Five

There are birthdays, and then there are BirthDays. Ones that need more than a cake and a candle, so to speak. Ones that
stop you in your tracks, forcing you to look back, take stock, evaluate how far you have travelled and put everything else
into perspective. Ones that make you realise that was you, then, not you, now, and so it will remain until the next big
milestone.  

For this once though, it wasn't a BirthDay of my own. No sweet 16 (aeons ago) or big 3-0 (which, as it happened, I
preferred to the decade before) or (God help me) 40 heralding the start of middle age.

Last week my biggest boy turned Five.

A gangly, skinny-Bean of a Five, all arms and legs but still that great big mop of hair. 
The last smudges of toddler chub have disappeared, sharpening the edges of both his body and his attitude.
There is an endless thirst for knowlege, paired an uncompromising refusal to have all but the last word.
Superhero powers, the fastest shoes and coolest toys, the wildest imagination, the snailiest of paces in the morning.

He stopped giving kisses at some point in the past year, I don't for the life of me remember when. Because you never know, when
that last time is really the last time, do you? 

But also a softness still, somewhere under the bravado and selective hearing. Big Questions prey on him for days,
disturbing his dreams. He will. not. sleep. alone and on the morning of his birthday he was bursting with cuddles as well
as excitement. There may no longer be smooshy kisses, but there are at least still clumsy, bony hugs. He loves colour and has an interest for materials that tickles me pink.

He cares more for his little brother than I could have hoped, and graciously accepts all the times I deploy him as Chief
Whinge Difuser. He has something nice, and different, and equally thoughtful, to say about every single one of his friends. 
He sort of whithers a bit without company, although his ability to concentrate on Making a Thing is kind of amazing. He's
all about the Lego, and God HELP you if you dare mix up the pieces. The guy who refuses to read the manual or ask for
directions? I don't think that will be him.

He didn't stop and think about any of this, of course; the only evaluating he did was of the number of presents piled next
to his plate at breakfeast. 

As for me, though?
Well,  five years ago I became a mother thanks to this one. 

The Bean + The Bug | November 2017

In August a friend of mine showed me one of those quotes, one of the many that pop up on facebook every day, but this one stuck. It was in Italian but it goes something along the lines of: There was once a calm and collected woman. Then she had two children. The end. 

They're certainly a whirlwind, these two, and I'm not going to lie: some days I feel it sweeps me up in an endless litany of wiping-soothing-cleaning-dashing-rocking-cajoling and I fear I may never land. We've had a lot to contend with lately, of course, a house move and a new school term that has gotten off to quite a rocky start for the big boy. That, combined with the small boy never sleeping more than a couple of hours at a time day or night, means it is often all too easy to look after, to go through the motions, but not to look at.

There is so much to observe though. More and more, I can stand back and watch them together. 5 minutes, maybe even 10, when they're just content to be in each other's company and forget I'm there. Mealtimes are a-okay with the Bug (who has such a love of food he's more of a big, fat beetle, really) as long as the Bean is providing entertainment. The Bean will get himself dressed in the morning, but only when he has the Bug's undivided attention. It's not hard. He always does. Oh to crawl, to crawl, small one; He's so frustratingly close-yet-far, but I've no doubt he will be the Bean's shadow soon. 

Sure, having a little brother has brought out a jealous streak in the big boy - one that we all have - but there a caring side too, a desire to protect, to make things alright, to just share the everyday. To show him life's small delights for the very first time. Loud toys, banging noise. Tickle attack, climbing frames (perhaps a little ambitious still!), the swings at the park. And yes look, observe: those giggles versus my sanity. It's not that hard a choice, really.

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I'm joining in with Lucy at Dear Beautiful, Donna at What the Redhead Said, Natalie at Little Jam Pot Life, Keri-Anne at GingerLily Tea, Amber at Meet the Wildes, Katie at Mummy Daddy Me and Carie at Space for the Butterflies for the Siblings Project.

