Game over

The Empire State Building is green and red, two colors Zoe would find boring, but she is not here to complain. Instead I'm hitting the two week mark of her absence where I start really feeling it in my heart. Her pictures around the apartment, her toys still scattered a bit between the bedroom and the shelf in the living room reminding me that she was just here and will be back again. In another two months. Not for long, because her dad informed me today that he wants her to be back in Europe for at least two weeks before she starts school so she can get over her jetlag. Not like something we could talk about or agree about. "I want her back in Stockholm by x date". I am not sure exactly when this whole parenting thing turned from two people trying to agree about what is best for Zoe, to demands and requirements. It is honestly the weirdest thing. And it only adds fuel to my hurting heart, missing her, missing hugging her, chatting to her, reading long chapter books before bedtime and rubbing her back as she falls asleep. She is and will always be my little baby. And being without her is like missing a piece of myself.

If it wasn't enough that I miss her, my life is as messy as it could ever be. Having my visa cancelled out of nowhere was nothing compared to this. On top of having a major life decision in front of me, I'm responsible for coordinating some conference work that will take about 30 hours to do this weekend and be a major chore this summer. And then I have all the work at my second job, which is actually my main job at the moment since they are the only ones providing me with a salary. On top of that I pay too much attention to someone who doesn't deserve it, someone who can't help pay attention to me either, but who should know better. I just want to move on. I just want to have made this decision, to be on the other side, next to Zoe, having pizza on a weeknight and discuss how the stars were made and why her friend in school doesn't speak another language.

I keep concluding that it's game over. That I have been defeated by circumstances and really bad life choices such as who I decided to have a child with. It makes me depressed and sad and incapable of working on anything serious for a while. But then I remember my promise to myself. That I'll never give up. That I *will* one day have that professor job in the US, no matter how much I have to sacrifice. Except I'll not sacrifice any time with Zoe. And this is where I fail again. And again. As her dad satisfactory said to me last time he picked her up: "I have my research group now, this is what I always wanted". I'm so happy for him.

Bad moms of Stockholm

Last week I was a member of the bad moms club of Stockholm. My friend and I were laughing as I picked Zoe up at the completely darkened playground, after my friend, with her 9 month old, had looked after Zoe for an hour while I went to the parent-teacher conference at the daycare (Zoe is still in daycare in Sweden). She told me how the other parents had looked back at her with dismay as they left, because normal Swedish children would obviously be at home and brushing their teeth by now, and other mothers did not let their children go into the empty fountain to hug the dragon sculpture. We laughed and laughed with our daughters on our way to the train station past 7pm, talking about how it was them who lost out. Our kids had a blast. Zoe was in bed by 9:30pm together with a jetlagged mom and next morning I woke her up singing our good morning song from the kitchen, making coffee, leaning over the gap in the wall to caress her hair.

Zoe and I baking in out kitchen in Stockholm

On Saturday I had promised Zoe noodles at the noodle place with a little play area, completely forgetting that Stockholm is not like New York. Said noodle place was in a shopping center and had closed an hour before we got there around 7:30. Instead we decided to go for Pizza at Vapiano, sitting in the lounge because there was a 20 min wait for regular a table. Again, joining the club of bad moms, I had a glass of wine and let Zoe play on my phone while we waited. She showed me a few games but when we got bored she just lay on the couch sticking her legs up into the air, making up a story about the girl and the mom in the mirrored ceiling. At 9pm we were full from pizza and gummy bears (free after a meal there) and walked home through the cold winter air. "Mom if you come visit me in the summer we can have a play date with my friend Lucy at the playground with the water", Zoe said and it stung just a bit. I wanted to repeat what I have told her many times, that she lives with me half the time, just like she lives with her dad but instead I changed the topic.

Sunday afternoon I dropped her at her dad's place and rushed off to the airport, catching the direct flight back to New York after a glass of wine in the lounge. Landing in Newark with a view of the World Trade Center, and a blue and red Empire State Building, I felt at home except for the most essential piece of the puzzle.

41 hours to get to Florida

This fall I have had a lot of travel, recently the US, more specifically Florida. I was attending a small conference where I was presenting a research paper and since I was not able to bring Zoe, I tried to make it as short as possible. Still, it was at a resort in south Florida in October so I did schedule a day at the pool, just before the conference started. Things didn't  turn out that way though.

