Da Stuff Arrives

Our stuff has arrived.

It felt like Christmas, but with two tall German Santas, maybe in their 40's, who came to the door 15 minutes earlier than the scheduled time to deliver the packages. One blond, the other dark, both wearing bright yellow reflective vests. I checked off the list of boxes as they came through the door, per their request. "26!" they'd say, and I'd check it off. "37!" and so forth.

After 68, or was it 70 boxes - there were more than I originally remembered - all were accounted for, and it had only taken 30 minutes. I asked them to open the wardrobe boxes, as I had to empty them before they left.

"I need to check if this is my husband's, or my clothes," I said, as the blond guy opened the top of one of the boxes. Out of the top of the box jumped a bright pink boa, a souvenir from my sister's bachelorette party. "I think this is mine," I laughed, "unless it's my husband's..." The guy laughed, and said with his German accent, "I hope not!"

I offered them coffee, but they had to go - they were next driving to Oslo, Norway.

The boys jumped up and down as we unpacked more, and more toys. I wondered what I'd been thinking, bringing that much stuff, but oh well.

Henrik got his Hobie and Shadow. Lucas got his LEGOs. I got my printer, label maker, Kitchen Aid, Trader Joe's crackers, and lots of other things. Mats got his big screen TV. I heard Lucas upstairs discovering his stuffed animal penguins, "Mrs. Schulz! Big Scratcher!" he yelled, as he greeted his old friends. (Mrs. Schulz is a penguin named after his kindergarten teacher.)

But, like Christmas, there is a come-down. We now need to unpack all these boxes and find places for everything. Henrik is looking for his small Curious George stuffed animal, which I have no idea if we packed. I try not to feel bad for him, he has a bed full of stuffed animals. With each box he asks me with sad eyes, "Did you find Curious George?"

With the unpacking of things from our previous home come memories of our friends and family who are still there. And I realize that they didn't come along with the physical things wrapped in brown paper.

But now I must go. Time to look for Curious George.

Waiting for Da Stuff

Before we left for Sweden, we had a bunch of decisions to make, and all seemed to have their pros and cons. The biggest decision, to move to Sweden, had finally been made, after only two or three years of vacillating. Granted, we counted ourselves lucky to have these options, but that didn't make the process any easier.

Should we:

Rent or sell our house in Ca?
Sell or ship our cars to Sweden?
Ship our furniture (most of it IKEA), or just our personal belongings?
Sell our remaining furniture and stuff, or get a storage unit?

We did sell our house, though we loved it, because we didn't want the transcontinental responsibility of an older home. We shipped one car, sold the other. We craigslisted most of our furniture and packed our remaining favorites in a small storage unit. And finally, we shipped our STUFF. 61 boxes in total, 21 of which were books and magazines.

We shipped it all about a month before leaving, and now, 2 months and 2 days post-arrival, our boxes are going to be delivered tomorrow, a Valentine's gift.

(Our car arrived 2 weeks ago, and the few boxes we were allowed to put in it were a welcome care package, including the mix for gluten-free cornbread we made the first night to celebrate.) Though I'm still puzzled why we shipped a random box of unsorted desk junk.

We've had endless conversations about our stuff. I've since forgotten everything we packed, or didn't pack, so when my kids ask, "Did you ship the talking globe?" my answer is, "I don't know, we'll see when the shipment arrives." (Although I'm pretty sure the globe is in storage. We'll have to pick it up this summer.)

I remember reading Waiting for Godot in high school, and thought this wasn't that much different. Except I think Godot never arrived. We did wonder if our stuff ever would arrive, as the date kept being pushed out. Henrik said, "I think our shipment is stuck in another world." I think he meant another country, as he'd heard us saying it had been in Germany clearing customs since before New Year's.

Lucas can't wait for his box of LEGOs and stuffed animals, Henrik can't wait to see Hobie and Shadow, his golden and black stuffed animal Labradors that were named after my mom's dogs of the same breed and colors. I'm 99% sure those are in there. I'm looking forward to getting our paintings, holiday decorations, our favorite food coloring-free candies, and whatever else it is I packed. Mats is waiting for his tennis shoes and most of his clothes, as we hadn't fully realized how long it would take.

I'm not sure where it's all going to fit in our townhouse without a garage, but we'll figure it out. Lucas says tomorrow we'll have a house made out of toys. He may be right.

Dark Days, Too

And then there was dark. And rain. And ice.

I thought it fitting to write about the dark since my last post was about light. It is dark here, especially when it's cloudy. And it's still mostly dark when I bring Lucas to school in the morning. Earlier this week we were on our way to school, and the wind was blowing. Henrik's bike slipped on the ice, and down he went, crying because the handlebar hit his side.

A Swedish woman walking by stopped to help, and by random coincidence, she'd been born in California. This didn't help Henrik, though, who refused to bike the remaining way to Lucas' school. Lucas couldn't go ahead because of the construction on Henrik's preschool. (They are building his preschool, right behind Lucas' school, and it should be ready in March. Not that I'm counting down, or anything.)

It reminded me of Alexander's No Good, Very Bad Day, a book I loved to listen to my mom read when I was young. In it, the little boy is having one of those days, and he keeps saying he wants to move to Australia. And his mom says, "They have bad days, even in Australia."

