A Fig in Sweden Portland

thank you, laxvik

For a few hours on a sunny Saturday, we could forget about her 4:30 wake-up time lately...

good life. good design.

The packaging designer-wannabe in me was very happy to see the new look of the ICA Gott Liv line. These fun illustrations were done by Swedish illustrator Klas Fahlén, who also illustrated the IKEA book Beloved Homes.

Click on any of the images above to see them in motion on the ICA website. 

(Images from ICA website)

24 hours on the road, 130 pictures taken and a few pounds to lose

We're back from a great extended weekend in Wiesbaden, Germany, for some Meema and Poppy time. The crappy weather we've been having in Sweden followed us down there, but we did manage to have some sunshine for the Saturday farmer's market and a Sunday trip to the Frankfurt Zoo. A certain 2-year-old smiled and giggled for 4 days straight (with only 2.5 toddler fits!)

Note to self: Do not point out beautiful stuffed ducks to a happy baby at dinner, unless you want her to look over her shoulder at the thing the rest of the night, throw tantrums and refuse to eat.

just call me J. Ginny

I made two important fashion discoveries while shopping with two girlfriends in Malmö this week. One was Gudrun Sjöden – fun, feminine, ecological clothes from Stockholm. The chain is limited to Scandinavia right now and reminds me of an ethnic version of Anthropologie.

While we were walking down the main shopping street, two girls in colourful outfits handed us cute floral canvas bags. We thought perhaps they were Hare Krishnas who were going to ask us for money. But, no, they were just happy people publicizing the reopening of the Gudrun Sjöden boutique in Malmö. The ploy worked. Amy thought that I might like the clothes (read: mom clothes), so we checked it out. She was right. If I hadn't just forked over too much money for a cute organic mom dress from Denmark's Jackpot, I could have easily walked out with some new Gudrun threads, such as the skirt and tights above.

Which leads me to my 2nd discovery, which is really more of a revelation: my age-appropriate taste in fashion (read: mom clothes). How did this happen? Was it becoming a mom at age 37, being promoted to "management" or living in Scandinavia for 5 years? Or maybe all three?

My friends, who are 10 years younger than me, were not looking at Jackpot dresses and probably would not have gone to Gudrun Sjöden if I wasn't there. Inside the store, the clientele was definitely more 40+ moms than 30-something fashionistas. (Yes, Amy is a mom. But she's a really hip mom.) 

Anyway, it made me think back to my style preferences before moving here. When I used to make fun of women who shopped at J. Jill – the epitome of mom fashion to me. Today I checked out the J. Jill website and instantly fell in love with three dresses, shown below.  

I turn 40 in a few months, and I've decided to embrace my mom fashionista-ness. Oh yeah... gonna work those mom clothes!

 
(photos: J. Jill)

pulling "a tilly"

Our dog and our child seem to have one trait in common: they act as if something is seriously, seriously wrong until a doctor or veterinarian walks into the room to examine them. One time Tilly was semi-paralyzed and couldn't jump into the car. After Lewis rushed her to the vet, she pranced around the place like a little princess. The vet even asked Lewis, "Are you overly worried about Tilly's health?" 

I think the surgeon at Växjö hospital was thinking the same thing about us with regards to Sophie.

She woke up Saturday, ate breakfast, drank juice, ran around the dining room... totally normal. Then I took her upstairs to get dressed. In a span of 10 minutes her whole demeanor changed. When we came back downstairs and Lewis saw a crying Sophie he asked what happened. I have no clue, I said.

That was probably around 9 a.m. For the next 2-3 hours, she cried hysterically and was inconsolable. She didn't seem to have a fever, so that made me less worried. But still it was strange. The only other time she behaved like this was when she was 4 months old and we had flown to the U.S. On Day 2 of our trip the jet lag caught up to her and she was overtired. She screamed for 2 hours before calming down. But this time we couldn't think of anything that would have caused her to be so overtired. Still, we thought perhaps a walk in the stroller could help her fall asleep if that was the problem. Sure enough, she fell asleep within 15 minutes. While she slept in the backyard, I ran to the grocery store. I came home and saw Sophie and the stroller gone. I walked in and saw lunch had been served, but not eaten. And then I heard the screaming again. Lewis said she had been this way since I left.

I said, "That's it... get her down here. We're driving to Växjö."

As I've mentioned before, the nearest hospital is 45 minutes away. Our town has one ambulance. If someone else is using it, you're out of luck. This is the one thing I don't like about living where we do. Normally I would have taken Sophie across the street to our town clinic. But on weekends, the emergency room is the only option. So we decided to just head in that direction.

I sat in the backseat with Sophie and could see the panic in Lewis' eyes as he kept looking back at her. She was still screaming. It seemed like maybe her stomach was in pain because every time she cried she flexed her feet. Eventually her eyelids got heavy and she fell asleep. Lewis parked at a Max Hamburger so she could keep sleeping while I ran and got us two veggie burgers (very tasty, I might add!). We'd wait to see how she was when she woke up before deciding to go to the emergency room.

When she woke up screaming, we made a beeline for it.

The hospital personnel were equally concerned about Sophie. They were talking "stomach surgery" and had to call some poor pediatric surgeon in who was probably out enjoying his Saturday with his family.¹

We waited, and waited, and waited in a small children's exam room for about 2 hours. By that time she was calm but still not herself. Then about 10 minutes before the guy showed up, Sophie started interacting with the toys in the room. The surgeon walked in on a bubbly child. He examined her and said he was not concerned at all. She seemed fine. In my head I was thinking, "Go ask the nurse who checked Sophie when we got here... she thought she was bad enough to need stomach surgery!!!" He was very nice, and even said that if we weren't comfortable with his assessment that Sophie could stay overnight for observation. He said, "We always have room for young children."

No. I was happy with his diagnosis. Honestly I'd much rather look like an overly worried parent than watch my peanut go under for stomach surgery.

¹ In hindsight, I wonder if this is some sort of Swedish scare tactic to dissuade repeat offenders?