My life in Hayes - Living and Breathing in San Francisco

You know you're in Sf when....

2009-12-20T07:12:00.000-08:00

.... you turn on to a one way street in your car and nearly hit a guy on a mountain bike playing the ukulele.

2009-12-18T21:01:00.001-08:00

It's a sign of times when I get a Christmas card from the realtor who leased our house to us more than two years ago.

Gym locker room conversation

2009-12-14T12:51:00.003-08:00

Two women in their later middles ages:
- So he needs more play-dates.
- I can imagine.
- He's not been around he's peers very much.
- That should be good for him.
- He's used to snatch things, and is not really behaving.
- That would all change with more interaction. Like my Randy. He's very good.

How sweet. They are talking about their grandchildren.

- Oh, Randy is good.
- Maybe we should swap.

???Swap kids???

- He could spend a few days with me, he will learn the ropes.
- That's not a bad idea.
- I trained Buster extensively. After that our home was changed. You have to keep him on the leash at all times at first, though.

Oh. They had me fooled there for a minute.
Dogs. Of course.

The Burberry terror of San Francisco

2009-12-14T12:51:00.001-08:00

While the climate conference is going strong in Copenhagen, the "I don't give a f***" attitude is alive and well in the wealthy and affluent Pacific Heights area of San Francisco when a middle aged lady is making phone calls from her car in a parking lot, while the engine is running. When I return 15 minutes later, she's still there, on her IPhone, engine running, not a care in the world.
I shoot her an angry look so she rolls down her window,.
- Is there a problem?
- Well, yes, actually, why don't you turn your engine off?
- Why? Does it bother you?
- Yes. It does, actually.
She shakes her head and returns to her phone call.
Engine still running.

And just like that, I have become one of those people who butt my nose in, but I don't care.

The rain brings out the worst in all of us, but-

2009-12-11T17:46:00.000-08:00

I take Holly to her ballet lesson, which is located right by the theatre and all the pre-show restaurants. It can get quite busy around there. To drop her off we use a sheltered drive-way exclusive to the school so students don't have to look for parking. Tonight it is raining and a Land Rover is blocking the drive way. I wait on the street, indicating to drive in. Nothing is happening.
I carefully tap my horn.
Nothing happens. Eventually, someone leaves the car and walks towards the theatre. Nothing else happens. I tap the horn again.
Another woman, all Burberry scarf-ed up so not to ruin her nicely done up hair, comes out and checks something in the boot. Goes back in the car. Still nothing.
Since I am blocking the lane for cars behind me, there is more beeping now. The woman comes back out, checks the boot again, paying no attention to anything else, and I honk again. She turns around and cries out: Jesus, Jesus, don't be so impatient.
Other cars are honking.
A skater guy walks past, looks through my window and shouts:
- Shut up, bi***!
To me.

Burberry woman walks off, umbrella and hand bag in hand and finally the car drives off.
So I'm impatient. We need to get to our ballet class on time (the ballet class that eventually, I might add, will present their students to the very theatre she is going to visit tonight) and they are illegally blocking a drive way, but still. If it hadn't been raining, if I hadn't had a cold, if I hadn't been home taking care of my sick 2 year old recovering from his cold for the last three days and if my daughter wasn't about to get late for her lesson, I might have been less anxious to get to where I needed, I might have given Burberry woman all the time in the world. Absolutley.

But in which parallel universe is it OK for grungy skater guys to but their noses in where it doesn't belong, mouthing of rudeness and general filth to women in cars?
During the cold rainy season, it is easy to fall out of love with this city.

Healtcare in this country is fantastic....

2009-12-10T17:59:00.000-08:00

If your child is sick outside of office hours, you call the pediatric after hours service, and before you get to talk to a nurse you pay $2.50 which will be charged on your credit card. So you better not call in an emergency as this takes time, and you better make sure you have a credit card.
Not everyone does....

