Winter has arrived and with its cold and snow comes the challenge of maneuvering out-and-about with Little H in her pram. It is hard work, and could suit as a new discipline in the Winter Olympics. Imagine slalom, downhill etc. with prams. Just think of the entertainment value!

Either the snow is not removed from the pavements so you are pushing the pram through the snow and sleet (while swearing), or the snow has turned into ice and you slide sideways.

A few days ago we had planned to go Christmas dress browsing for little H together with another mummy and her little one. She had already seen a dress for her daughter and was determined to get it, while I just wanted to have a look. I had not really thought of a Christmas outfit for little H, more a full plastic cape/ bip construction to try to avoid porridge in all possible places, but its fun to shop! – if you can get to the shops without too much hassle that is.

Cheeky H

On the morning of our big shopping excursion we woke up to a couple of centimeters of sleet and snow. As sporty mummies we agreed to challenge the elements and go anyway. My main reason not really the shopping, but that I really need to shake the muffin top before the festive period with all its temptations start. How can I deserve my coffee treat if I take the car 4 km to the city centre? There’s no other option than walking.

Well, we ended up having a really nice day, browsing the shops for small dresses and having a good chat about the things that mummies talk about; snot, type of porridge, passing wind and how to avoid poo sneaking out of the diaper and up the back. We’re talking about the babies’ here-not us. We also felt very brave and we had truly deserved our coffee treat.



Imagine Pappa Kas' matching tie

 No dress was bought for little H that day, but I saw a puffed sleeved taffeta creation that her grannies would be delighted with. I am not sure I can find an outfit to match though, neither a tie for Pappa Kas...

After the experience of pushing through the sleet, working hard not to swear out loud, I decided to swap the wheels around and put the small loose ones at the back for sturdier bigger fixed wheels at the front of the pram.

Good idea, it worked a treat, until the day after when the road had turned into ice. I was sliding down the hill towards the baby swimming class (how yummy is that!-baby swimming), losing all control. On the way back home one of the other mummies said that it looked as if I was drunk “driving/pushing” the pram as I was sliding around so much. I have now put winter wheels for Little H’s pram on my Christmas wish list, so until the 25th of December (I hope) we’ll have to take the Super Car and swap to boring small non fat lattes instead of the usual “double chocca mocca”.



There's always an excuse...

One morning earlier this week little H and me were preparing to go to our weekly mother and child pilates class. We were running late (what a surprise) and I was determined to take the new Super Car.

As Pappa Kas will confirm I have been postponing driving alone with Little H in the (Super) Car for weeks.I have made many excuses some more silly than others, but for me walking 8km with the pram to get some exercise instead of taking the car is a very valid one. The muffin top needs to be shaken now and then, and especially now when the festive season is coming up.

The excuse for not making Pilates on Tuesday, the REAL one, I promise, cross my heart, was that I could not get the garage door open. Seriously, I could not open the gate. It was really stuck. I have seen Pappa Kas do a hit and push trick earlier, but not bothered to learn it. But now when I also realized that the garage door was the portal, not only to a comfy mode of transport in icy weather, but also the gate to warmth and coziness- all our firewood is in that garage, it became more important to be able to get hold of the treasures.
No firewood to snuggle in front of the fireplace, no car to drive to pilates? What to do? I sent a message to my fellow pilates mummies and told the truth – car, garage, stuck, impossible – but also: “coffee after the class? We’re out walking anyway...”. A bit shameful we arrived at the café before everyone else, so when they arrived, smug after downward dogs and baby massage, it looked like we had been sitting there all morning. I promise we had just arrived; the half drunk decaff-Soy-mocca in front of me must have belonged to someone else…

Ambitions

When planning for maternity leave I had many highflying ambitions. Early on I tampered with the idea of studying for a Masters Degree, but after having talked to some of my friends ahead of me in the family game, I put that one on the shelf- at least for now.

Then I looked to other rookie (yummy) mummies out there and then random internet mums, colleagues and friends were spied on to find out what they were doing while on this year long holiday. Holiday my a**, I have never been so busy!

