non-European Union education would be making this situation so so difficult, and because of that I feel incredibly naive. We don't need to get into how discouraging this whole situation has been.

Summertime
This summer has been rather difficult for me, in part because it has rained all summer long, and in part due to the nearly constant change of home base. We have had record-breaking rain for June and July: the rainiest June and July in history! I do like me some heat and humidity in my summers, which I knew I wouldn't get  here, but there have been perhaps a dozen days when I could stand wearing shorts. And knowing how quickly the weather turned fallish on us after our arrival last August 8th, I am dreading the return of even cooler weather.

Long-distance Friendships
I considered titling this one: Long-Distance Friendships and Time Zones, or Long-Distance Friendships and Technology, both equal players in this surprise.

I thought technology would be a big help when it came to keeping in contact with far-flung friends, and it has in many ways. Facebook--for all its flaws and time-suckiness qualities--has been a lifeline of sorts. I get little glimpses into the lives of my friends, and for those who I didn't see/chat/email with regularly, Facebook has been really nice.

But the Time Zone differences are killer when it comes to trying to communicate in actual spoken conversations, be it via Skype or telephone. Post-Greta-bedtime for me is middle-of-the-workday for US friends; after-work for US friends is sleeping for me. And because of the difficulties and expense in calling my Norwegian cell phone, or lack of Skype on ones home computer, or what have you, it is a rare situation when a US friend contacts us. 


I actually think this blog, in some ways, has hindered communication with some far-flung friends. Friends who are curious about what and how we are doing can read and feel updated on our lives, but I don't get anything back! I don't get their updates, I don't get the rewards and warm-fuzzies of an actual conversation, I don't hear their voice on the other end of the line telling me their funny or sad stories, or even have the knowledge that they are thinking of us. It can be very isolating.

On the other hand, the blog has brought me in contact with other American-in-Norway bloggers, who have become a strange new type of friends, and big cheerleaders in this whole experience. For that I am very grateful!

My situation. . . 
Am I a student? Am I a stay-at-home-mom (with a kid in full time preschool)? Will I ever be a midwife again? Who am I?

I'm not working (for pay) for the first time since 1997, and I really thought I'd be enjoying it more! It's not the identity crisis that bothers me as much as it is this pressure that I feel to learn the language, get a job, and help make this ex-pat experience financially do-able (this is generally self-imposed pressure, in defense of my very hard-working and uber-supportive husband). Since so much of that is out of my control, one would think I could just sit back and enjoy the leisurely life of language class 4 hours a day. But, instead I feel like my whole life is on hold. I'm waiting for this letter to arrive. . . I'm waiting for this application to process. . . I'm waiting for this class to begin. . . I'm waiting for this other letter to arrive to send in the next application. . .

I think I know--deep down inside--that 10-20 years from now these months will be just a blip on the screen of my life. In the meantime, I wish I could relax and more fully appreciate this unique experience of living in a foreign country. It's not the job or the work in itself that would make the situation better. It's simply the process of moving forward, of settling in, of progress. It's all been soooo slow--the license approval--the subpar language classes--the architect. It's the "life on hold" that's giving me gray hairs.

And one year into it, that's what I didn't expect.

How was YOUR summer vacation?

And now for some family-relocating-to-Norway updates. . . (written 2 weeks ago, so somewhat dated). 

We are coming to the end of Norway’s 3-week “felles ferie” which literally translates to “communal vacation”. Most Norwegians took off from work* and headed either to Sweden or Denmark or their hytter (cabins). We, being workaholic Americans who are unaccustomed to someone insisting “You. Must. Take. Vacation. It. Is. Good. For. Your. Soul,” have instead “moved” 3 times in the past month and kicked the home gutting/renovation into High Gear.