I left a very early Saturday morning, leaving Zoe with my babysitter because Zoe's dad would not be back from his trip to the US for another 28 hours. She was a bit cranky that I woke her up at 7am but I didn’t have the heart to just leave her sleeping. She might not remember that I  had told her I was leaving the night before. She was to spend the full day with my babysitter and at night a close friend was coming over to spend the night with her, playing with her in the morning until her dad arrived early afternoon.

I left teary eyed in the morning, getting the Arlanda Express and feeling business woman like with my small black suitcase and Kate Spade leather carryon. I boarded the plane that was going to take me to Frankfurt, to my connecting US flight. When waiting for the plane to back out, we got the news that there was a technical error on the plane, the engine fire indicator was malfunctioning. If there is something you want to be indicated of, it is a potential fire in the engine. We deplaned and boarded another one, leaving one a half hour later, bringing me to Frankfurt the same minute as my US plane took off. I rushed to the service center in the hope that they would be able to reroute me via some other US destination and at least get me to the right side of the Atlantic that day. No luck. Due to the soon arriving tropical storm Sandy, many US flights had been cancelled, leaving the remaining fully booked. Even the attempt to route me via San Francisco was unfruitful. I was sent to an airport hotel, “right next to” the Frankfurt airport and provided with an itinerary for next day.

Internet and Latte at the brown airport hotel

The hotel was grim to say the least. Up until then I had kept my cool, realizing that there was absolutely nothing I could do to change the situation. My day at the pool was lost the minute they said ‘technical error’ on my first flight. But as I got to that godforsaken hotel, 20 minutes drive on the autobahn by a taxi driver who clearly enjoyed the no-speed limit to the fear of his passengers, I had had it. Not only did my 7am flight mean that I had to take a 5 am shuttle to the airport from the so-called airport hotel (“our shuttle leaves every hour on the hour”), the internet at the hotel was also limited to an hour in the bar, leaving my ability to at least use this ‘intermezzo’ for work rather difficult. But worse, I had left Zoe for this. I had left her with strangers for money when I could have stayed with her instead. Obviously this was a not really true, because I could not have left on a Sunday (tickets overseas not including Saturdays are deemed business tickets and cost the range of $3000-4000 instead of $1000, making it very unlikely my department would have paid for it) and I could not have predicted that my pool day turned into a brown german hotel day. I was probably much better off in terms of getting to the US here in Frankfurt than back in Stockholm under the circumstances. After shedding a few tears I went down to the bar and ordered a latte, which in Germany apparently is a bit of coffee with a liter of milk, and spent my one hour internet allowance surfing Facebook and random blogs.

Next morning the shuttle picked me and some other unfortunate Swedes up at 5 am and my journey to Florida went smoothly from then on. Zoe’s dad made it back to Stockholm before I left Europe, making me feel safe about leaving. I skyped with her one evening where she said that mommy should fly back to Stockholm and that “Zoe love Mommy”. I missed her but I’m getting better in leaving her for a couple of days. In the end I am returning before a week has passed from when I left her.

Bad mother 2

This weekend my parents were in town, partly to see our new apartment, and partly so my very practical, handyman dad could fix a few things around the house, like installing an outlet in the kitchen, putting a hook in the ceiling and telling us that we are in fact able to sand our floors and white wash them. I enjoyed their company as always but Zoe was ill and surprisingly grumpy. So grumpy that she was difficult to take out and screamed pretty much the whole time in the stroller or when walking by herself. The only thing that was good enough was her mother carrying her. At one low point, my mom and I (who were out with Zoe by ourselves) decided that we needed a break and on the way into the cafe a frowning middle aged woman passed us. "She has to have a hat on" (Hon ska ha mösse på!), she ordered and looked harshly at me, then back at a snowsuit clad Zoe who was screaming her head off. I was rolling Zoe through the door held open by my mom as I started steaming inside my head, the irony of course being that this had happened before. And exactly like last time, my temper got the better of me and while the woman righteously walked away with her head held up high, I yelled quite a few profanities after her. My mom seemed a bit shocked and Zoe magically stopped wailing. I took a few deep breaths when we were all fully inside the cafe and looked behind me to discover three people, staff and guests, stare at me. I held my head high as I took Zoe's hand and walked over to the counter to order our coffee.

I am still looking for the perfect reply to this insane interfering with something that 1. is not that bad and 2. is not their problem. Not to talk about 3. is a big problem between me and Zoe since she takes her hat off the minute she has gotten it on (and yes, she has about 5 different types; the ones she can't pick off herself, she just pulls and screams bloody murder until I remove it). I wouldn't think that the Swedish social services will take your child away from you, even if you commit the massive parental failure of not making sure your kid wears a hat, but I could be mistaken. At least with the way people react here, it seems to be as close to child abuse as you can get. Who knew?

