tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58813030056427314022024-03-12T21:33:55.599-07:00A Kid From GrubbeAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.comBlogger457125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-63652637724764837392013-08-29T16:48:00.001-07:002013-08-29T16:48:25.265-07:00Go to Tumblr!We have moved! Go to <a href="http://kidfromgrubbe.tumblr.com/">kidfromgrubbe.tumblr.com</a> to follow the action.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-83678470051474722612013-08-26T05:00:00.000-07:002013-08-26T05:00:00.572-07:00We are Moving!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Close to three years, 458 posts, 41,674 page views. When I was sitting in the dark on the first night in San Francisco, bored and insanely awake at 4am with jet lag, I never expected that this blog would still be around today. I am sure glad that it is. </b><br />
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And a common theme on this blog is change. Change of country, change of becoming a parent, change of workplace, change of housing, change of becoming a parent, again. Change, change, change.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>And now it is time to say 'THANK YOU' blogger, and move the entire blog to a different platform, Tumblr. Join me there for more stories around change, more pictures of how cute my children are, and more bad jokes.<br />
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Change is good. Change will take us to <a href="http://kidfromgrubbe.tumblr.com/">kidfromgrubbe.tumblr.com</a>.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-51709367950429363532013-08-18T21:41:00.002-07:002013-08-18T21:42:32.466-07:00Beware; Parents With Camera<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>What is it with parents and the need to communicate when their kids do things that millions of other kids have done, and will do in the future? A parade of photos and videos of burping, eating, sitting, walking and talking kids with hysterically proud parents announcing it like if it was the cure for cancer. </b><br />
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In my mind, when your child is born, you have in your arm this tiny person, so small, so fragile, and so completely dependant on you to take care of it. And for some reason, this image get stuck in your mind. So whenever your child does something, burp, eat, sit or similar, you remember that tiny, fragile person that now can stick peas into his or hers nose by themselves.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>So obviously, when Mr Bear not only is sitting in the high chair for the first time, and eating with a spoon, his hysterically proud dad takes out the camera and announces it to the world like if it was the cure for cancer. And a cute one.
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/OfuXjzMeyK0" width="500"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-4987076154993130722013-08-18T05:00:00.000-07:002013-08-24T22:18:53.818-07:00Flipping It<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/qwElWgMCaHw" width="500"></iframe><br />
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<b>I have always had a bad back now that I sit and stare into a computer monitor all day long. However with two children, my back now look back at this with a fond memory of what can only be considered a slight discomfort compared to what it has to endure now. </b></div>
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And it is obviously all my fault. It is not like Miss Cupcake came up with the idea of standing on my shoulders by herself, to later scream 'flip it', which is the queue for me to do exactly that - flip her. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but after a couple of times, the back is begging for mercy. So it is nice to had Mr Bear around, that takes 'flipping it' to a whole new, more mellow level. </div>
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<a name='more'></a>Because he does 'flip it', after a try or two, and always to the left, and simply look at you afterwards with a look of 'what'? 'Nothing special about that'. <br />
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Well, as a parent, it is a huge deal! </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-38642467377609377002013-08-16T15:33:00.002-07:002013-08-16T15:34:46.708-07:00Vocal Bears<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<b>I was dubbed by the nurses as the hospital where I was born as 'Gnölis', which would translate freely into something like 'the one that makes a lot of noises'. They even used this on charts; </b><b><b>'Gnölis' was washed this morning. </b>Because that was what I was doing, constantly. Noises. A low, chanting like an Indian chief sitting by the fire to sing the evil spirits away. </b></div>
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So when our pediatrician talked about Mr Bear as being 'very vocal', you might think of him following his dad's footsteps. But there is a big difference. Mr Bear is talking. He clearly is commenting on his surrounding, pondering on the state of the world, making funny comments about his parents. Too bad we don't understand. I am sure it is very interesting stuff. <br />