Interim

2009-12-08T08:34:00.000-08:00

I haven't much time to blog right now, nor does anything exciting happen in my life.
I'll be back soon, though.
Meanwhile, enjoy:

Page turner

2009-12-03T21:58:00.000-08:00

I have just finished reading Sarah Water's Booker nomination The Little Stranger. Coming from the school of the Bronte sisters, I do have a soft spot for a good gothic novel and this one lived up to all expectations, it's probably the best novel I have read this year.
Please, please, if you have read it, email me - let me know if you came to the same conclusion as I did towards the end of the book!!! I need to know.

Dog days.

2009-12-02T20:35:00.000-08:00

Isn't it funny that we are experts on other people's kids and when it comes to passing judgement, we do so, loudly, visibly and without the slightest trace of empathy.
Finn has hit the terrible 2's with a crash and it is making my life pure hell. (Sure, I had it easy first time around, honestly - it was a breeze - so I guess it's my turn to feel the force of loud tantrums.)

The thing with tantrum's are, they don't usually make any sense, they have usually been set off by something completely irrational, there is no obvious reason for why they're throwing them - they simply do it to p**s us off - and if you've decided to be one of those parents who do not give in to every whim and fancy because you want to hold on to the very last crumb of dignity you might have, there is usually nothing you can do to make them go away (and by being that parent, you still loose the last crumb of dignity so it's a loose-loose situation anyway).

But whilst trying to deal with a tantrum in public is bad enough, what makes it even worse is that everyone around you will look at you as something the cat dragged around before leaving it to rot. They look at you with pity and scorn and it's written all over their faces: YOU'RE A BAD MOTHER.
In case you didn't already know it.

So as the kids eat their cheesy pasta at Pasta Pomodoro's, I nurse a glass of white wine since it is after 5 o'clock and I have had a dog of a day with my beloved 2-year old. I have tried to get him to open his mouth at the dentist whilst he's been kicking and screaming on the floor, making the nurse look at him and say: Really, buddy? Is that how we behave? and the turning to me: Why didn't you schedule a morning appointment? They're usually more co-operative then. (Spell it out: YOU'RE A BAD MOTHER!)
- I honestly don't think it would have mattered, I say, sitting in the dentist's chair with a bib around my neck to show my son how fun it might be to wear it while he is screaming NO! and throwing a toothbrush on the floor.
The dentist comes in and says:
- Maybe for his next appointment, you could leave a note at the reception that he has a short attention span, so I know.
She has already pointed out that it is wrong to let him go to sleep with a bottle, to use the wrong kind of tooth-paste, or no tooth-paste at all and that I shouldn't let him suck on his fingers (which he doesn't, but she's throwing it in there for good measure, just in case - YOU'RE A BAD MOTHER!)
- I did! I say. I checked every bloody box on his chart that read "anxious", "stubborn", "un-cooperative", "suspicious" and "highly strung".
Don't you read the bloody chart, I want to say (YOU'RE A BAD PEDIATRIC DENTIST) but instead I un-clip my bib and scoop up my son.
- This is enough for one day. We might be back in 6 months time.

So as I nurse my glass of wine and try to avoid getting my hand run over by a Duplo fire-truck, the whole place is enjoying the sound of loud, high-pitched shrieks from the 2 year old girl at the table next to us. She screams as soon as someone comes near her. She screams when her sister looks at her, when her mother tries to feed her and when the waiter brings her ice-cream. Her parent's try, very gently to tell her that "we need to use our quiet voice in here, other people might want to eat in silence", and all around them are other parents, all looking at them in shock-horror, raising their eye-brows and shaking their heads. As I meet the other mother's exhausted looking eyes I give her a reassuring smile, pointing at Finn and mouthing: "Him too. Join the club!"
She returns my smile.
So now we know there are at least two of us out there.
It's us against the rest of the world.

