My son is perfect!

He’s the most perfect little boy ever born (of course except for Jesus)… he’s kind, caring, good-looking, cheerfull, happy, intelligent, socially well adjusted, and very well tempered. He can also be sad, angry, determined to get his will, and testing our limits. But that’s normal. And he’s above average easy to live together with and to parent!

This weekend my husband has been stuck in bed with the flu, and our son has brought him two teddybears to comfort him. And some of his own t-shirts, which our boy cuddles with when sleeping. All of his own initiative. He’s also kept him company, talking and playing in the bed. As a result, the boy is now struck with fever and has to be at home today.

Simple life

These pictures are from a 1840 suburban cottage in Oslo. It’s reconstructed at a folk museum. These pictures fascinate me. I wonder how I would’ve liked to live in the 19th century, in a room like this. If I remember correctly, 12 people lived in these three rooms. This is a true form of minimalism. Was people happier with less earthly belongings? Or were they simply to exhausted to think about happiness? Maybe the women dreamed about bigger rooms, personal space, more clothes and shoes, less hard work…? I don’t know. Maybe I romanticise the really simple life, ignoring all the hard times, the lack of clothes, the lack of money, the lack of food perhaps, the bad health they suffered from.

This is the kitchen.

This is room no. 1. The picture above the headboard of the bed has some sort of christian saying on it.

also room no. 1

Room no. 2Room no. 3

Ponytail

Today I managed to collect some hair to make a small ponytail! Of course a lot of the other hair had to be fastened using clips… but still, a ponytail!!

Gender neutral God?

I don’t understand why some people wants God to be gender neutral. What’s the problem with God being talked to and about as “him” or “father”? Is it because some have problems with the “father” term, based upon negative experiences with father figures? Or it is because God being regarded as a “he” puts women in a less important position?

I have bad experiences with my father, but I always thought it was nice to have God as my father, because of the poor job my biological father did. I had a very good grandfather, and when thinking of God as my father, I think of Him being more like my grandfather was than my father. And, I’m a woman, but I think feminism has gone too far when talking about God as a woman needs to be done in order to get women a higher status in the society. I see this as a waste of time, really. The christians should care more about how to get people living by christian standards!

The society’s standards are individual fortune and happiness, resulting in cold societies not really caring for those who “fail” to succeed in their lives. And also for the environment.

Hair length

The picture in my avatar is lying, my hair isn’t this long, but it will eventually be… and finally it has started to grow… or I can feel it hanging in my neck. I now have the most difficult growing period behind me - when it is not short and not yet long - and it feels good. I’m also past the point where I used to get tired of growing my hair and used to get to the hairdresser to cut it short. But now I’m more determined to grow it long, and I’m visualising how it will be having a long hair. I sort of think about myself as a person with long hair… all to help me get through the most difficult growing phase!

My favourite brand of handbags - Longchamp

This is a handbag from the spring line, Flower… Yes, I’d very much appreciated if I had one of these… There’s a matching scarf also. See www.longchamp.com for the complete line and all the other goodies! Maybe I should make a post on all my Longchamp handbags? It’s been my favourite since my first purchase in the mid 1990’s. At Galleries Lafayette in Paris.

My favourite brand of handbags - Longchamp - a complete list

These are the Longchamp bags I have.

It all started with a navy blue older version of this handbag, from the Veau Foulonne line. (The Longchamp website did not have a picture of my model). Bought in the mid 1990’s in Paris. My model has a shoulder strap also. It is a timeless bag, a true classic. And the leather is so smooth and of high quality.

The following handbags are all from the Veau Foulonne line, all in leather.

I have a small version of this hobo bag, in black. Instead of button closure, it is two small hooks on my handbag. That one was purchased in Australia.

I also have a black back pack almost like this one. The top on my back pack is drawstring with a flap over. Bought in Brussels.

From the same line I have this small hobo bag in brown leather. The shoulder strap is adjustable (two lengths). This handbag was bought in Helsinki.

From the Planetes line I have a brown back pack almost like this one. My model has a different flap. Bought in Gent, Belgium.

Then I have several items from the Pliages line:

A tote in black nylon canvas with brown leather details.

A blue small handbag in the same nylon canvas with brown leather details.

A shoulder/tote bag in a colour called taupe (sort of brownish green). Bought in Helsinki.

A briefcase in the same taupe colour, also bought in Helsinki.