I was aware of the nesting period while pregnant, had heard about redecorating living rooms and new kitchens, but suddenly die hard party vixens became domestic goddesses knitting socks, making home-made crisp bread and writing blogs… Well, this seemed achievable, so this is where I have set my ambitions. So far I am struggling somewhat, but practice makes perfect and I still have five months to go before Pappa Kas becomes a Domestic Daddy.


Ambitious fellow citizens of Drammen:

Ambitions - Donkeyboy

Enjoy!

The Castro-Nyhus family takes a road trip

We have finally bought a ”proper family car” as Pappa Kas calls it and we are now the proud owners of an Opel Astra, twelve years “younger” than the previous one, no kidding. All I can say so far is that the car is nice and shiny, the seats a bit hard, meaning not so worn out as in the old one, and I am not ashamed of driving it. Our neighbour the carsalesman must be pleased. We have been a shame for the neightbourhood carpool for years, on the other hand, we did not buy the car from the neighbour, so perhaps we’re still in the bad books.

To test the new wonder, we decided to take a proper Sunday trip like we used to do on random Sundays (the ones not spent cross country sprinting) when I was growing up.We invited Little H’s Great Grandparents along and off we went. We speeded down the highway towards Tønsberg, the oldest city in Norway, which has a nice pier and a charming city centre. The sun was out, however the temperature was a little bit on the chilly side, but Little H was behaving and the Great G’s were in good form. We were all set for a nice day out and about.



Great Gran Laila, Great Granddad Magne and the girls



After cruising down to Tønsberg we parked and went for a walk, with a proud Great Gran in front pushing little H in the pram. I was glad to get some assistance as it was cobbled streets all the way, and also quite a few shop windows to browse in. Mental note to self; check out the shops in Tønsberg for the post-Christmas sale.

Talking of fashion; With Little H’s generous sharing of left-overs, yes, the spit up continues, I have now decided that if I buy something new it has to cost a maximum of 150 NOK and be washable on 50 degrees Celsius. Obviously this does not apply to shoes. How I am going to get a Christmas-night-out outfit within those guidelines, I am not sure. Perhaps exceptions can be made for past bed-time wear? Oh, that sounded naughty, let me rephrase: for me to wear on social occasions after Little H has gone to bed, - not that much better...

Back to our Sunday trip; We walked around for a bit hunting for a decent coffee and the possibility of a sweet bun, and found this charming little coffee shop Bare Barista, really sweet staff, nice coffee and home- made cakes and pastries. Pappa Kas’ order was: “get me anything with chocolate” (as always), and as the dutiful wife who knows him well, I made sure he got his daily (over)dose with a piece of a deliciously looking dark chocolate cake and a hot chocolate to drink.
 It was very close between the tables and I sat in constant fear of Little H throwing up in the hair of the lady on the table behind us while Pappa Kas had her over his shoulder to trigger her burps (he must like to challenge faith). If I had held her, I am sure that there would have been a dry-cleaning bill coming my way courtesy of Little H’s well timed wet burps onto some charming well meaning lady’s cashmere.

Choc Shock

When I caught Pappa Kas spoon-feed Little H with lukewarm hot chocolate, it was time to return to the car before the little angel got enough sugar to fuel her high pitched high energy screaming.

Sweet Great Gran proudly pushed little H back to the car, while I had a final browse trying to remember where the good shops were for next time.

In the car on the way home Great Granddad was eager to share his extensive local knowledge of people and places with the younger generations. Pappa Kas listened attentively and nodded at the right places, taking it as a lesson in Norwegian history as we drove the scenic route Great Grandad pointed out and named large and small farms, distant relatives’ summer houses and other places of interest. Sadly neither myself nor Little H got all to take in all of this locale knowledge as we were deep asleep in the back seat…

Getting back to "normal"



Chipirones



It has taken us a while to settle and get back to normal after our recent trip to Spain. We normally return with our suitcases full Tupperware filled with home-made Basque cuisine, such as squid in its own ink (Chipirones), Cod in green sauce (Bacalao ala Pil Pil) and baby eels (Gulas).