i get so tired sometimes

2009-11-30T11:51:00.000-08:00

The ongoing saga that is the minor, but annoying car crash a few months ago, continues.
Late Wednesday night I get a voicemail from the owner's insurance company asking me if I took the car to one of their collision centers for evaluation. After Thanks giving break I call them up to let them know that I did (communication within the company, anyone?) I also tell them, again, to get in touch with my insurance company for pictures before repairs since they themselves inspected the car after repairs.
All is good, we hang up.
The guy calls me back five minutes later.
- So you paid for the repairs out of your own pocket, ma'am?
- Yes, I did.
- We can't use your insurance companies pictures in that case, since they are not part of the claim. You have to take the car to our collision center.
- I have taken it to the collision center!
- You have?
- Yes! That's why I called in the first place. To let you know that I took it to the collision center, since they failed to inform you that I have.
- Oh, OK. I'll get in it the.

Dealing with monkey's springs to mind.

I'd like to say 'I told you so'

2009-11-20T11:20:00.000-08:00

So the insurance company of the owner to the other car (not the stoned driver) finally contacted me and said they were willing to pay for the damages, as long as they can take a look at the car first to inspect the damage. I explain that it has already been fixed, and that they will be looking at a brand new bumper instead of one that's been in a crash. I suggest my insurance company send over their photo's and estimate instead, together with the receipt for the work.
- We'd rather you go to our collision center, so we could take a look at it.

Sure. So I drive down to Harrison and 7'th (will I ever, ever be able to negotiate my way around the the one way system without ending up on one of the flyover's to the highway?) and wait for a representative from the insurance company. She takes one look at the car.
- Where's the damage?
I explain.
She's very nice.
- OK, she says. Since you've made you're way down here, I'll take a picture. To be honest with you, I'm surprised they told you to come in. They should settle this straight with your insurance guys.

I know. But it was nice to hear it from someone else.

From now on, I will not deal with time-wasters.

Happy day

2009-11-16T17:37:00.000-08:00

Finn's annual cardiology ultra sound went well today. Nothing has changed - which is a good thing. Everything is as it was a year ago, which means it hasn't changed with him growing.

Am happy, a little relieved and very proud, since he managed to charm the entire pediatric cardiology work-force - well done, my monkey!

North Beach by night

2009-11-15T14:58:00.000-08:00

Sean Penn was in Tosca last night.
Shame that he left just as we arrived.

PG rated?

2009-11-14T18:38:00.000-08:00

I don't understand why some people insist on bringing their babies to the cinema.
Even when we're talking Hotel for dogs - exactly how much is the nine month old next to me enjoying the movie? But today, not sure that the 2.05 screening of Precious was the right fit for an 18 month old.
Not even before she'd finished her Medium sized popcorn.

2009-11-13T13:52:00.000-08:00

Apparently, I subscribe to the Economist. It lands safely in my letter-box every Friday.
If I have to subscribe to something without paying for it, couldn't it be Grazia, instead?

Knit and purl, or knit and hit

2009-11-10T17:56:00.000-08:00

There is something about ladies who work in craft-shops, and I can't exactly put my finger on it, but they are either over-the-top nice, or they look at you as something that the cat dragged in. Often they can be hot-and-cold all at the same time, and they can switch moods, right there, in front of you, and you don't know what you've done wrong. It all takes me back to sewing-lessons in school, when teacher Gunny A taught the class how to knit. I was rubbish at it,I just couldn't make sense of the needles, and the yarn, and which finger to wrap it around, and how to pull the yarn through the loops - it was a mess! And as the tyrant teacher she was, she made fun of me in front of the whole class for the entire lesson, really viciously and spitefully mocking me, 9 years old, by calling me stupid, useless and pointing out that no good could become of a girl who didn't know how to knit. As homework I had to try to catch up over the weekend. As I have a mother who was a fairly decent knitter, I was lucky for a while. She not only taught me how to knit in one night - by the end of the weekend I had finished the whole damn thing (I think it was a Moomin doll...) and brought it back Monday, relieved, and not a little proud of myself.