A chocolate brown messenger bag. Bought in Oslo.

Lent is over...

At the Easter Vigil we sang an hymn which contained the words “now that lent is over”, and it suddenly struck me that, hey, lent is over. My lenten sacrifices had transformed into new habits, and I didn’t count the days until I could change back to the old habits. Yesterday I bought a magazine (the cheapest weekly) but I got a bad conscience. I’m convinced that if lent becomes a more regular part of people’s yearly routine, the world would be a somewhat better place.

Long lines...

My husband asked me a week ago what sort of life I wanted. I’ve been thinking a lot about that. Being in my early 30’s I think it’s time I decide what to fill my life with, how to look at myself. Many women are afraid of turning 30, the twenties are portrayed as the ideal years, and the rest of one’s life it is all about trying to preserve the youth and looking as much 29 as one possibly can. For me, it is the other way around. I feel liberated by being over 30. I regard myself as old enough to stand up for my opinions, and I’m less nervous about everybody liking me or not. That’s good!

So, my motto is “long lines“. Long lines as in being a link in the long chain of people dating back to the early beginnings, and giving life to new ones, making sure the chain is growing. Long lines as in finding peace in the Church’ teachings and traditions regarding my spiritual and everyday life. Finding peace in accepting my role as a mother; there are certain biological features a man never can obtain, there are things I’m better at because I’m a woman. Long lines as in modest clothing, long skirts and shirts, not showing more than modestly acceptable of my skin. Long lines as in growing and keeping my hair long. Long lines as a motto reminds me of the fact that the world is not spinning around me, I’m just second or minute in the world’s total history, but what I make of my life, the choices I make, makes impact on the society in which I live.

It sort of makes me smaller, but that’s a good thing. When depressed one has enough pain inside to deal with, and doesn’t manage to see others or see oneself in the correct proportion in relation to others. Imagine having a tooth aching, the only thing you manage to think about is how bad this tooth aches. That’s how depression works to. The depression takes over your command centre, making you feel a lot of pain, thinking negative and destructive thoughts and drains all your energy. It’s a strange thing, but I’ve now come thus far that I sort of like being depressed in short periods of time, and having a serious depression history. Because it makes me appreciate more the good things in life. To me, a normal life without too much darkness and pain is enough. I don’t long for a glamorous or famous life, I thrive in being a mother, wife, worker.

The bright colors are more visible when placed on a black background!

Dirty and smashed windows

Being depressed can be described as living in a house with dirty and smashed windows. You can never leave the house, but you can see that the surroundings changing. Everything is seen through these dirty windows and you’re to busy to clean or mend them. Slowly you forget what it is like to look through clean windows, and being unpowered by the depression you start to like being inside. You may even stop trying to look out. It’s no use, you can’t see anything, the dirt is so thick.

Then, someday, by your own or others’ initiative you start to look out and decide it’s time to fix these windows. Because they’re so smashed and dirty you must replace them. When removing the windows, your somewhat safe filter between your darkness on the inside, and the brightness on the outside, you feel as naked. You think everyone can see everything. And that they very much dislike what they’re seeing.

Maybe you put the windows back in place. You don’t want to be seen naked and in all your misery. But eventually, if you’re going to live on, you need to remove them. You must try to cope with the nudity and the lights, noise and stares from the outside world. You’ll try to look out again and again, afraid of what the outside world may think of you. Maybe even shamfeul of the fact that while the world looks this great, you’ve been hiding inside the darkest, dirtiest and most smashed windows in your town.

You’ll run back inside, not able to cover yourself behind the windows, trying to hide in the darkness of the room. As far away from the windows as possible. That’s your new safe place. But as the light keeps on flowing in, the room is about to be fully lit, and the hiding place is no longer safe, but by now it is no longer needed. You’ll put in new windows. You’ll re-establish a natural barrier between yourself and the world around you. You’ll take care of the windows, may even put up some nice curtains, or a flower or two. And, if you’ve learned to clean them properly, and take care of them, not letting anyone break them, you can keep your windows clean for a long time… maybe for good? Nevertheless, if they get dirty again, or someone breaks them, you’ve been through this before, you know how to fix them!

Remember to “clean your windows regularly”!

