You can look all you want but...

A room without a view

I’ve been racking my brain for weeks to come up with some advantages to winter weather. It’s an attempt to balance all the moaning I do about the snow.  Well, besides the obvious savings on suntan lotion and grass cutting, one big advantage of winter over summer is increased privacy.

It’s not that I suspect any of my elderly neighbours to be peeping toms or tomettes but if they were, winter woud leave them wanting. There’s nothing like a wall of snow around one’s house or a metre of it banked up in front of your windows to put a stop to voyeurism. Not that anyone over 30 in this house ever takes all of their clothes off at one time at this time of year. It’s so cold, at times, we have to shower in our thermals.

Roll on spring. I feel like getting naked.

The swing at sunset

Parenting 101

Once upon a time, I created posters with titles such as 'The Viscoelastic Properties of the Nucleus Pulposus' and presented them at the Royal College of Surgeons in London. This weekend, I've made - er, I mean I've helped D1 make -  a poster entitled 'Aztec Children'. Interesting titbit of research the almost eight-year-old turned up:

AZTEC PARENTS WERE VERY STRICT. IF THEIR CHILDREN MISBEHAVED, THEY PUNISHED THEM HARSHLY. PUSHING CACTUS SPINES INTO THEIR SKIN WAS ONE FORM OF PUNISHMENT. ANOTHER FORM OF PUNISHMENT HAD THE PARENT HOLDING THE CHILD OVER A CHILLI PEPPER FIRE AND FORCING THEM TO INHALE THE CHILLI PEPPER SMOKE.

Well no cacti around here, I'm afraid. Not even a blade of grass to be seen. But hey, pass the chilli pepper while I try and remember what viscoelastic means.

How big is YOUR snow hill?

I've always been very competitive. That's what's got me where I am today......(picks herself up off the floor after 30-minute fit of self-pity/self-ridicule). 

So i thought you might wanna see my hill. Is it as big as yours? 

P.S. For anyone who has wondered - hey who hasn't? - what happens to the snow the snow plough man moves out of the way, well here's your answer. It's on my doorstep. Can't wait until Spring (current estimate May) when it will melt and form the swimming pool the girls have been asking for since we left South East Asia.

Essential Shopping List

Calpol
Lemsip
Marie Claire
Vanity Fair
Cadbury's Creme Eggs and Caramels
Four bottles of duty-free wine

The list I sent with hubby to Scotland. Never had trouble getting any of these things in the third world. ( I KNOW I could pay a small ransom for Marie Claire here, but I won't).

It's Double Dutch

On Monday, I took the little man for his two-year check at the local health centre. It was an occasion worthy of getting up extra early to wash and dry hair, and to wear something other than ski pants. That was me; little man got to keep the ski pants and bedhead.
After waiting 15 minutes at the girls' bus stop where it was -16 degrees celsius, I had a tingling feeling on the tip of my nose which I swear was pre-frostbite. It's no wonder the girls have been asking why we can't wear balaclavas. Mmm, good question. It's not as if aesthetics have affected Norwegian winter clothing design up until now. Why stop at sheepskin hats with ear flaps?
I digress. The health visit was hardly worthy of my extra grooming. After 10 minutes of talking to the health nurse and claiming little man's bilingualism while he sucked his thumb and played mute, we were were done. Half the inhabitants of western Oslo were still sitting on the E18 motorway, and we were done for the day.
This meant we were home in time to receive my lovely Irish friend who was out for a walk. OK, my slightly crazy friend from Cork who thinks that it is reasonable behaviour to voluntarily walk outside in temperatures below -10. The little man didn't take long to warm up to her, and even managed to extract the thumb from his mouth long enough to speak.
I guess though, one mother's version of bilingualism can be another's gobbledegook. 'Is that English or Norwegian he's speaking?' she asked. Hmph. At least my hair looked nice.

The real Ireland

My emotional attachment to Ireland has grown over the past few years at the same rate as my hair has greyed. The two may or may not be related. However, whatever my misty-eyed view of the ole sod might be, I've few illusions about the reality of growing old, or being ill, or both, back home. Even with private health insurance, staying alive in Ireland is an expensive and challenging business. A recent opinion piece in 'The Irish Times', written by a former expat who returned from Canada to dance with Celtic Tiger, has confirmed what I suspected.

Misery of the returned emigrant

Will it ever stop snowing?

Our 'sun terrace' several centimetres ago. No wonder Russians kill themselves with vodka. Pass the bottle.

Question of the day

Today's question comes from my six-year old and was asked after she knowingly informed me that 'some people have children even if they're not married'.

Q. How do you get a baby when your married, I mean how does your tummy know whether you're married or not?

A. er

Thankfully she spotted a super duper sledging opportunity as I mulled the question over, and forgot about it - for the moment.