A break from Little H

In the autumn I got an invitation from a group of colleagues, too good to be true- A weekend trip to the Alps. Living at a “castle”, skiing , yodeling, wearing lederhosen while drinking weiss-bier - the works. How could I decline? Or why should I decline?


I failed to realize that I would have to spend four days and three nights without little H, or perhaps I just repressed the thought at the time as I was so fed up with colic, spit-up, smelly diapers and so on, that I forgot that 99,9 % of the time I love being with our little funny, up-to-no-good squealing little charmer.

Happy H

Well, I went and had a great time. I only cried once because I missed Little H and I did not call home more than 11 times, 9 to Pappa Kas and 2 to Granny B. You can check my phone-record if you want.
 I am sure little H did not miss me a bit. On Thursday she was in a café where they sold home-made chocolate in all varieties. Guess who took her there? On Friday she was chauffer driven up to her grandparent’s cabin together with Pappa Kas and a ton of necessary baby supplies to spend the weekend being spoiled in all possible ways.



Grandad G and Little H in the mountains



When I arrived home at 8pm last night Pappa Kas was already in bed exhausted by the fresh air, the cross country skiing, Little H and her shenanigans and probably of being confined to a cabin with his parents in-law for a whole weekend. Pappa Kas is the best, there's no doubt about it.

I sneaked into Little H’s room, watching her sleep, together with Lucy Liu and Lagonxu. I could barely restrain myself from stroking her face, her fingers and the patches of darkish hair on her little head and to wake her up.

I was home; I was with Little H, exactly where I was supposed to be. But I'm going skiing again next year (if I'm invited).




 Heading for a fall...