Perhaps “moving” is a bit of a stretch, but not by much. We have certainly inhabited three different homes in the past 31 days, since leaving our rental home at the end of June. Knowing we really wouldn’t be able to move into our “new” home, we secured a short-term lease on a house in Biri, 30+ minutes outside of Lillehammer. The prospect of Greta spending an hour in the car every day to and from barnehage, along with staying in a home without internet or TV for two months (TV I could do without, internet. . . not so much), had me a tad apprehensive. I picked up a flier for vacation rentals at a nearby ski resort, and the morning that we were moving out of our last “borrowed” house, we opted instead to rent an honest-to-gosh vacation house in Hafjell for the next two three months. Hafjell is about 10-15 minutes north of Lillehammer, and was the location for the downhill Olympic ski events. Just across the river is Norway’s biggest tourist attraction: Hunderfossen, an amusement park with trolls as their main theme. There’s also a smaller pint-sized amusement park, and a few summer-ski-town attractions, namely downhill mountain biking and gondola rides. Aspen or Park City it is not, but that's not why we're here.

We are living in a 5-bedroom, 2-bath + sauna, “chalet” of sorts, the kind of place that you can ski out the back door down the slopes, sleeps 14 and can get 42 drunk (there are 21 shot glasses and 21 wine glasses in the cupboard). A true alpine ski getaway. You may think we are paying out the nose for these kind of digs, but since we guaranteed the owners two months of occupation and rent, and this is the tail end of the high-season, we got a very good rate. And we’ve got cable TV and internet to boot. Such a deal.

As for the High Gear of remodeling, I say that based only on what Erik reports to me over dinner, during the 90 minutes that he is home while Greta and I are awake**, not based on any personal effort in that area***. Erik has been putting in 12-14 hour days at the house during his 2-week felles ferie, most recently working alongside our builder/carpenter, Bob the Builder (aka Byggmaster Bob). Upstairs floors are sanded, upstairs ceiling and walls reinsulated, re-vapor-barrier-ized, new lath and stud walls up, downstairs we have new stud walls for bathroom, kitchen, entry, hole expanded for stairs, many walls reinsulated and re-vapor-barrier-ized, and new windows framed in (no new windows).

A relaxing summer vacation is not what I would call it. Between stressing out about our next living accomodation, packing/unpacking/repacking/unpacking/repacking/unpacking, trying to simply function in someone else's living space (Do you own measuring spoons? Could this bread knife cut a cracker?Washing machine: yes, dryer: no, clothes-line: no, confusion and avoidance of laundry: yes), entertain a toddler during the barnehage's ferie while all playmates were on their own ferie and we had a suitcase of toys and Norway's rainiest July on record. . . I have not been the happiest camper. Luckily, Erik hasn't been around to notice****. 

All of this while the architect kicks back on his felles ferie, and we wait, withholding judgment, for our final plans.

* This includes the entire children’s department at the local hospital, which I read in the paper is closed for “summer vacation”. Sick or injured children are shipped off to Oslo, which makes me wonder about how the staff at the Oslo hospitals feel about the rest of the country dumping their work on them during felles ferie.

** Note to readers: this is not a criticism of my husband or the amount of time he spends with his family. This is a jointly agreed upon schedule, with the acknowledgement that life will be hectic for a few months. However, that is not to say it is not difficult.

*** This post was written before the button-and-sawdust shoveling began, then set aside for Erik to proof read, then posted anyway, 'cause he's never going to have time to read it.

**** Joke was run past Erik before publication and received a thumbs up. Ok, actually it wasn't, but I had every intention of doing so. I don't think he'll mind.

Gratulerer to Oss: One year in Norway

One year ago today I stepped off an Icelandair flight outside of Oslo, with a 2-year-old who had slept for 2 hours on an overnight 10 hr international flight, a carseat on wheels, two carry-ons, four enormous suitcases, and a drugged nervous dog who had spent those 10+hrs in a crate with our suitcases. . . and we moved to Norway.  

And we all lived to tell the tales!

House update, in pictures

A picture may say 1,000 words, but only if you know what you're looking at. I'll provide a little background to help you out.