A low point of motherhood

Yesterday afternoon during rush hour, a mother stood on the subway platform, with a completely hysterical, screaming, leg-kicking toddler in a stroller, trying to break free of the harness. The mother screamed back at the toddler and shook her out of frustration until the mother started crying herself. It was a horrific sight, except of course that this mother was me and the toddler was Zoe.

I had attended the preschool's first birthday party in the afternoon that included 'champagne', cake and chips, some of which Zoe had eaten. As we left she wanted to take a balloon, but they were tied to the wall and I said no. This started her first fit but I got her into the stroller with the promise of a snack (I often give her snacks on the way home, on good days fruit and less good days raisins or crackers and on really bad days chocolate. It eases up the 40 minute commute). She chewed away on a sesame cracker and off we went. As we entered the first train she started wanting to get out of the stroller and this is where I made my first mistake. I let her. She was standing holding on to the stroller but still toppled over when the train left each station. I carried her out at the main station and explained to her while we sat on a bench that if she wanted to walk to the other train (a 3 minute walk to another platform), she had to hold my hand the whole time. She did but the walk took more like 10 minutes. The elevators were busy but as we approached the new platform I realized that I could not have her out of her stroller here because this is a very busy and narrow platform. When the elevator stopped I wedged it open with the stroller and put Zoe back in. She was not happy. She wanted up. And I wanted to be home. I had already had a long day at work, spent good quality time in a ridiculous teaching meeting and had planned on taking Zoe to the hair dresser on the way home. She screamed and screamed and arched her back like I had never seen before. I kept trying to talk to her, "Zoe bee, you have to sit in the stroller, it is very dangerous to be on the platform". I let a train pass by because I couldn't face going into an overfilled compartment with a screaming and kicking toddler. I talked to her but had to hold her down, I was worried she would be able to free herself of the harness (and god forbid run somewhere I didn't want to think of). And this is where I lost my temper and screamed back at my little stubborn daughter, to please please stop it. She obviously didn't like that and just cried louder. I finally wedged her into the next train, tearful and guilty of loosing it when I was the adult who should be in charge of the situation. She continued crying loud the remaining 3 stations and didn't pause until we were in the elevator riding up from the platform. "Zoe", I started explaining, "you are too little to walk on your own when we take the train. When you turn two you can walk on your own. But you are too little right now". She nodded and answered her clear "Aye" (she is half Scottish after all) as if she understood every word that I said. Okay mom, now I understand.

When we got in, I only took off my shoes before I broke down crying on the bed, hammering the pillows to get rid of all my frustrations. Zoe looked bewildered at me and then resolutely went up and pointed at my chest. "Ma ma?", she asked. Could she have some milk? She sure could.

Bad mommy

I was on my way home yesterday after picking Zoe up from daycare when a middle-aged woman approached me on the street. She mumbled and I smiled and went a bit closer to hear what she was saying, perhaps asking for directions. She pointed at Zoe and told me she needed to wear a hat. I frowned and just starred. Did she just tell me how to be a parent? It was cold yes, but not freezing. Zoe was wearing her snowsuit that has a hood but the hood was half way down. Zoe does not like to wear hats and I have given up, knowing that the time we actually spent outside on the way home is mainly in the stroller with a canopy and a hood that sort of touches her ears. I feel them once in a while and they are never too cold. (we have a similar problem with gloves but that is another story). I was not having a good day already so as the lady moved away I swore and said some very loud not so nice things in my native language. I kept thinking why people would think it is okay to come up and tell me such thing. In what situation would a parent (with a child in a snowsuit for crying out loud) need to know that the toddler also "need" a hat? Instead she added to my already existing bad-mommy feelings because I am not forceful enough to have Zoe keep her hat on (have you ever had a screaming child arch her back and pull so hard in the hat that it breaks?). Or the bad-mommy feelings that tells me that I am not patient enough to wait for Zoe to settle and realize that she need to have her hat on (do you have 30 minutes extra to just sit there explaining the reality of hat-wearing to a tired toddler?). In the end I just accepted the bad-mommy guilt and took Zoe to Systembolaget, the Swedish license shop where you buy alcohol. I let her have her own basket and she took little cartons of wine down from the shelves as we walked around shopping.