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<a name='more'></a>Oh, and he found his feet! Nothing can stop him now! <br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-6514395535514683522013-08-09T14:10:00.002-07:002013-08-09T14:11:59.233-07:00Viva Las Vegas, Baby<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP2FdGySBtAFj7GewEQoGubswGfM4LGMUnYllW-kwNpc4p1uDF9R5d3rRoIunZtbfjfJLrGtFhZTN6GkDA4QZMMkMYqfvGOtw43VTxClyHBP1DGuUjYhCtJcYQu5bkx9pbIwja1mY1G7U/s1600/LV2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP2FdGySBtAFj7GewEQoGubswGfM4LGMUnYllW-kwNpc4p1uDF9R5d3rRoIunZtbfjfJLrGtFhZTN6GkDA4QZMMkMYqfvGOtw43VTxClyHBP1DGuUjYhCtJcYQu5bkx9pbIwja1mY1G7U/s200/LV2.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>Life has different stages. When you are a child it is all about playing, and then you start liking girls and your life is ruined for ever trying to get their attention. Then you are off to university where you master in the art of jelly shots, and then it s time to start working and handle coming to work with a hang-over. And then… children. [dramatic pause]. </b></div>
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A quick example; last time in Vegas I landed around noon, I was married at 2pm, out of cash at 5pm and drinking Gin & Tonics from then on. This time around, we came to Las Vegas with Miss Cupcake and Mr Bear, so things were somewhat different. We are already married, so not much point in re-doing that. We did put more emphasis on the hotel pool, the Bellagio fountain, the Eiffel Tower and other kid friendly things. </div>
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But some things never change. We did drink Gin & Tonics later that night. And won the grand jack-pot!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-83932576381924709212013-08-06T05:00:00.000-07:002013-08-06T05:00:09.230-07:00Character Building Love<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYR-PuFDTSHAOzNQFW_2fd8BFiIBHqNPN0aOe9BTGoD1ose-nuyIL32kVKN-_n9ZD3FYse0dzmZro51_z6UveaenIn1coP5PLKmTzlvdBBjNJW_xSURKY5qZg0T-PwOz5Yy-LgN9tovw/s1600/Pair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYR-PuFDTSHAOzNQFW_2fd8BFiIBHqNPN0aOe9BTGoD1ose-nuyIL32kVKN-_n9ZD3FYse0dzmZro51_z6UveaenIn1coP5PLKmTzlvdBBjNJW_xSURKY5qZg0T-PwOz5Yy-LgN9tovw/s200/Pair.jpg" width="200" /></a>
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<b>Having a sibling is a never ending source of material for 'build your character' help books. My case is obviously not any different. My dear sister introduced me to fun around the clock with games such as 'who can give most candy to the other' (I won) and 'how fast can you run after what I need' (always the same answer; faster than last time). </b>Character building was the name.</div>
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You talk about how you understand what love really is when you have kids, because you had no idea you could love someone so much. Looking at Miss Cupcake and Mr Bear, the same thing happens; it is amazing to see how much they love each other already. Mr Bear will pay 100% focus on his big sister whenever she is in the room, and no one can make him laugh as she cans. And whenever Mr Bear is crying in the arms of an adult, Miss Cupcake is sure to scream across the room that 'you are making my baby brother sad!'.<br />
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How cute! Sleeping together with the bear between them, Mr Bear gently caressing the cheek of his sister. In reality, thirty seconds before Miss Cupcake was screaming at the top of her lungs 'he is squishing me!' while the left arm of Mr Bear started going like a windmill striking Miss Cupcake three times before landing softly on her cheek, and amazingly they fell asleep - at the same time. </div>
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Siblings. Character building love. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-89109644897921321272013-08-04T05:00:00.000-07:002013-08-04T05:00:01.365-07:00The Joy of a Street Corner<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjepY99ExAw9AmhUOlrzLtHKZ3tzMuQTN7meoR9Wy4mr8UN5NH2aL01JmGYTQf6SNouArNuzlCHshwxVKpBk1v6LoeidlLvHCdCqtvinJZrgnFaHDzNpvlG3kcYWoj0WBeCwqztmJtQYzM/s1600/Pinterest-logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjepY99ExAw9AmhUOlrzLtHKZ3tzMuQTN7meoR9Wy4mr8UN5NH2aL01JmGYTQf6SNouArNuzlCHshwxVKpBk1v6LoeidlLvHCdCqtvinJZrgnFaHDzNpvlG3kcYWoj0WBeCwqztmJtQYzM/s200/Pinterest-logo.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>There are many ways to define the benefits of a new job; more pay, a promotion, the corner office or a fancy title. For people living in San Francisco and commuting down to the South Bay each and every day, putting up with a lot of traffic, crazy amount of traffic or 'it is Thursday and everyone heads out early to go to Lake Tahoe' traffic, a simple phrase explains it all; South of Market. </b></div>
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Wait a minute Mr Daddy? Are you implying that you are changing job? Nope. Even better, my lovely wife is! I couldn't be happier for her! Happy because it is a great position at a great company. Happy because I know how hard she worked to get it. And more than anything, incredibly happy that she will now be working in the SoMa district, at <a href="http://pinterest.com/">Pinterest</a>. </div>
