Dopfuntad?
Vi har sedan länge varit överens om att inte döpa vår son: ifall han vill bli ateist som far sin, eller behovskristen som jag, får han själv bestämma när den dagen kommer. MEN. På sistone har jag börjat vackla lite… Av två skäl: festen och revolten.
För några dagar sedan var vi på grekisk-ortodoxt dop. Ceremonin där lille NN (som nyss adopterats från Eritrea) togs upp i sin nya församling liknade mest av allt ett riktigt lyckat cocktailparty – med rökelse som extra bonus. Eller tänk att få fira shabbat: bättre ursäkt för att slippa tacos och idol har väl sällan skådats. Eller varför inte lite hederlig katolicism: bra mycket bättre tillgång till nattvardsvin, än hos mina missionsförbundare till fastrar, som bara bjuder på lättöl. Alltsammans mer lockande än svenska kyrkan. Visst är byggnadsskatten fin, men Gotländska stenkyrkor i all ära – if you cant dance to it, its not my salvation.
Vilket osökt för mig till mitt andra skäl för att överväga ett litet barnadopp. I almedalen var Bebisen och jag och lyssnade på ett av axess seminarium – där panelen diskuterade huruvida man bör lämna sv kyrkan eller inte. (stenkyrkor – almedalen – associationen är väl glasklar?)
Det som slog mig var att Bebisen, om han aldrig inlemmas i kyrkan, heller aldrig kan gå ur den i ungdomlig protest! En utmärkt ventil för pubertal dårskap stängs automatiskt – och då blir frågan vad han kommer hitta på istället? Bli kommunist? Det har pappa redan vart. Färga håret blått? Det har mamma redan gjort. Kvarstår alltså typ en delfintatuering i svanken.
Frågan är om det inte blir billigare med en dopfest idag än med en tramp-stamp-removal-operation om tjugo år. Förslag på religion mottages tacksamt.
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Tags: axess, dop, religion, tatueringar
En text i Galago signeras med namnet på en fiktiv organisation. Därför blir textens uppmaning att skjuta Per Gudmundson satir. Och därför är det skrattretande att Per Gudmundsons arbetsgivare gör en polisanmälan.
Jag heter inte Margareta Gudmundson. Och barnet jag ammar heter varken Vilgot eller Sonja. Därför är det på skämt när Pontus Lundkvist hotar Per Gudmundsons fru och barn.
På twitter verkar man ha tagit fasta på den gamla devisen, att om något upprepas tillräckligt ofta blir det roligt. Jag försöker själv. skjut per gudmundson. skjut per gudmundson.skjut per gudmundson. skjut per gudmundson.
Nej. jag skrattar fortfarande inte.
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Tags: galago, mordhot, per gudmundson
The End of the Wasp Season
For those of us unfamiliar with the environment at boarding schools for broken boys, or the banter at rough Glasgow police stations, it is difficult to tell whether The End of the Wasp Season by Denise Mina is believable or not. But what does it matter? Her characters – from returning anti-heroine; the bitter, pregnant Alex Morrow, to the briefly glimpsed murder victim – are pitch perfect. The story manages to combine a no-nonsense straight forwardness with the interest of quirky twists. Her language is spot on, an easy read, beautifully balanced – with effective and descriptive dialouge added on as an extra bonus. In short: the latest from Scottish thriller star deserves more praise than can credibly be crammed into one brief review. A word of warning though: in order to to do it justice, you really ought to read all Minas works, chronologically, to get the most our of her stylistic developement as well as the down-trodden, yet charming, universe of her books.
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Tags: crime, Denise Mina, Fiction, Reviews, The End of the Wasp Season
Get Into My Pants
They are frayed, unfashionable and the wrong shade for my shoes. But I’ve never been more pleased to be buttoning a pair of trousers: my pre-pregnancy jeans.*
*ok: in truth, my pre-pregnancy comfy fat-jeans for bloated days. But still!