Nikkim Milo

This summer the lovely Petra from Fru Valborg asked if I wanted to try some new cotton she'd be stocking in her webshop. Would I?! To justify yet more yarn parcels arriving when I'm not exactly small of stash, I asked whether she might be happy to provide enough for a couple of tops for the boys {altruism on my part, and all that}. She was, and this arrived:

Vinnis Colours Nikkim, a handdyed, hand-balled cotton produced by a fair trade, women's cooperative in South Africa. I've worked with this yarn before for a commission, and it's truly lovely. The colours are vibrant and enticing, while the cotton itself is much softer than you'd expect. Petra stocks lots of colours, and ships worldwide if you fancy giving it a try.

I decided to make another Sea Breeze Hoodie for the Bean in the "brick red" (because everything must be red at the moment) and "camel". Initially I had planned to make a mini Sea Breeze for the smallest boy in the "pacific blue" and "sand" shades for a bit of sibling non-matching matching, but my severe allergy to Making the Same Thing Twice put paid to that. 

I reached for a knitting pattern I had in my Ravelry Library but bollicksed up the first time: Milo by Georgie Hallam. I think it was the second thing I ever knit and as I don't fail gracefully, a second attempt seemed like a good idea. Luckily it went much better this time. It's a delight of a pattern, one I'd recommend to anyone with little people to knit for. The raglan increases are clever, the garter stitch is appropriately smooshy, the cables add interest. Best of all, there being no sleeves means it works up really fast. 

I had the whole thing done in about a week. The small boy looks so snazzy in it, in my completely biased opinion, that I might even be tempted to make him another in wool now the weather is beginning to turn. With a different cable, mind (the pattern provides no less than six). 

Disclosure: I was sent Nikkim yarn to try, free of charge. All images, words and opinions are my own.

Oof

What, dear people of the Internet, do you think might be the least restful way to spend the summer? 4.5-year-old, newborn, no daycare, lots of guests, a house move, a piddling amount of money, and ALL the rain? Check, check and check.

By the end of it the newborn was suddenly very much a Proper Baby in the throes of the 4-month sleep regression (if anyone tells you this is not a thing, they lie). The 4.5yo had grown out of 90% of his clothes, thought up a whole new arsenal of smart-ass responses, and discovered the joy of Grandmas With Deep Pockets in the Lego Shop. Then as soon as he was back in school, we didn't rest, no we did not. We packed like the wind between the hours of 9 and 2, then spent the afternoons making the most of the late summer sun who'd finally decided to make an appearance. 

The end of the summer, and I'm tired to the bone. I try not to wince at the memory of the many days I was shouty, cross mummy rather than the kind person I want to be. Try, because I think it's okay to cut myself some slack.

Because, no sleep.

Because, despite my grumpiness and the excess of screen time, sugary cereal, and constanstly being told to BE QUIET OR YOU'LL WAKE UP THE BABY, we've somehow ended up with the coolest, funniest of Beans who simply sasses through life.  

Because all four of us managed to get to Copenhagen for a wedding on one sunny day at the end of August, looking vaguely presentable and with no one losing their sh*t.  

Because the comedown after months of flat-searching, penny-pinching, and CV-churning has been more of a crash landing than a slow and measured exhalation (who, pray tell, manages those with two small people anyway, even in the best of circumstances?)

I am waiting for that slow, bumbling sense of contentment, somewhere in the crannies of my chest. I'm waiting to feel roots start to furl out of the soles of my feet. I always do on the cusp of Autumn, but this year there's more to it. We decided to stay in Sweden after so many years of meandering, which has nothing whatsoever to do with a summer spent building Lego or pulling silly faces at the baby perched on my hip, but everything with the hours and hours we worked behind the scenes, all year. All the nights I lay awake worrying, well before the tiniest person in the house decided to add his two-gurgles' worth.

We have a garden now, for the first time in almost 7 years. Woolly sock weather is on its way. And that is about as complex a thought as I am able to hold in my head at the moment. Oof. 

The Bean + The Bug | July 2017

It's not easy, this baby appearing in your home and being so utterly useless yet still constantly drooled over by everyone and YET STILL you're expected to just LOVE HIM. 

Almost three months in to going from one child to two, and it hasn't been easy. There have been times, days and days on end even, where our funny, thoughtful and spirited 4.5yo Bean has been a shadow of himself. I wouldn't have expected anything else, but it hasn't been easy. 