Unfortunately, it only made matters worse. Gunny A was sure that a useless girl like myself couldn't have picked up the art of knitting over one weekend, it was impossible! There was only one explanation: I had gotten my mother to do the work for me. I had cheated! More mocking, more taunting in front of the class, and a time-out in the corridor, for the rest of the class (and man, that corridor where dark and cold, it being Sweden in the early 80's, and probably winter, too).

I'm at my local yarn-shop to get hold of some yarn for a top I am knitting for Holly. They are short one ball of purple yarn on the shelf, and I ask if they have more in stock. Nope. Can they order it for me?
- But we have this in a cherry yarn.
- It's not the same color.
She looks at me as if I don't really belong in her shop.
- We have 6 skeins if this right now, I mean.
- Aha. But my daughter really wants purple. She has chosen all the colors herself.
- I see! That's where we're going wrong!

To imply that I was in any way wrong is not the best move right now. Finn has been in a foul mood all day. He's played up in every imaginable situation, every minute of the day, so far. To push me, even with the tip of a finger, would equal mental break-down.
- Well, I do want her to wear it, when I'm finished, so the colors are kind of important, I explain in nicey-nicey voice.
She shrugs her shoulders.

Meanwhile, Finn is throwing his 27th tantrum of the day in a pile of yarns in a corner of the shop. It's only 1.30pm.

Yep - the "gyllene medelvag" is to split it down the middle, and somehow i still end up the looser

2009-11-06T15:02:00.000-08:00

.... I think. The guy from the garage calls me back. He tells me that he will only charge for the work I wanted to have done (which turned out to not be none, since they couldn't find any damage) and refund me for the work they did do, but that I didn't want done.
It works out that I pay about 75% of the total cost. And I still have to take it to another garage to have the tyres changed.....

Is it worth getting angry about? Not today. I'm too tired to get angry.

it's a strange thing when you pick up your car from the garage and they've fixed something you didn't ask them to fix....and still want you to pay

2009-11-04T21:56:00.000-08:00

It's been a long day, and I am really looking forward to tomorrow when I have to talk to the manager at Superior Auto about the fact that I shouldn't have to pay for work done to my car that I didn't ask to have done, while they neglected to do any of the work I actually needed doing.

Who said Swede's are dull people, eh?

2009-11-04T13:15:00.000-08:00

http://www.thefuntheory.com/

Smile if there's anything you want, please tell me how it feels to live in a million dreams

2009-11-01T20:11:00.001-08:00

When I was a kid the worst time of the year was formal portrait picture taking time. My mother would dress me up in itchy dresses and the stupid photographer would stand behind his camera, shake a toy bird around while doing some silly noises and then shout: Smile! Smile!! with a fake, high pitched 'aren't we having fun' kind of voice. It was awful, and I never quite got over it. (I made a promise to never subject my own children to the same torture, and have stuck to it so far.) School photo day was equally horrible. My mother still has some of the portraits on her wall. Horse face with her rabbit teeth. Although I think I look marginally better as a grown-up, looking at pictures of myself as a kid still makes me cringe. How is it possible to look so completely goofy? (The customary Swedish fashion in the 70's, with orange corduroy and wool ribbed turtlenecks you could fold eight times around your neck didn't help either.)
The portraits came out a disaster, without failing. My big front teeth pushed their way out of my mouth no matter how hard I tried to pinch my lips together. My husband can vouch for this: my smile is not one of my most becoming features. Without getting to Freudian about the whole thing, smiling is not my default facial expression. If it has to do with my face or plainly because I don't always have things to smile about, I don't know, but there you go: I am not a natural smiler. I have huge front teeth.

So one thing I never could get used to during my ten years in London was the impertinent and condescending remarks from strange guys on the street like "cheer up, luv, it might never 'appen", "it can't be that bad, luv" and the various variations of it, as: "g'is a smile, luv", or, "what's with the face?". If you want to make someone hit you over the head with their hand-bag, this is the best way to do it. If you genuinely want someone to smile at you, you need to rethink. Trust me.
When I moved across the pond, I thought I'd never hear it again. Ever.