Erik's been working 10-14 hour days at the house the last two weeks, and a few days along side our carpenter, and has made some good progress. I finally was able to get in there myself yesterday and today, for the first time in several months. What with studying for my Norwegian exams, packing and moving 3 times, and being on full-time mommy/house-wife duty for the last 3 weeks (yes, feminist friends, I know I've been a full-time mommy for the past 40 months--you know what I meant), I haven't been able to flex my Handy Woman muscles at all. 

But today I shoveled buttons. 

Read on. . . 

View from the front hall, into the former kitchen,
 immediately inside the front door. 

To the right: the former kitchen! Will soon be a bathroom with stand-up shower.
Take note of the shovel and what was under the floor of the former kitchen.

This was the "insulation" between the kitchen floor and basement ceiling:
an interesting mix of sawdust and buttons. I kid you not. 
Today, I shoveled out over 5 enormous trash bags of sawdust--and buttons*.

About 6 weeks ago, Tika, standing in the to-be-dining room.
The windows and wall behind her will be gone, as that is where the addition will go. 

Tika was standing about where the saw is.
The doorway has been widened significantly.
This is the dining room, behind the stairs, to the front of the house,
will be the bathroom. Stairs will be re-configured. 

Remember Greta in her room? Exposed insulation, awful walls,
wood floors covered with 50 year old carpet glue?

Greta's room today: reinsulated, vapor barrier up on walls and ceiling,
knee walls installed, and floors sanded smooth.

More signs of progress, standing in the new kitchen, looking into office:
new vapor barrier and lath, framing for new windows in guest room/office space,
and the 2x4 on the floor (pointing down to the right edge of the picture) is the edge of the kitchen.

Some of you might might be muttering to yourself, "you call this progress?" But it actually is! When we received our first delivery of building materials about two weeks ago, I actually felt encouraged for the first time in a long time. Finally we were having things delivered--not just waste material and refuse taken away! It was a tangible sign that we were actually building and not just destroying. And, even better, we're ready for a second delivery! THAT is progress!

* In my defense, I also did a lot of other Handy Woman things aside from shoveling buttons, but they aren't as funny.

Finally, some thoughts on Oslo and Utøya

This is a post I've been avoiding writing for nearly a week. I've been trying to put together my reactions to the attacks in Oslo and Utøya, but am really struggling to get my thoughts to be at all eloquent or coherent. (In fact, I had a post ready to go on Monday, but then our internet failed, and the post was lost. I haven't had the emotional energy to sit down and address the subject matter again.) I feel like everything that I write is just repeating what every other news report has said, and my own personal insights are rather limited. I actually haven't spoken with any "real" Norwegians about the attacks, so I can't even offer a first-hand story of how a "real" Norwegian feels. And in some ways, I feel like my point of view isn't so important. I feel like an outsider, an imposter; but then again, Norway is now my home. For better or worse. And good times, and in bad.


It is shocking. It is unfathomable. The numbers defy my imagination. I do not profess to understand much about Norway's political system, but Norway has always felt peaceful to me, a quiet, respectful land keeping to itself in the north. One rarely sees the police on the street and they are never armed, you don't need to take off your shoes in the Oslo airport, political leaders and star Olympic athletes have their home phone numbers listed in the phone book, and nearly every mail box has the entire family's names listed on them: Lars, Mari, Olav, Sigrid and Ingrid. We've been so hard-wired in the US to look out for kidnappers, I think: who's to stop the dirty old man down the street from luring Sigrid and Ingrid into his van, calling them by name? 


But, I digress.  


The young people who gathered on the island came from communities all across Norway. They were leaders with and interest in politics, and going to the summer camp run by the Labor Party was a great privilege. As a result, every community or region in the nation has been personally touched by this massacre. Every area either had children that survived or children that were lost, so the entire country is deeply grieving. I watched a news report of about a dozen teens flown home together on a charter plane to some of the northern most cities in Norway, being welcomed on the tarmac by their families, several days after the tragedy. Watching these kids collapse into their parents arms in tears was absolutely heart-wrenching. I can't imagine the images in their memories, and don't know what can be done to help erase them.