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<a name='more'></a>Congratulations Sexy Mom! And for the rest of you, if you aren't doing it already - start pinning! Starting with this blog for example...<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-18640275689443291132013-08-03T19:37:00.001-07:002013-08-03T19:37:21.635-07:00Up! Up! And away!<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihw-r5N1BqtpgMW0cgb6BVlNmYo7ZJXxJCOkQCghyphenhyphenAiWstSEWBj_dffSA3dicy7CK1Osg_oMWIK2VvyrteqT9ZQgrGArBpsyWmzCVnzVQic-7FrAN3sN12wjXmCLd6qBMAfv5eyMWS8mM/s1600/Up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihw-r5N1BqtpgMW0cgb6BVlNmYo7ZJXxJCOkQCghyphenhyphenAiWstSEWBj_dffSA3dicy7CK1Osg_oMWIK2VvyrteqT9ZQgrGArBpsyWmzCVnzVQic-7FrAN3sN12wjXmCLd6qBMAfv5eyMWS8mM/s200/Up.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>There are some benefits working for a large Silicon Valley company like Yahoo!, and interestingly sometimes these benefits become mortal enemies. Let me explain, last August <a href="http://kidfromgrubbe.blogspot.com/2012/08/its-free-world.html">the food became free on campus</a>. This means breakfast, lunch and even dinner if you for some reason happen to still be around. Free food is obviously great. Who would complain?</b></div>
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Well, obviously the Swede will. Because the food being free is great, don't get me wrong, however there are things that you should have to pay for to reduce the temptation for over-consumption. Yes, I am talking about those devilishly attractive chocolate bars, soft drinks and potato chips. Yes, potato chips! For free! I simply don't have the integrity to say 'no'. </div>
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<a name='more'></a>So it might not come as a surprise that the company has decided to act on this, by challenging the entire company to walking an additional 100 miles in one month. This is tracked by a simple device you carry on your wrist, called '<a href="https://jawbone.com/">Jawbone</a>'. Great, right? 'Not so fast', objects the complaining Swede.<br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;">This little amazing device does not only track how many steps you take, but also the amount of calories ingested and how many hours of sleep, and the quality of sleep you get. Do you really think that any good news will come out of this? Any possibility of the news coming back is 'yes, you get the exercise you need, and your two kids allow you to sleep sufficiently'?</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Don't think so. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-52992627426218895992013-07-17T16:22:00.002-07:002013-07-17T16:22:59.635-07:00How Technology Makes You Old<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Technology profoundly changes our lives and they way we communicate,
which is probably why each generation will remind the upcoming one of
the time before this incredible change when we lived in a cave with a
rock to play with. My parents for example will go on and on about their
first television, which was in black and white with only two channels
AND no remote control. This is about the time I am rolling my eyes,
again. </b><br /><br /> </div>
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And as the law of nature state to assure the universe
does not collapse, I will obviously do the same with my kids. I will
ramble about the first time I used a computer which was a small green
screen with only two lines and a small dot to play with. At this point,
my children will be rolling their eyes, as they have grown up in a house
with more computers than people living in it.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcCBBfy3HbMF6DYMZL7Ry3IYSrlMD0NGLcXHx1gg9tPCljSp56EL9Sp7NHNuPwi_eGoR58cSwBkrF5Bo62Cs7V4TrWV334-4JKi3l3AtOI1UjOD7gigKDrhsTzNpNOBm4sEw1lkuVpoZU/s1600/Computer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcCBBfy3HbMF6DYMZL7Ry3IYSrlMD0NGLcXHx1gg9tPCljSp56EL9Sp7NHNuPwi_eGoR58cSwBkrF5Bo62Cs7V4TrWV334-4JKi3l3AtOI1UjOD7gigKDrhsTzNpNOBm4sEw1lkuVpoZU/s320/Computer.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Skype with grandma</td></tr>
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This is why I
initially thought it was a great idea to try and get the username for
Miss Cupcake and Mr Bear when Yahoo! is now allowing you to ask <a href="https://wishlist.yahoo.com/">for your preferred username</a>. Then I realized that if I get them, by the time
they are ready to use it, they will probably look at me, rolling their
eyes, thinking - email?!? Is that in black and white? </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-57441535687563389442013-07-13T22:05:00.002-07:002013-07-17T15:00:05.627-07:00Happiness is a Box of Bear<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdzhWCUUXvOVdpEG0pqJE-vxk8k1IM6ObrlMwMpLNhK4lV-CG6WURs0_Ga1rZpV4-gKVi5TkgQh4Vu-IAE1Sx15ODlmxCGr0fsECebS3xcaYx8Ji9hAfSSI4GxaUQGpmsplERCsq92bs/s1600/bjorn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdzhWCUUXvOVdpEG0pqJE-vxk8k1IM6ObrlMwMpLNhK4lV-CG6WURs0_Ga1rZpV4-gKVi5TkgQh4Vu-IAE1Sx15ODlmxCGr0fsECebS3xcaYx8Ji9hAfSSI4GxaUQGpmsplERCsq92bs/s200/bjorn.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a>
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<b>Having children is by many considered a life changing event, and they are talking about it in a positive way. Not the 'lack-of-sleep-always-covered-in-bodily-fluids-I'm-getting-wrinkles' kind of way. And to me the impact of parenthood on our lives is really a re-focus. With children you remember a lot of things you had long forgotten. </b></div>
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You remember the thrill of standing behind the door waiting for someone to find you. You recall the rush of adrenaline of running really, really, really fast. You all of a sudden remember that an eraser can be your most valuable asset as it smells so nice. And most of all; you remember to laugh because there is no reason not to. </div>