Cavalier King Charles Spaniel

She looks more like this now:
Look at these cute puppies! And I have one very much like the one helding its head up high in the picture of the two puppies with black background. She looked liked this when she was a puppy. Now, she’s adult and “mummy’s little princess”, tilting her head when spoken to! Oh, how I love my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel!This is the cutest types of dogs ever!

No baby :(

My system is very inreliable, I’m very impatient, and the want to become pregnant very strong, but today I know that there’s no little person developping inside me.

Weakness is detested!

Yesterday I didn’t manage to finish a somewhat difficult task at work, and that made me feel like a weak person. Every time I need to ask someone for help, the same destructive thoughts makes their way to my head, all telling me that perhaps I shouldn’t be working in a job where I need help from others, that I’m supposed to know these things, and to perform well at my job I can’t ask anyone for help… and the negative thoughts also affirm the picture I have deep inside me, of a person not worth loving, of lesser value than others. And the fear I always carry, that the people who (pretend to) like me some day will wake up and see the same, that I’m a weak and detestable person. After going from work feeling bad, I got home and criticised my husband for making a mess while preparing dinner to us (what a stupid thing to do!), and later in the evening I got rejected by my son, and that made my world collapse! :cry: My greatest fear is that the son I love above all, will see me as I really am, and start to loathe or detest me. And the rejection he made yesterday, I took as a sign; the loathing has already started…

I know that as a parent one’s supposed to handle rejection, but I find it very hard, as I take it as a proof of him detesting me. I don’t know what to think to motivate myself to handle these things without my world collapsing…

I try to think about him being a young boy with changing moods, I can see that he goes from total joy to utter sadness in the blink of an eye… And I also try to remind myself about the importance of being there for him, whether he shows the need for it or not… I can’t reject him in return, because he’s not old enough to see the consequences of his actions.

I must pray for patience and strength to handle his anger towards me and his fists of defiance.

A mother's love

I realize that being a mother sometimes is more demanding than satisifying… Putting the baby/child first. Compromising on my own needs and wants in order to satisfy his. I admit that it is sometimes difficult.

But, it is also the most wonderful thing to experience! I’ve been chosen by God to deliver to the world a new human being. Caring for it while it was in my body, lending it my “baby-facilities” and giving it food and drink so that it could grow and be a healthy little person. Then, after birth, I fed it, made it feel safe and loved, and my task is never ending. I’ll be a mother for my son as long as I live. I’ll always care for him, worry about him, love him… it has truly widened my register of feelings! I could never love anyone as much as my son. I see him as a perfect little person.

The picture is of Mary and baby Jesus.

The more one eats, the more active one should be...

Here’s a new thought to me: if eating a lot of chocolate, I should be more active than if I’m not eating chocolate or other sweets. I’ve always thought that eating chocolate is such a “crime” (to myself anyway) that I could just give up on all good intentions… but talking to my GP on Friday, she presented this new idea to me. She knows what I’m talking about, she’s a little big herself, and doesn’t condemn my imperfect actions. It’s good to finally meet a GP that isn’t using every opportunity to tell me that I’m overweight and that I should do something about it.

I don’t understand how these health professionals think… do they actually think that I’m not aware of my weight being fairly more than the recommended weight for a person my height? And do they actually think that I haven’t done or tried to do anything about it? And, do they actually think that telling me to do something about it, may help? For example, I was taking an ultrasound of my stomach area (no pregnancy), and the doctor performing the ultrasound, which lasted for 10 minutes, poked my stomach and said that since being overweight the pictures was not going to be very clear (which I knew, because I’d been taking ultrasounds when pregnant the previous year), and then she said “it’s just about going out for some more walks, you know”. Lying there, with my least favourite area uncovered, I felt really humiliated, but being an overweight person I’m used to be humiliated by health professionals. So I replied a polite “yes” and didn’t say anything more. Back in my office I first felt sad then angry. But I didn’t do anything about it. So this doctor will keep on humiliating other overweights.

I know it isn’t smart to be overweight, I’m aware of all the health risks I’m facing, but it isn’t that easy to stop eating chocolate. Comfort-eating has been (and still is) my way of comping with the traumas I suffer from. Others may use alcohol, gambling, drugs etc to cope. And I don’t tell everyone about the reason why I’ve been comfort-eating… and it shouldn’t be necessary either! I recommend all health professionals to be a little more polite and understanding in dealing with persons suffering from politically uncorrect actions (such as smoking, drugs, comfort-eating).