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Tags: fat pants, jeans, post-pregnancy wardrobe
OK, world. Or at least: OK, fashion conscious readers. I need your help. After coming home from the hospital with our baby boy, The Better Man proposed. I now have a ring on my finger (my little finger actually, since my hands are still swollen) and we are planning a fall wedding. It is great fun (especially since I finally have a legitimate reason for browsing 100 layer cake and east side bride).
Now, this might seems like a bit of a provocative statement, judging from the tone of voice of other brides-to-be, but since I have spent quite a few years project managing big events, I can’t understand what people keep getting stressed out about. Venue? Set within a week. Menu? Decided on after an hour. Church? Booked. Music? We’ve made the selection. Invites? Ready to mail.
Unfortunately though, as it turns out, this means I have all the more time to fret (and my mother has more energy to comment on) the few remaining issues. Namely, The Dress.
You see: here’s the deal. The Better Man is marrying ME. Which I would like to remind him off, even on the day itself. And I am a soon to be thirty-year old mother of a small child. With glasses. Try translating that into an ivory aesthetic.
The wedding dresses out there all seem intent on channelling ice-queens, Hollywood starlets, fairy romance or cream puffs. They are shiny, have weird beaded details and fins. Or else, they are “alternative” and demand a black fringe and art-school friends. To fit the wedding bill, I need either a fake tan or a return to smoking gitane and reading obnoxious Literature.
Adding to the difficulties:
- I am on the fence about wearing white, since I am obviously no virgin.
- Am also ADAMANT about sleeves, since will be in church.
- Six months from now, who knows how the hell I’ll look? My post-partum body seems to work in mysterious ways: among other things, my breasts change size hourly…
- Am on maternity leave, which means my salary has been cut in half for the foreseeable future.
So what we are looking for is, ideally, a cheap dress of indeterminate colour, that is god-appropriate, flattering whether I’m still fat or not, and which will inspire The Better Man to feel enthusiastic about loving me forever. Ideas?
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Tags: bride, dress for wedding, wedding, wedding with baby
Baby Gym, Mother’s Sweat
To the manufacturers of the Pingu Baby Gym:
Dear Sirs,
Since I bought your product, I have had the time to do the dishes, vacccum, unclog the bathroom drain and pay the bills.
Before, all I had time for was hanging out with my baby, singing itsy bitsy spider, and smelling his sweet, sweet neck.
Thanks a fucking lot.
Sincerely,
A Lidbeck
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love, Love, LOVE
Here’s the basic difference between love of baby, love of fiance and love of self:
When you wake in the night from a cough, you curse your frail body and pray you can beat it into submission by morning.
When fiance coughs in the night, it is an annoyance and you hope he wont give you his cold. Possibly you offer breakfast in bed and a half-hearted “oh dear” from behind the morning papers.
When baby coughs in the night it is earth-shattering and you spend the wee hours alternately googling terrifying symptoms, wiping his tiny runny nose on your best pj’s, pressing him to your breast and checking his breathing every other minute.
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Tags: baby cold, baby cough
- set out glass of water, books and phone BEFORE docking baby to breast. Breastfeeding is like going to the moon: you don’t want to realize half way that you are out of entertainment.
- check time before calling people. Six am is not considered an acceptable time for conversation by anyone except my son.
- chew food, even if rapidly. Eating does take longer when you choke. You don’t have time to choke, nor the hands needed for a heimlich.
- don’t ever let on that you’re tired / have something urgent to do / want to watch reruns of project runway. Babies smell weakness and attack without fail if they sense your attention has strayed.
Speaking of which: My Master is calling… Over and out.
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Tags: breastfeeding, life with baby, motherhood
Recent Entries
- Potäter, sånna som maneter
- Dopfuntad?
- Om uppmaningen att skjuta Per Gudmundson.
- The End of the Wasp Season
- A Good Place to Feed the Baby
- Get Into My Pants
- Sure the Bride is Blushing. Poss Because She’s Naked?
- Baby Gym, Mother’s Sweat
- love, Love, LOVE
- Things I Never Thought I Would Need to Remember
- Work in process
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