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And it is not difficult at all. I don't believe anyone can watch Mr Bear playing with his mom without breaking out in a big smile. Just try not to.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/wpkFVnppTOo" width="500"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-66404715362252640672013-07-12T05:30:00.000-07:002013-07-12T05:30:01.058-07:00Look-Alikes<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGuDIsVomNTPN1F_QcVBVMK_mmsxzMyOgDYHiBiDUgzG9jY1lMFAGfbQ7DOl40ljt2uyWhQbVTanJ_uZBjD-L8vm8_JsOW549bHqI-70oa3pJIRw8YFQDoYKEapW-2zUOOodIuO73cuJ4/s1600/frida2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGuDIsVomNTPN1F_QcVBVMK_mmsxzMyOgDYHiBiDUgzG9jY1lMFAGfbQ7DOl40ljt2uyWhQbVTanJ_uZBjD-L8vm8_JsOW549bHqI-70oa3pJIRw8YFQDoYKEapW-2zUOOodIuO73cuJ4/s200/frida2.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>First a quick warning that the complaining in this blog post might be based on the simple lack of a perception skill on my part. My last eye exam showed no obvious signs of deterioration in eye sight, but who knows. Or maybe it is just me taking yet another step to becoming a grumpy old man. Yes, who knows. But here it goes; I am amazed by people that spot similarities in new borns. </b></div>
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When you have a child, and they are only days old, people will let you know that they have the ear lobe of your great grand father, and the eye lashes of your grand mothers neighbor. I'm sorry, but I just don't see it. And it is my child! </div>
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<a name='more'></a>When they grow up a bit, the story changes, as they go from having the standard baby face to getting their own character that have a lot of similarities in the family obviously. Miss Cupcake for example looks more and more like my sister for each day that passes. Or what do you think?<br />
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Yes, it took about 35 photos to get a decent one. And yes, my head is about twice the size of that of my sister. Simply more intelligence to store.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-10840233735936105852013-07-10T05:30:00.000-07:002013-07-10T05:30:01.400-07:00Part Two<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTGVdvavQTxRSGGYxm5gCkMJ86WaZH_SiaBz0lT9s00ar_VfoCl97bwkBEcaWUri0wUbIhrALx_v6xWD9gI0Dnrm7FkHefHK30tdnpyrHoVJOBKoUge2QdR8wWgdLvXzYGW23hKv4VhIk/s1600/family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTGVdvavQTxRSGGYxm5gCkMJ86WaZH_SiaBz0lT9s00ar_VfoCl97bwkBEcaWUri0wUbIhrALx_v6xWD9gI0Dnrm7FkHefHK30tdnpyrHoVJOBKoUge2QdR8wWgdLvXzYGW23hKv4VhIk/s200/family.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>Being the sequel to a successful blockbuster is quite the challenge. Applying the same plot with the twist that worked wonders in the first movie will be a yawn and a quiet 'seen that already' comment in the sequel. I am a sequel myself, with an older sister, so I know what awaits Mr Bear. Because let's be honest; we love our children with the same endless, unconditional love, but the amount of pictures and movies goes down drastically with the second child.</b></div>
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But even though the excitement of the first poop, burp, hick-up and fart might not be greeted with exactly the same amount of 'first-time parents excitement' the second time around, the sequels have the luck of more confident, relaxed and experienced parents. And let's not forget; the sequels have surprising tricks up their sleeves that you did not expect, like the 'Baby-Bear-Spin-Off' move. You did not see that one the first time around, now did you?!?</div>
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<b>To be honest, my one goal with my kids is for them to be good people. Honest, kind, compassionate and loving people that take decisions based on what they believe in, and not what their surrounding pressures them into. I don't really care about what path they choose professionally, what soccer team they decide to support or where they decide to live. I just want them to be good people. </b></div>
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They can have the hobbies they want; I will not intervene but try to be supportive. Except to brainwash them to be music lovers of course. Maybe it is as simple as life has a lot of ups and downs, and you need a good soundtrack to go with it. When Miss Cupcake was around two she let me know that the Beatles was on the radio - very proud dad. And Mr Bear is not far behind... </div>
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There are some similarities in <a href="http://kidfromgrubbe.blogspot.com/2013/03/xylophone-speed-metal.html">technique with Miss Cupcake</a>...</div>
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<b>Being on the same page is essential to be able to have meaningful communication. If this is not achieved, misunderstandings are very likely. An example you say? Lately at my place you hear frequently comments like 'how cute he is', or 'he looks so handome with that shirt', you know, comments that makes a man feel good about himself. However this is followed by 'time to change his diper' or 'he pooped himself', which most of the time means they are not talking about me.</b></div>