Since our freezer is broken, we could not bring all of Sergio’s favorites and settled for more widely enjoyed delicatessen such as Chorizo,different hams and Manchego cheese.
What we had of extra space in the suitcases, where my wine bottles were supposed to be, was this time stuffed with Little H’s presents. I managed however to force in a few bottles and thanked the airlines for the extra kilos you’re able to bring when you are travelling with a toddler.

Now, six days after our return I am trying to recap what has happened since we were picked up at the airport by very eager Granny B and Grandad G, who had abstinences from not having seen Little H in two weeks, and cut their holiday one day short to greet us at Gardermoen. I am forever grateful, not only for picking us up, but for stopping at a petrol station in the middle of nowhere so that we could give Little H food to see if that could stop the high pitched “singing” from the back seat. Worked a treat.

 Monday was spent unpacking. On Tuesday we were back in Pilates, ran into class as the last one as usual, had timed the feeding wrong, so spent most of the time giving little H the bottle while watching the others do push-ups, some while breastfeeding. I am still amazed by the multitasking of the other mummies; I can barely give the bottle and wiggle my toes at the same time.

After the class I was tempted by an invitation to go for lunch, but not sure that I could join in. Reason being that Granny B had offered to take Little H for a couple of hours so that I could do some housework. How could I go to Condelica with the yummies and their angels without my own little H? The temptation proved too strong and after the hand-over to Granny B, I jogged to the café where I joined the others. I was not sure I would be allowed to enter without a pram, but I managed to sneak in and order my usual, but I definitely felt stares in my back and heard fragments of whispering. Some of the words I am sure I deciphered were: “without, shame, here at this hour, dare”. I will never go back alone.

Little H loves Porridge

Here's another small video for family and friends.

I guess not everyone is interested in seeing little H eating porridge, but it is quite fun- promise.

Two weeks visiting the small Basque town of Elorrio, where  Pappa Kas was born and raised, are nearly over. Hanna has met about seventy-three relatives, thirty-one of Pappa Kas’ closest friends, twelve neighbours,  eleven ex-neighbours, forty-five colleagues and friends of various relatives, ninety friends of friends, and about seventeen unknown ladies who has randomly hovered over the pram at some point to admire “La chica mas guapa del mundo”. She has also proudly been introduced to the Major (who also was our wedding photographer).

Despite all the wonderful hospitality and her minor celebrity status, I think that it is time for Little H to go home and get a change of environment. She is getting very spoilt, and I am starting to suspect that some of her closest relatives are having a bad influence on her.

Over the last couple of days she has started squealing like a cat in distress quite randomly and often in not so appropriate situations, for example when being on a show-off stroll around the town square with Amama/Granny Socco.

On Wednesday it got so bad that Pappa Kas looked at me early afternoon and said: “Please go and get us some aspirins- I can see that you are coming down with a head-ache and mine is already here” (how considerate is he? – He’s the best). Then Little H had been “at it” for what felt like hours, and we started to think that the neighbours might call Pet Rescue to report animal abuse. On this “new talent” we blame Tia Eli. I do not know how she has done it, but her and Little H was rolling around on the floor one afternoon when the high pitched screaming started, and ever since, especially when Tia is close, Hanna’s “chat” increases both in volume and intensity, and transforms into these horrible shrieks.

One of the other special traits she has picked up in recent days is to point her tongue as far out of her mouth as possible and wiggle it in a variety of ways to many a young relatives delight and to her mothers embarrassment. We can blame no other than Tio Ini. Every split second Little H and Tio spend alone they are up to no good. I just know it. Uncle’s are always teaching their nieces naughty tricks and he is no different. I am sure that behind my back he is constantly pointing his tongue to little H and teaching her all kinds of grimaces.


Other things I would like to blame someone with, such as always peeing when naked, the constant drooling and nasty smelling spit-up, the snoring and so on, I am afraid I have no one else to blame but myself. Everyone says Little H looks exactly like her mother as a toddler, unfortunately she has not only inherited the blue eyes and heart shaped face but most of my not so charming baby-traits as well. It is only normal that some of her mannerisms come from the other side of the family….


