Goings on...

Cluck cluck Isla and Doggy Isla...

Max's first story ever! "One day the Daddy saw a rainbow."

One Day At A Time

Being a part-time working Mum is tricky. I enjoy my job but I feel guilty for being away from my kids. I hate being away from them and yet, my family needs my income.

Monday is my favourite day. We wake up early (my kids wake up early every.single.day.without.fail.even.on.holidays.) and take our time. We play, we chat, we eat, we have our 'cuppas'. Isla and I walk Max down to his Spielgruppe around 9:00 and then we meander back. Sometimes we stop for a fresh bun at the bakery but sometimes we don't. We get home and have lovely Isla/Mummy time. We sing, dance and clean together. She tells me stories and I tell her some back. At 11:00 we walk down and get Max. On the way home he is full of what he did at Spielgruppe that morning and how he is "starving" and couldn't possibly wait until we get home in 5 minutes and eat something. We get home and snack a bit while we make lunch. After lunch, Isla and Max play together because all too soon, Isla goes for her nap and me and Max have quiet time. Max chooses this time of day to plug into the techno-geek inside himself. He and I play computer games or his Daddy's DS. We craft and bake and eat cookie dough. Sometimes, we go outside and I watch him ride his bike. When Isla wakes up we all go to the park if the weather is good. We walk Max down the hill to the local school at 2:15 for his Rythmik 1 Music class and go back at 3:00 to pick him up (I go up and down the hill a lot on Monday! Phew!) Josh comes home soon after that and makes dinner and we wind down the day with games and a little TV. I put them to bed feeling sad that Monday is over. I'm not saying it is perfect...we have the 3 t's on Monday too (tears, tantrums and time-outs) but Mondays are usually the kind of days that I thought I would have when I imagined being a Mum. Tuesdays are good too but we don't go into the village much. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday are my working days and then comes the glorious weekend.

I try and take every day as it comes and find good things in each day, even when I am not doing exactly what I want to be doing. One day at a time...sage advice indeed.

What is in a name? Part 2

Isla Lucia. My lovely girl. She was never going to be Isla, she was going to be Annika. Annika Poppy. I love that name. It makes me smile even now...but it's not 'her'.

I was 7 months pregnant when my Dad died. Suddenly it became very important to me that her name honour him in some way. It needed to be Scottish and it needed to be beautiful. Dad's name was Ian. The female version of Ian is (wait for it...) Ianina. Nobody I know has heard of this name. A few people suggested Ina (eena) but it seemed wrong somehow. I looked for female Scottish names that started with "I". I found 3 that I liked: Isla, Iona and Irene. Irene is already in my family and Josh didn't like Iona as he thought it sounded like "I own a..." and wouldn't go with lots of last names.

So, we thought about Isla. It sounded like music to me, and still does. It means island and there is an island off the coast of Scotland called Islay, pronounced Isla (eye-la) too.

She was due to be born on December 12th. Around this date at my school, we always celebrate the Scandinavian Christmas tradition of Santa Lucia due to a large population of Scandinavian students. It is a truly magical event, made even more special by Lucia being a Swedish opera singer who lives nearby in Luzern. The candles, the music, the smells of the food and Glugg...it is just very, very special.

Lucia (we pronounce it Loo-see-ah), means light and that is precisely what my wee girl brought to me. She was and is light in a dark time. She is the grandchild my Dad never met and yet she is so much like him. Whether she is being "sm-Isla" or "cr-Isla" we love her passion and will make sure she knows all about the Papa she got it from, the Papa she was named for.

What is in a name?

Max. Just Max. I love that name. Not Maxwell or Maximilian, just Max. It is strong and gentle at the same time. He could be anything and Max will suit him well. He has two middle names: Josef Fraser. Max Josef Fraser. I wanted desperately to hyphen Max-Josef but my hubby didn't like it. Josef is the name of our first landlord here in Switzerland. He is called 'Sepp' and so he and his wife called Max, Max-Seppi for a while. I liked that. The name will always remind me of those first few years here in this wonderful place. The cozy nights in our little apartment, looking out over the hills to the mountains. Fraser is a family name, the Scottish clan that my Father's family (Sim) belongs to.

He wasn't going to be Max. He was going to be Ewan. Max was a last minute choice...a silent favourite of mine that had been dismissed early on. We decided on it during a "9 month walk". You know, the walk you take when you are 9 months pregnant and the last thing you feel like doing is going for a walk. The walk you take because everyone tells you that it will bring on labour...that walk. He became my little Maxi-moo.

He's my first. The first child in our own little family, the first and only boy in the Sim family. Now he's the big brother and my little man. Max means "the best". He really, really is.

He's me.

This week Max had ski lessons on the mountain near our house. I am, at this moment, so proud of him for making it through the week. He is me. He has all my anxiety and fear of the unknown. I knew it would take him some time to get used to the whole skiing thing so I purposely signed him up for a whole week rather than a weekend of lessons. By the time he would be comfortable and ready to take risks, the weekend would be over. I've never said, "don't give up", "keep going" and "I'm proud of you" so many times in my life. The truth is that I couldn't care less about the skiing, I was just so proud of him for seeing it through even though every single fibre of his shy, tentative little being wanted to just quit. I was also kind of proud of myself that I didn't let him quit. Yeah me. Yeah us.

scary

I normally feel quite 'in control' of myself. I never used to be. When I was younger, I suffered from severe anxiety and used to have panic attacks brought on by worries about dying and nuclear war. Heavy stuff. As a parent, I'm sure I would be the most anxious woman alive were it not for the balance in my life...my husband. He really calms me down and keeps me from worrying about the things I cannot control. He's good that way...just what I need, like he was made for me.

The only time I panic now is when the kids are sick. Isla just got over 2 days of throwing up and Max just started. It makes me realize how small and vulnerable they are. I let my imagination run away with me and pray for their health and well being with every breath. I find it no less than heart-breaking to imagine what having a child with a serious/chronic/terminal illness must be like. It must be excruciating and so very very scary.

An ode to Josh for my new i phone

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ihappy

ivalentines

iday

ithankyou

iam

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iluvyou