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Yes, getting the basics are key to understand the context of something. So explaining what I do for a living always is a very tricky question. Something about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Search_engine_optimization">search engines</a>. Something about organic traffic. Marketing? For the complex questions, I like to call in my assistant to clear up things, and it is very clear after looking at the video that she did nothing to improve the situation. </div>
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Zero. 'A lion' was her best guess... </div>
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What we do know after this very none-informative video is that I get her chocolate from the office (at times) and she can watch cartoon on the computer. Back to square one.<br />
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The only comfort is that her aunt, Harvard student and all, had the same face on her face when she listened to me talk about my work at a <a href="http://www.infotechumea.se/vill-hitta-de-basta-sokorden">recent conference in Sweden</a>. At least I know what I do. More or less.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-43321940548439767932013-06-20T16:17:00.001-07:002013-06-20T16:17:23.038-07:00No Place Like Home<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKnUj_abyrjH4LlI3bGhHJBxe_FDNHjz3kku5mi6m06BDo3BUCqWWQ-vE9PBvRy3v4q4rnwDBWDcJjQbGHfnjIOUnjBrIu-nJ-9vOGaSTa6sisTJKdfRyDaj7beQCADLCZ4A66jDqWeao/s1600/home4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKnUj_abyrjH4LlI3bGhHJBxe_FDNHjz3kku5mi6m06BDo3BUCqWWQ-vE9PBvRy3v4q4rnwDBWDcJjQbGHfnjIOUnjBrIu-nJ-9vOGaSTa6sisTJKdfRyDaj7beQCADLCZ4A66jDqWeao/s200/home4.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>Our European tour has concluded with sold-out venues, stellar ratings and fans stalking the hotels for days to get a glimpse of their idols. Or if you wish, countless encounters with friends and family (or as we like to call them; babysitters), all kinds of sofa beds and way too many hours in a plane.</b></div>
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I do admit that I should not complaint, the flight to Europe and back went way better than I could ever have imagined. This doesn't take away the fact that I asked the flight attendant at one point, when I have calculated that we were at least 6 hours into the flight, meaning 4 to go, and he informed me that we had 7 to go. I cried to myself. Then I ordered a beer. </div>
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<a name='more'></a>Apart from all the great memories from Sweden and Spain, there is nothing like coming home. Miss Cupcake displayed it the best way, after having being up for way too long, and having fallen asleep just before landing in San Francisco. I woke her up, expecting her much justified rage at disturbing her beauty sleep, but instead her face shown up and said; 'are we there yet?'.<br />
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And I could finally say 'yes'. We are home. She spent the rest of the afternoon playing with her toys and doing something she only have done once before; telling me she wanted to go to sleep. </div>
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Thanks to all of you we met during this month. See you next time in SF! <b> </b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-1433399119953950862013-06-04T07:25:00.002-07:002013-06-04T07:27:13.158-07:00Real-Time Translation<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV2ZkJ2RRp5PGnJEGnEtAnbiA7t4h6XFY_28rw9PNBp7dD8UNav4_UTiSo6QGJqXf7HjpdUb7nnZDzTVDJbdiKtflQlVLIrFx-0iuCmO-zl5i6bHxHU0Xws4kWJ1GUuBgbNjnHCgvxIu8/s1600/pearls3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV2ZkJ2RRp5PGnJEGnEtAnbiA7t4h6XFY_28rw9PNBp7dD8UNav4_UTiSo6QGJqXf7HjpdUb7nnZDzTVDJbdiKtflQlVLIrFx-0iuCmO-zl5i6bHxHU0Xws4kWJ1GUuBgbNjnHCgvxIu8/s200/pearls3.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>I happen to speak three languages; Swedish, English and Spanish. Conclusion one; the brain is only made to manage one language. I find myself frequently knowing the perfect word in all languages except for the one that I need to use in that very moment. Conclusion two; I am not a translator. Because in these situation, I try to real-time translate and my brain is unfortunately not powered by Google Translate. </b> </div>
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This explains conversations like me wanting to say in Spanish that a girl probably was feeling embarrassed, and my super power real-time translator decided that saying she was probably pregnant was the best translation (the spanish 'embarazada' means that you are expecting a child). It took some follow-up explanations to straighten out that conversation…</div><br />
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The latest example of struggling with words was when I for the first time gave a <a href="http://www.infotechumea.se/vill-hitta-de-basta-sokorden">seminar about my work in Swedish</a> (note; Swedish article. You might want to translate it…). I warned people ahead that words they did not get probably did not exist in the Swedish language. </div>
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So what does this have to do with Miss Cupcake playing with beads you
might ask yourself? Very simple; there is a perfect word in Swedish to
explain that she now loves to play with small objects that require a lot
of attention with a high potential for the object to fall apart. Or as a
Swede from the north would simplify into 'pillergöra'. <br />
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Impossible
to translate the beauty and preciseness of that word in this context.