Still, I think it is getting better. As the Bug learns to coo, gurgle and giggle, the Bean finds it easier to relate to him. Yesterday the two of them set each other off on their very first totally-for-no-reason fit of giggles. The little one with that unsure, "I have no idea what my body is doing" look on his face, the big one shrieking and hollering but still with one eye one me that said "he's not about to cry, is he Mum?". But there they were: both laughing, colluding, full of real joy in each other. 

Having a sibling is getting better. The Bug's eager little eyes follow his big brother everywhere, that doesn't surprise me, but the the Bean, the Bean, sometimes I poke my head around the door and there he is. Soothing his baby brother, or trying to make him laugh. Reading him a story or bringing him a toy, wanting to interact somehow. Just as long as noone is looking. 

Having secrets even at this early stage, the two of them. Having a sibling might not be that bad, after all. 

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I'm joining in with Lucy at Dear Beautiful, Donna at What the Redhead Said, Natalie at Little Jam Pot Life, Keri-Anne at GingerLily Tea, Amber at Meet the Wildes, Katie at Mummy Daddy Me and Carie at Space for the Butterflies for the Siblings Project.

The dreams of a 4.5-year-old boy

There was once a little boy, of a generally sunny but also pensive disposition, who often struggled with bad dreams. Sometimes it was them darn zombies. His mama told him there's no such thing but, what do mamas know about these things anyway? And sometimes he dreamed his mama herself would leave, which was altogether worse. No amount of night lights or cuddly toys or dolly friends would make those dreams go away.

His mama said, I won't leave, I'll always be here for you one way or another. But she knew that words are sometimes not enough. So they put their heads together, and both agreed: a dreamcatcher. Because both knew, deep down, that the best way to soothe another person's soul is to give them something your own hands have made. 

Two old embroidery hoops, leftover cotton yarn, some feathers pilfered from the Easter decorations box. New beads though, because, well... Shiny things. Irresistible. 

And here is the result.

If you want to make a similar dreamcatcher, I was inspired by this one.

Two

"Don't wake up your brother!"

Said the Husband to the Bean.  "Your brother "?!

Crap, I thought. There's two of them.

Four years suddenly seems like a long time to get used to being a family of three. A good while since we did the newborn thing. An eternity to be the sole focus of your parents' attention. 

The jump from one to two children is, indeed, a big one.

A big but delightful jump, in many ways. Much of the Bug's personally is still unknown to us, but it somehow already feels like he was only ever here, making us a Four. This is unexpected, but reassuring.

It's also wonderful to see our two boys together. The little one still jerky and googly-eyed, but so obviously enthralled with the big one that he reserved his first quivering smiles for him. The result is far more than twice the joy.

For the big one the novelty of having a baby in the house didn't last long (like, all of three seconds), but he still likes to help by fetching the nappy or the dummy, and to prove to everyone that "he REALLY likes me the BEST, mum". The implication being, not you mum, of course.

Two boys. 

Two arms, one of me, just not enough when the little one needs feeding (again) and the big one decides he needs me to build him a(nother) paper aeroplane that very moment. But perfectly adequate in the middle of the night, when I am everything for both of them. Even if it means I'm often the only one who's not asleep.

Two o'clock, the time I now pick up the big one. Two hours earlier than I used to, because of Sweden's funny rules on parental leave and daycare entitlement. Two hours extra to spend at the park, for now, but goodness knows what we'll do in winter.  

Two boys, one day at a time. Sometimes an hour.

All the cuddles, big smiles and many, many tearful outbursts. 

Two little hands in mine. 

Two shrieks of laughter when the little one empties his bowels with the most spectacular sound effects. Usually when Daddy's back and I'm just trying to take five, and always when a fresh napy's been on for all of two minutes.  

Two bewildered parents whose paths occasionally cross to share battle stories, pretending-to-know looks and mini-win high fives. Although I think, admittedly, also two parents who are struggling to identify with one another, because it is easy to feel like you're circling entirely different orbits when one of you just watches the world go by with her boobs out all day every day and the other just feels like that world is speeding up underneath them, all day every day. Even Sweden's famously egalitarian parental system hasn't found a way around that one.