I am very grateful that Greta is only 3, and that I can--for the time being--protect her from the stories and images. I noticed a father at the grocery store with his two elementary aged kids, and they all gazed at the  collection of newspapers at the check-out line. Even a year or two older, she would be astute enough to ask about the broken buildings or the parades of flowers, or the pictures of people crying and hugging. I know I won't be able to avoid these difficult parenting situations for long, or even this particular story. This is by far the darkest day in Norway's history, and will be recognized and taught in schools from this day forward, I'm certain of it. 


I have been most impressed with the strength and courage that so many of these kids have demonstrated when they talk of returning to Utøya. When I learned that this was an annual camp, something that has been going on since the 1970s, I thought, "they are going to board up those doors, and no one will every step foot on that island again." Instead, the day following the attack, the leaders of the Youth Organization were declaring, "we're going back. We're taking back that island." I am humbled by such profound displays of courage.


And now for displays of cowardice. Erik read a newspaper article that described the treatment that some Muslims received in the first few hours following the bombing. Insults, blame and finger-pointing, including one woman saying to a Pakastani neighbor who has lived in Norway for over 10 years, "You did this. You did this bombing". Muslims make up 10% of Norway's population, according to a news report I heard the other day, but this is a fairly recent phenomenon. By recent, I mean in the last 30-40 years. "Recent" is a relative term, when you consider Norway's history of a fairly homogenous society and race. And while I believe that most Norwegians are open and accepting to immigrants, it's obviously not an easy process for anyone.


I think Norwegians are very shocked by the fact that this tragedy came from a native Norwegian. It would be--and was--very easy to blame a Muslim terrorist for the attack, and to find excuses and explanations for his actions. "He doesn't understand our values," "he's doesn't believe in the same God as we do" "he doesn't appreciate what it means to be Norwegian". Then again, the same can be said for Anders Behring Breivik. I don't think there are too many people--Norwegian or otherwise--who believe in a God who would endorse this. 

Attacks in Oslo

Just a quick post to assure my friends and family that we are safe in Lillehammer, several hours from both Oslo and the island of Utøya. The news is devastating, and I believe will continue to get worse we get more updates about the poor children on the island. I can't help but feeling that Norway lost its innocence today.

My heart and prayers go out to the people of Norway.

And. . . skriftlig bestått (written passed)

Perhaps it was the exhaustion of 2 moves in 5 days, 12+ hours of house-cleaning, and the promise of living out of suitcases for months that stunted my reaction this time around. Or perhaps it was being handed the envelope at 7:30am by Erik, while I still sat groggily in bed. Or maybe I had used up all my jumping up and down jumping up and down excitement with the first Norsk Prøve 3 results, two weeks earlier. Or maybe I was just so convinced I actually would pass that I really wasn't so worried. No. . . definitely not the last one. But when Erik handed me the envelope, which he had fetched from the mailbox around midnight the night before--and wisely opted not to wake me over--I was rather numb.

But I did it. I passed that stinking skriftlig norsk prøve 3-- all three stinking sections: writing of essays, reading comprehension and listening comprehension.

I didn't jump up and down. I didn't whoop. I didn't fist-pump "YES!" like my Norwegian friend did when she heard my news. I think I sighed heavily. Shed a few tears of relief, but didn't really feel a huge weight lifted from my shoulders.

I know I certainly would have an intense reaction if I had failed. I would have cried--quite hard--knowing I would have to study more, retake the exam, postpone a nursing class, and put my life on hold even further.

But, now I don't. And if I weren't so distracted by suitcases scattered all over, federal taxes that still need to be filed, and the great unknown of architect plans and housing options for August and September, I probably would have jumped up and down.

But I didn't.