So you just have to live with the fact that you will lack that word in
your vocabulary for all times, if you are not Swedish that is. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-40471892662574242212013-05-31T05:00:00.000-07:002013-06-04T07:27:52.525-07:00Planning Not to Plan<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLqABJ0N9AlooIE3yWODPs2t3-nlMawX1cJtnTZYpbMMld2RVk41lU4bilLRbrKWD49ijgV-g_UcrqwuF5yE_Y3_UB50ki_iUSEZbkdhWIy8KrUBYubnP0U1019XPjgI8cyQJmqoI0hQ4/s1600/umea9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLqABJ0N9AlooIE3yWODPs2t3-nlMawX1cJtnTZYpbMMld2RVk41lU4bilLRbrKWD49ijgV-g_UcrqwuF5yE_Y3_UB50ki_iUSEZbkdhWIy8KrUBYubnP0U1019XPjgI8cyQJmqoI0hQ4/s200/umea9.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>The best advice around planning is to not do any of it. Planning is giving life a reason to disagree. I have always motivated my wife with the great plans for when we go back to '<a href="http://kidfromgrubbe.blogspot.com.es/2011/05/kid-from-grubbe.html">Oh Me You</a>; including bike rides along the river, picnics with stunning views of the Gulf of Bothnia and bumping into Dennis Lyxen so my wife can give him a hug, or two. Of these, we tend to have to settle for rain. </b><br /><br /> </div>
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So the biggest problem when coming back and the north of Sweden decides to be on its best behavior, showering us with sun, the closest thing it can get to warm weather and more sun, is not the lack of plans, but the feeling of 'I should move back' because it is simply wonderful. <br /></div><br />
<a name='more'></a>Note that I said 'should', not 'will'. Remember? No planning. <br /><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-10889141079096229282013-05-30T03:02:00.001-07:002013-05-30T03:02:35.963-07:00Oh My God 'Oh Me You'<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi50tku7VJMbuHPV1R7cyJa2Wxkb9lAmcbKzNOgNv_aUaCpYQ9PINfBCygLY6ZzbVSynrJgCe8u2YH0h77RO6Sbz_Aeg4aHORPrWhyphenhyphenbHxDZX9q7wsusm6-bGRvAIw6tz0JWCTE7JR6kDNA/s1600/umea4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi50tku7VJMbuHPV1R7cyJa2Wxkb9lAmcbKzNOgNv_aUaCpYQ9PINfBCygLY6ZzbVSynrJgCe8u2YH0h77RO6Sbz_Aeg4aHORPrWhyphenhyphenbHxDZX9q7wsusm6-bGRvAIw6tz0JWCTE7JR6kDNA/s200/umea4.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>It is impossible not to compare. Whenever you meet someone you haven't seen in ages you don't ask how they are doing because you care, but obviously to compare who has been doing better. So when I am back in my hometown of '<a href="http://kidfromgrubbe.blogspot.com.es/2011/05/kid-from-grubbe.html">Oh Me You</a>', the first thing to do is obviously to compare. </b><br /><br /> </div>
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And I must say, the town has aged way better than I have. While I am facing hair loss and wrinkles, the city has woken up to be a vibrant city full of vintage clothing stores, hipster youth, and vanilla and blueberry mixed ice-cream (some things never change, and shouldn't). And Umeå hasn't even been the <a href="http://umea2014.se/en/">European Capital of Culture</a> yet (next year)<br /><br /></div>
<a name='more'></a>The perfect example of the transition is one of my favorite museums in the world - <a href="http://www.bildmuseet.umu.se/eng/?languageId=1">Bildmuseet</a> (see, comparing. Again!). It has moved to a new, modern building next to the river, and although the design of the museum has changed, the core is still the same - great exhibitions with a great museum store (the most important part of any museum, right Berit?). <br />
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So fine, I admit it. You won Umeå. This time...<br />
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Note: the top picture reads: 'How was your day?' Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-46082500221094385352013-05-12T07:00:00.000-07:002013-05-12T07:00:02.446-07:00The Practie Run<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndWtO9CfZ48pZLmMCvRToqjlyT9mmY4VRypPygPPHRk05e6LH63XPtESE8HSMvPSj856jdNl0OtZTlrLvBZuoANqClmeA59hXfD2vqWK-vKgGm20d70BH0bEJmgtnDK8RcPcvkKzAB98/s1600/la.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndWtO9CfZ48pZLmMCvRToqjlyT9mmY4VRypPygPPHRk05e6LH63XPtESE8HSMvPSj856jdNl0OtZTlrLvBZuoANqClmeA59hXfD2vqWK-vKgGm20d70BH0bEJmgtnDK8RcPcvkKzAB98/s200/la.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>I obviously love my children very dearly, however I do not particularly enjoy traveling with them. Airports and planes are stressing enough without having to keep a three year old entertained (and restrained to her seat). With practice comes perfection (hopefully), so our European tour that is comping up should go perfect considering our little warm-up trip down to LA. </b></div>