NB! The video below is only for the ones with a special interest. Two minutes of Little H "making conversation" with Tia...

Little H learns who's boss

Hanna is throwing admiring glances at her 

slightly older cousin June...

Little H: "Hola June, nice to finally meet someone at my own age!

               This lunch is a bore, don't you agree?"

H: "Ai, don't take my dummy. use your own"·

J: "Look Ama, let's show little H who's boss"

H: "Aaaaaa, give it back"

J: "Are you talking to me, eh? U talking to me?"

The Castro-Nyhus family goes south

The day was finally upon us when we were going to Elorrrio in order to show off Hanna to our Basque family and friends. We booked the tickets back in June, when October seemed so far away, but here we were.

We, or I to be precise started packing several days before, well ahead of schedule. Normally I pack two hours before leaving the house, but now, trying to be a responsible mother and wife, I was eager not to use the iron to dry my jeans with the airport taxi waiting outside – not that something like that has ever happened.

Apparently I did such a good job with packing my own and Little H’s stuff that I had to pack for Pappa Kas as well. He did a last minute check and most of the items I had chosen was approved, and I as the fashion police did not have to veto against any changes in the outfits choosen.

The day of our departure arrived and little H seemed in great spirit, unaware of the long and strenuous journey awaiting her. She had presented us with less spit-up than normal and her morning delivery was already done, so we hoped that the two changes of clothes we had in the hand luggage would be sufficient for the travel ahead.

Ten minutes before the taxi was due to arrive we were lined up outside the house with bags, suitcases and Little H. And I was thinking that if travelling with a toddler is going to make me plan ahead, pack smarter and be ready on time- bring it on! I'll take Little H on city breaks once a month. Pappa Kas can come if he pays...

Needless to say the travel was not such a breeze. I will not go into details, but here is a lesson learnt:

A carry-on bag for necessities (book to read on the plane, glossy magazine, water, fruit, a delicious sandwich and a small bag of toiletries (essential travel stuff: 8 hour cream, hand cream and Multi vitamin Recovery face mask and, and, and… )is no longer required.

Bring instead:

A large canvas bag containing: wet wipes, dry wipes, cotton wipes -WIPES! More babyfood, diapers and changes of clothes than you can ever imagine (do not forget an extra change for yourself as well as for the small one) pain killers (for when your stress related headache sets in) energy bars for food on the move and change in various currencies for shots of espresso whenever the opportunity arises. God forbid that you forget the small annoying toy which plays music as soon as anything gets near it. You get the drift...

Well, we arrived in Elorrio after having taken 1 taxi, 2 trains, 1 bus,  2 transport buses out to the planes, a stopover and flight change in Frankfurt.

Now a few days and a few bottles of wine later I am trying to convince myself that travelling with Little H was not so bad. I need to get home again - right?.. 

Goes bananas - the domestic way

Happy Hanna

I have many talents, and I would like to believe that some of these are domestic. Sadly cleaning, polishing and ironing are not amongst these, but I can bake… So the question is – can baking be seen as house work?

Instead of using my extra energy on dusting behind the bed, cleaning toilets or scrubbing the kitchen floor, I tend to bake, believing that I am doing necessary domestic duties that way. Pappa Kas craves his buns as much as I do, so a devoted house wife prioritizes.

This weekend was no exception. Friday afternoon I discovered banana-flies hovering over the fruit bowl. Upon closer inspection three bananas were turning from yellow to dark brown, and were heading for the compost bin almost all by themselves. Would I help them on their way to become reincarnated as plant fertilizers or was there another alternative?

Then I remembered back to our Glasgae days when even dark brown ethanol smelling bananas could be an ingredient in delicious dishes for a recently graduated poor student. Banana loaf! I could not remember the original recipe, but after a quick search I found a slightly more complicated recipe than the one I used in my younger days, but this is absolutely delicious and moister than the one I used to make.

If you want to do like me- here’s the recipe: low-fat-oatmeal-banana-bread
 On Sunday I made apple cake to avoid the ironing, but that’s another story.

Trude