One row of crochet here and there: the bare minimum to stay sane.

One bag of laundry parked permanently in the hallway, although at least it is usually filled with clean things. 

Way more stuff than you'd think reasonably possible with only two children, especially when one is so tiny.

Two brothers who will hopefully share many more giggles and support each other through the tears. My two. 

The best laid plans

... don't involve babies. Or maybe they do, in a roundabout way; When I set out to MAKE ALL THE THINGS before Bug's arrival I assumed I'd only get a fraction done. Turns out that this baby is indeed snug as a bug. 

The Bean was nine days overdue, and back then the waiting drove me nuts. This time around I feel quite stoic about it, really. Yes, I'm aching and tired, I'm excited about meeting this little person, and I don't want to be clucking about for too much longer. But at the same time, when will I next get another chance to just potter, make stuff, snooze, snack to my heart's content? In about 2 years??

So I've been knitting/crocheting/sewing/sowing/nibbling all the things. 

I finished the Bean's Popcorn Vest and made a tiny Harem Romper. I made a Divided Basket for Bug's nappies.

I finally got around to sowing for this year's balcony garden. I started, and to my complete surprise, have almost finished a scrappy baby blanket. I've also started on a Benedetta Cardigan for myself but as it's in sock yarn (AM I MAD??) it is not almost finished. But fun. 

Then there's this one and his Daddy. We've been making the most of our last days as a Three, even managed to get out for our first beach trip last Sunday. It happened to be the day before my birthday too, and the perfect opportunity to celebrate. Sunshine, burgers, ice cream. It was a lovely day, and everyone was happy. 

And now we wait. 

When a Bean asks for Bobbles...

There's this (bought) knitted cardigan I've had for years. It's nothing fancy, but it's warm, soft, and has the right greyish blue colour that goes perfectly with the army of stripey t-shirts my wardrobe seems to consist of these days. I wear it so often it lives on the back of my desk chair for a good six months of the year. Nothing fancy, just a really good work horse cardie. 

Except this year, somebody noticed it. Somebody with, I am increasingly inclined to think, as much of a love for all things textured and woolly and patterned and coloured as me. 

This cardigan has bobbles going down each of the front panels.

"Mummyyyy?... I want a bobbly jumper too. Can you make me one?"

I'm getting this more and more frequently now. He looks at something - socks, jumpers, hats, bags - thinks for a second, then turns to me and asks, "can you make me one?". He used to ask me to crochet rockets or trucks and things, but now he knows. Mama has a gigantic stash of soft wool that can be turned into soft wearable things. 

And I, of course, cannot say no. For the pleasure of the making, the giving, the delighted look on his face, I absolutely cannot say no even if I still have ten other unfinished things. 

So I scoured Pinterest and Ravelry for bobbly knitting patterns that would work with a DK wool, thinking anything heavier wouldn't get worn anymore this year and anything lighter would just take too long to make. The Popcorn Vest by Studio Misha & Puff jumped out at me and stuck. I showed it to the Bean and he approved, then we picked a lovely emerald green DK in a wool/nettle blend by Onion at my local yarn store, and it seemed we were good to go. 

Unfortunately the pattern only covers ages 0-24 months. However, you don't number crunch for your own patterns on a regular basis for nothing, and so after a bit of swatching, head scratching, tape measuring and guess work I decided to give it a try. 

I've put the details on altered stitch counts, dimensions and so on my Ravelry project page, in case you're interested, but basically it turned out to be quite doable to size up. It's a bottom-up vest that is split for the arm holes and then seamed only at the shoulders, so the only things to really watch out for are chest circumference and armhole depth. I cast on, thoroughly loved all the popcorns, and gleefully cast off some two weeks later. It's a joy of a little pattern, it really is. 

I think I could have done with slightly more generous sizing, but I swear he's had a huge growth spurt in the time it's taken me to knit this. Because I started with the intention of leaving a wee bit of growing room, I really did, but now it fits perfectly. Which, when you're four, means it's already too small. Bother. 

Still, he is very happy. We swapped the i-cord tie for a toggle, and he is thrilled he can do it up (and undo it and do it up and undo it and...) by himself. I love the colour on him. He loves the bobbles. It's perfect for this time of year, when it's too warm for a full-on wool jumper but too chilly to wear cotton hoodies. 