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Santa Monica was on its best behavior with sunny days, a warm breeze, and flat, 'no-hills-to-push-strollers-over' streets. Both concepts unknown for people from San Francisco. </div>
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<a name='more'></a>What doesn't change independent of city is that kids that has not had a nap get somewhat cranky, that vomiting children in a plane does not reduce stress and that the cold beer when we got home was the best part of the trip.<br />
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Europe. We are ready for you!</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-12133386263139939592013-05-10T16:15:00.001-07:002013-05-10T16:15:26.098-07:00The Line that Separates the City<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih59BooklxDnNrQ3oQ1sLBeQ3tMcj19fNAtMHHRfWUQtFIGYlH1tnZi_JNqd_7Tgs1zDqTqO289Fe3TSPoo5rNQ_w5ONjvGDiEqECIT5z1Lh6h5cwr8bVhnUytsfK4O__AyNgOqtN3XBE/s1600/weather2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih59BooklxDnNrQ3oQ1sLBeQ3tMcj19fNAtMHHRfWUQtFIGYlH1tnZi_JNqd_7Tgs1zDqTqO289Fe3TSPoo5rNQ_w5ONjvGDiEqECIT5z1Lh6h5cwr8bVhnUytsfK4O__AyNgOqtN3XBE/s200/weather2.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>I had just moved to San Francisco, and when chatting to a co-worker he asked me 'what side of the town you live on'. I thought he was asking for cardinal directions, but the answer to the question was not 'east', but 'none-fog'.</b></div>
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The fog in San Francisco is well-known world-wide, however what you might not know is that there is a line going through the city. So on the west side, you have fog. Lots of it. On the east side however, the fog tends to be too lazy to go there. This means that it can be sunshine downtown, while you have a thick fog on Ocean Beach. Where does that line cross the city?</div>
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<a name='more'></a>Try our house. Two photos taken from our living room. Same day. Same time. First one shows the view east, and the other to the west. Now to the difficult question; what side of town do we live on? <br /><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-71371329525148110442013-04-29T21:37:00.000-07:002013-04-29T21:40:07.260-07:00And Action!<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfQ0w1hbZCm6mZqR1vJfq27vdlOgywhMnY0oyNSjxqsFR7V_Osxy6MHlZZb9yAcoFBks4K2YSUEe-dabACHOfYweHRbPdXD9eHKRC3NRPvVlzkTKCeWveRj6YEwPtDwAwmqWop1xQWpc/s1600/cine2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfQ0w1hbZCm6mZqR1vJfq27vdlOgywhMnY0oyNSjxqsFR7V_Osxy6MHlZZb9yAcoFBks4K2YSUEe-dabACHOfYweHRbPdXD9eHKRC3NRPvVlzkTKCeWveRj6YEwPtDwAwmqWop1xQWpc/s200/cine2.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>I can not remember the first animated movie I ever watched. Probably some 70:ies east European rip off of some Disney classic (yes, I am that old). I do know I very much enjoyed 'Aladdin' and 'Mulan' from the old school Disney factory. And if I liked animation at that point, when Pixar came along with 'Monsters Inc' and 'Toy Story', I was like a kid (with beard) in a candy store. </b></div>
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Yes, I love animated movies, and I still miss the old tradition back home where we would go to watch the latest release. Maybe that is why it was extra exciting to jump start that tradition again by taking Miss Cupcake to her first ever movie screening - '<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VeG3Zmk08UU">The Croods</a>'.</div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Surprisingly she sat still for two hours, only interrupted once to loudly announce to everybody that the two main characters 'are daddy and Miss Cupcake'. Maybe not that surprisingly, given her DNA, she ate the entire bag of popcorn. And not surprisingly at all - she loved the movie, even the scary parts.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-56228397661791975332013-04-26T16:44:00.001-07:002013-04-26T16:45:10.262-07:00The Word is Garlic<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/KlNe8NYesK0" width="500"></iframe>