The day redeemed itself, though. On the way home, Henrik and I got to witness up-close the crane putting the last piece of the preschool pre-fab building together. That afternoon Henrik and I had a Mommy Preschool field trip downtown to buy some office supplies (my reward) and to visit the hot dog stand (Henrik's reward.)

And then the sun came out.

Northern Light

Whenever I told people I was moving to Sweden in December, I'd hear, "Be prepared for the dark!" Before we moved, I'd only been here in summer or late spring, so I didn't know what to expect.

We live in the very south of Sweden, where, in the dark of winter, the sun comes up around 8:30 a.m., and sets around 4:00 p.m. In the north of Sweden (above the Arctic Circle) it's more extreme, as they may only see an hour or so of light in a winter's day.

So many people warned me of the dark, that I wasn't prepared for the beautiful LIGHT. The snow helps, of course, but the sun's light is intense, blue-hued, and magical. I love it.

Dreaming in Swedish

I've had the book Dreaming in Hindi on my to-be-read list for a while.

I was reminded of it a few weeks ago when I was upstairs working, and I heard Lucas talking in his sleep. Usually I can't understand anything he says, it's more a jumble of words. But this night, what he said was very clear: "Titta här!" (Look here!)

I stood looking at him, and lay my hand on his head. He's dreaming in Swedish! I thought.

A Swedish Christmas - Dec. 24

For the past 13 years, Mats has celebrated Christmas with my family in California. We always talked about going to Sweden for Christmas, or having his family out to us, but it's a hard time to travel, and it never happened.

This year was the first time his family was all together for Christmas since he moved to the U.S., and the first time they got to celebrate with the kids.


We even hosted, for the first time ever. I always had romantic thoughts of cooking the turkey for the first time, but 1) I'm not much of a cook, and 2) we'd just moved in a few weeks before and I didn't want to hunt down a turkey in snowy Sweden. So instead, we had halibut. I think I'm happy to have that as a new tradition.


God Jul to all. And to all, a good night!

A Gingerbread Story (Late Dec.)

Nothing says a Swedish Christmas like a gingerbread house. And a warm mug of glögg, a sweet spiced drink.

Lucas and Mats engineered this year's creation. When I asked what the squiggly one was, Mats said it was the Christmas snake, of course. The boys loved this, and we've since had many discussions about the Christmas snake.


On Christmas Eve, we watched the traditional Kalle Anka (Donald Duck) program while viewing our nice gingerbread house. The Christmas snake, which broke into two, peeks out from the chimney. (As an aside, click here for a funny essay on Slate about the Swedish Kalle Anka tradition.)


After dinner, destruction and dessert.


We'll revisit this tradition next year.

Homesick (Dec. 20 - 23)

First, I couldn’t figure out how to open our front door. Mats had rung the doorbell upon returning from an errand. Lucas and I tried unsuccessfully to open the door to let him in - turns out the lock must be turned right, the handle pushed down, and the door swings out, not in, like in our old house. Lucas and I laughed at ourselves, but I was feeling a little dumb.

Then I tried opening a window upstairs. Once open, it locked and I had to ask Mats for help closing it. I was starting to feel frustrated. And helpless.

It took us a few nights and referencing the manual to figure out how to run the dishwasher. And the washer and dryer. Then the dryer stopped working.

But the final banana peel that broke the camel's back was the garbage. Wanting to execute a simple domestic task independently, I donned three layers of clothing, gathered up the three bags, and headed to the little garbage shed which houses the bins for our complex. At first I couldn't open the door, but finally managed to clear the excess ice and get it open. Once inside I couldn’t understand the writing on the cans, or which ones were for what type of garbage (household trash, food scraps, etc.) One said something about toothbrushes, diapers and shoes. I didn’t understand.

I figured it out by opening each bin, but at this point, I lost it and went home to cry. I wanted to tap my shoes and head home - back where I could read the signs. And where I knew how to dispose our trash. And all our recycling went in the same bin.

It lasted a few days: feeling blue, missing friends and my old home. The day before Christmas Eve, Mats suggested I go to town. "I think it will be good for you," he said. I looked doubtful. "What about the snow storm?" I asked. He said it wasn't a storm, just snow. So off I trudged to the bus stop and rode 15 minutes into town, solo for the first time.

I browsed stores with glowing candles and gingerbread hearts hanging in the windows. Everyone was doing final holiday shopping, the excitement contagious. I bought halibut from the fish market for our Christmas dinner. I visited the Lund cathedral, one of my favorite places on earth, and watched the prayer candles burn in the globe-shaped candelabra.

Tired, but satisfied from my little adventure downtown, I was making my way to the bus station when I realized I’d forgotten lemons and limes. Looking for a store, I saw a 7-11 on the corner. I don’t know which was more surprising – the fact that they have corner 7-11s here, or its decent produce section.

I joked with the cashier that I was speaking Swenglish as I said, "tre lemons" and "fyra limes." He laughed, and switched effortlessly to English, just as all the other cashiers had done that day. I said God Jul and turned to leave, but an old woman in line blocked my path, grinning so I could see a missing front tooth. "Merry Christmas!" she gushed with a heavy accent, "Happy New Year!" She smiled at me, a foreigner in her country.

We never know how much something we say, or do, can affect another person. This woman, an angel for the day, made me feel welcomed. And glad to be here.