As it's a really fun, fast pattern to knit, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to think about working out the next size up. Or the next five, just to be sure. 

The Little Swede

During a Skype call with some Milanese friends last weekend, it became abundantly clear: The little boy who was weaned on Grana Padano and tortellini, who preferred olives over baked beans and didn't try soft play until he was three, had forgotten every word of Italian he ever knew. 

It was inevitable, of course. The Bean was only 2.5 years old when we left Italy. Children forget as quickly as they learn at that age, and when we got here he needed to learn Swedish fast. He has, astonishingly so. He has changed in so many other ways too. Partly of course due to now being a Whole Four Years Old (which comes with special superpowers, don't you know, like running faster and jumping higher. Not being afraid of the dark may need to wait until Five though). But with so many changes to our environment and lifestyle too, it really was inevitable. 

Our Little Italian has, slowly but surely, turned into a Little Swede. 

Messy Hair, Don't Care

Gone are the severe crew cuts, sensible navy blue shoes and crisp shirts favoured by the Italians. Swedes strongly believe in a child's right to express themselves based on who they are, rather than on how society expects them to behave. Adulthood, on the other hand, is very much about conformity, but for now at least the Bean is free as bird.  Nobody would bad an eyelid if he went in to preschool wearing a tutu, and like many Swedish boys his hair is almost never cut. Rather convenient, this openmindedness, because he's decided he wants to grow a pony tail. 

Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes

I now struggle to believe it, but there was a time the Bean did not like potatoes. For 2 years he lived on pasta which had the sauce mixed into it (can you imagine!!!), big chunks of oily focaccia, platters of roast or cured meats, juicy peaches handed to him at our local market. Now? Meatballs. The blandest of cooked hams. The odd cucumber stick. Mountains of potatoes. Can you tell I struggle with this particular change? I have to remind myself: fresh, interesting produce is hard to come by in a country where nothing grows for six months of the year, and anyway the summers do make up for it. In Milan he would never have been able to go foraging for blackberries or go on a school trip to pick and barbeque corn. He now knows not only what elderflower looks like when it's ready to pick but also what to do with it. And in any case: he still appreciates a good olive oil and a chunk of Grana, but won't touch pickled herring. Thank goodness.

All the cosy things

I am not going to mention the H-word (because heaven forbid we over-use it), but with two Scandinavian winters under his belt our Bean has the pursuit of creature comforts down to an art. Soft blankets, handknitted jumpers, long afternoons spent doing nothing but watch films and play trains. It surprises me how sloth-like a 4-year-old can be, but the little face tells me he likes nothing more. 
And on a related note...

Layer up

We fought and fought at first, about the overalls and the wellies and the hats, but now even he knows that if you are going to venture outdoors in Sweden, preparation is everything. Our array of outerwear, all with subtly different levels of fluffiness, warmth and waterproofness, has become vast. Children spend a portion of every school day playing outside, with the lower limit in temperature being about -15C, I think. We have not had to worry about an upper limit yet. 
All this layering, in combination with a more gender-neutral approach to children's clothes, has had a fun side-effect: the opportunity to go really funky.

He picks his own clothes and I love watching how his mind works. At the moment it goes something like: Stripes underneath for warmth. Loud leggings (handmade by a friend of mine) for pizzazz. Soft t-shirt with fun print (this one is by Frugi) because, why not. Appropriate head wear to avoid upsetting your mother. 

Then when you are finally ready to get out there...

Get mucky

Perhaps the biggest change of all has been the Bean's attitude to exploring the outdoors. He still isn't that keen on getting wet. But now, see above. He practically has an armour at his disposal, and with he it he comes home covered in mud from his head to his tippy toes. My vaccuum cleaner doesn't like it much, but after so long sheperding him around concrete, smoggy Milan it makes my heart sing. 

In a few years' time the Bean will start proper school. An ordinary Swedish one, most likely, so I'm quite sure we will have an even more Swedish Swedish boy. Lord help us - just this morning he pointed out: "Mum, you can't say Swedish words properly".  Perhaps he will even learn to eat that herring?