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<b>With kids, there are a lot of 'first times'; first breath, first step, first vomit-all-over-you and of course - first word. In my case, being a well educated gentleman Swede, my first word obviously was 'thank you' ('tack'!). Miss Cupcake is more observational, and went for 'look' ('titta'!).</b></div>
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What you might not know is that in Spain, the first word of most kids is 'garlic' - 'ajo' (pronounced 'a-cho' - more or less... The sound fits perfect for little toddler mouths, and even better for proud parents who can make videos to show how smart their kid is. </div>
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And who doesn't enjoy a garlic overloaded
Tzatziki?!?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-17155610791185654062013-04-24T14:27:00.002-07:002013-04-26T16:49:05.843-07:00On a Bench in Lisbon<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB4ls3AwDpIjvTaI6hNjCM9x3d92YKbgj9If1LyzIibce_uXdcj_t16TEvuNb6m4LmOUKA08yS2xKquqnEB5VrpanSdzvFk8Uj0hqdNsJ0pasGDtDGkaBiY9h-Sf0a91MbVfjgwqeu13M/s1600/Lisbon3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB4ls3AwDpIjvTaI6hNjCM9x3d92YKbgj9If1LyzIibce_uXdcj_t16TEvuNb6m4LmOUKA08yS2xKquqnEB5VrpanSdzvFk8Uj0hqdNsJ0pasGDtDGkaBiY9h-Sf0a91MbVfjgwqeu13M/s200/Lisbon3.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>This is not really the story about my trip to Lisbon. It is not details about the city of tile covered house, about the winding streets that stretch over the seven hills, or about the almost exact copy of the Golden Gate Bridge. </b></div>
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Nope. This is really the story about weird coincidences. When Miss Cupcake was born, one of her very first trips was to Lisbon. We took her to the 'Miradouro de São Pedro de Alcântara', that is the lookout point with beautiful views of the city. And at this very bench, Sexy Mom fed her. </div>
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<a name='more'></a>So when I now, three years later, come to the same place with my co-workers, the entire group face to enjoy the view and take pictures. Except for one person, that is facing the other way, looking at the bench, wishing Sexy Mom would be sitting there with Mr Bear.<br />
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Only two days to go.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14277566697691056135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5881303005642731402.post-7724534727110249602013-04-20T06:22:00.002-07:002013-04-20T06:26:41.479-07:00The Chaos Theory<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPnelN69nU4t5_SZOPpnfpl6OimvoO84AfxENLRCJfnzpyolLztxN2ljXV7VX4uTjnznckY1WR6TfmcGBplnMQSRzAFPxgJeENyduKVAz2JJg1UFOGAKKuUM37pdZ4hO2klWFR2AZvS84/s1600/family2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPnelN69nU4t5_SZOPpnfpl6OimvoO84AfxENLRCJfnzpyolLztxN2ljXV7VX4uTjnznckY1WR6TfmcGBplnMQSRzAFPxgJeENyduKVAz2JJg1UFOGAKKuUM37pdZ4hO2klWFR2AZvS84/s200/family2.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>One of my all-time favorite radio shows is 'Hassan', a prank call show back in Sweden. One call that stuck with me was when they called the association '<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivHctkuzlB8">Parents against drugs</a>' claiming to be from 'Parents <u>for</u> drugs' asking for a debate (they did not get one). In this call, they state the slogan of the association to be "chaos is a neighbor to God".</b></div>
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This very much summarizes the current state at our house. Chaos is very much present, and only a second away, not to God maybe, but at least to the closest thing we have to 'tranquility'. A perfect morning can end up in tears, shouting and mayhem simply because 'the light was shining through the window' (this actually happened).</div>
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<a name='more'></a>At these moments it is important to remember that chaos is our neighbor, very much present, will pop by at any time, but also, very important, leave as quickly as it came. And then, we are back to just being quiet and peaceful... for a second. <br />
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