Today, I went to Andronico's supermarket to get some food for dinner and when I get to the fish-counter, I ask for scallops and prawn, and get this reply:
- You can. If you give me a smile first.
As clear as a bright blue sky on a summer's day. With a nod that tells me that he really will insist on the smile, or he will put up a fight before he parts with any such sea-related food products.
Part of me wants to just turn away with a:
- Fine. Suit yourself.
Part of me wants to demand to talk to the manager about his staff harassing innocent customers as they go about their weekly food-business after a late night trick or treating with the kids with an added promise of never ever returning to this food store ever again.
But part of me is just to damn tired to care, and so, by moving the corner of my mouth, I give him a half-way smile and as I do, I feel those big front teeth push up against the inside of my lips again, wanting to get out in the open.

He was just trying to be friendly. I know. As was the guy at the check out counter who once ruffled my daughters hair until she nearly started crying, because he liked her curls so much. They are all trying to be friendly. But I am Swedish. Personal space is very important to me. Having the right not to smile and still get my fresh scallops nicely wrapped in brown paper without hassle is huge thing.
It doesn't mean I'm in a bad mood or a rude person. It just means that I was scared for life when I had my picture taken as a kid, alright?

Halloween hang over

2009-11-01T15:43:00.000-08:00

After a late night spent trick or treating on Belvedere Road and eating pumpkin soup until midnight we're taking it very, very slowly today.
Super girl and Tiny Lion are both taking a afternoon nap, and I am struggling to come up with something to write, except that it was a very successful Halloween. The displays on Belvedere were great, as always.

When we first moved to SF I didn't really see the point of Halloween. Just another commercial waste of a reason to spend money and be silly. Good friends invited us to come out trick or treating with them at Belvedere, and we all immediately fell in love, immediately. Now we are lucky enough to live within walking distance of said street, and we have no reason to go anywhere else.
I hope to spend many more Halloweens here. Maybe next year, I'll even dress up myself, who knows...

Happy 2nd birthday, Finn!!! I love you very much xxxx

2009-10-29T20:11:00.001-07:00

Sometimes we need to leave them alone

2009-10-28T13:32:00.000-07:00

In Alta Plaza playground, there is a small play structure in the shape of a train. You can spin the steering wheel, sit down by a little table, crawl in and out of the cars, and so on. It would be a great hang out for the youngest kids if the grown ups didn't insist on standing around it and intervene in the games.
- Good job, buddy.
- Wait your turn.
- Let the other boy try first.
- Great spin.
For every toddler, there is at least one adult manipulating every interaction. It is a micro environment of how we treat, raise and 'curl' our children on a daily basis; how we shape their games for them, solve their conflicts for them and wait on them hand and foot.
I tend to go against the grain. I am the ignorant parent on the bench neglecting my child and his needs.
God forbid he should have to play by himself for two minutes.

IheartSpotify

2009-10-23T09:46:00.000-07:00

I love Spotify!
Where else would I be able to listen to these oldie goldies:
Reeperbahn - Venuspassagen
Eggstone - In SanDiego
and, hmmm....
.... Freestyle.
Need I say more?

Apropos Freestyle, remember that late night Cosmopolitan nights dancing in the kitchen to Freestyle and singing to Ratata?
One of my fondest memories of Muswell Hill, when the kids are sleeping and the husbands are either working late or travelling.
When you are glorified housewife you do need your girlfriends, that's for sure.

Preparations to meet a swine flu outbreak continues

2009-10-21T18:57:00.000-07:00

They call from Finn's pediatrician to confirm his two year check-up.
- Remember, they tell me. If he's ill, coughing or has a temperature you have to cancel your appointment.

And here I was thinking that you go to the Doctor in case you were ill.