A question of Sølver

"Lin opened her eyes to a landscape of desolate winter mountains, where a pale, full moon painted the snow silver and stern peaks rose into the sky. Gwen touched her shoulder lightly, and Lin turned around. She found herself at the top of a steep hill, gazing down on a deep, shimmering valley of hillocks and forestclad slopes. A naked, frozen river ran through it like a steel ribbon, and at the end of the ribbon twinkled the lights of a town enclosed by snowladen trees on three sides and a lake of cold, blue ice on the fourth.
- Well, I do see why you call it..."

What?

I've pondered and mulled for weeks on end and not made up my mind. So I thought I'd ask you! Which of these three should be the name of the realm where Snowchild takes place: Sølveros, Sølverdal, or Sølverheim?

I suppose for those of you who don't speak Norwegian, it might be hard to choose. Sølver means silver, but with a slight twist leaning towards *of silver* or *silvery*. Sølveros means the estuary of the river Sølver, Sølverdal means Sølver Valley, while Sølverheim means Home of Silver. All three suffixes are common in place names in Norway, like Røros, Sunndal, Trondheim.

Now, there is a river and there is a valley, so they're all logical enough. But if you can, just listen for magic and music in the name (if any). Which magical realm would you like to go to?

2009 Yearbook

Most likely to pick your heart out of your pocket without you even noticing:

Gwendolen

It's been almost a year since the kittens showed up in our lives, on Christmas Eve of all nights. I wonder how Gwen is. Is she still as smart? Still as agile? Still as mischievous and charmingly crooked in the face? I thought I had other favourites among the kittens, but it turned out, when the time came to send them off to new homes, the only time I really cried afterwards was when I closed the door behind cheeky, little Gwen, knowing that I would probably never see her again.

Miss you, little rascal!

Yes, Copenhagen is right that way

Barack Obama is in town to receive his peace prize. Here he is with the Prime Minister, probably pointing towards my house. Or could it be Copenhagen?

(The image is by scanpix, and I'm hoping they won't charge me for using it.)

Magnus and I were Christmas shopping downtown yesterday, and outside Grand Hotel, we were interviewed by Italian television. They seemed very disappointed in my answers. Yes, I think he deserves the prize. No, I'm not angry that he's spending so few hours in Oslo, because I agree: he should get to Copenhagen as quickly as possible.

But if he wanted to stop by Marselis, I've got good chai tea.

Tree, cat, and disaster waiting to happen

No real tree this year, and my ornaments must spend this season snoozing in their box. But that just makes it even more fun next year, little ones, I promise. In lieu of a pretty green tree, Peter got some larch branches from the garden in Sandvika. Now let's see how long Pims is going to leave them up there. I anticipate a huge crash in the middle of the night. Only good thing is, I'll be up already anyway.

UPDATE: I was going to take a picture of the evidence next morning, but forgot. But Bambi had had her ear chewed and two of the branches were snapped. But other than that: smooth, Pims, very smooth.

Merry Christmas, Magnus Brown

Cute, no? A slightly different advent this year, with no time for gingerbread cookies and no time for a full social calendar. But it's nice nonetheless. I'm almost done with the Christmas shopping, too.

Honest scrap

Yay, I got an award from Catherine. Thanks, dear!

Okay, so I'm supposed to tell ten honest things about myself. Hm. I'll try to make them things not everybody knows already:

1. When energetic, I like to jump around. (It's been a while, I can tell you.)

2. It doesn't look too good, though, since I'm not particularly graceful. As a soccer player, I was best at the running part, or the anticipation of the play part, or really any part not actually involving the ball. (Oh yes, I used to play soccer. I practiced three hours every day during the last year of high school. Sigh. Hours I'm never getting back.)

4. But hey, during that time, I also made out with a world famous soccer player.

5. My two favourite kinds of movie are Christmas movies and disaster movies. Now if they could only replace the little plane in 2012 with Santa's sleigh...

6. I can't stand adrenaline kicks. They hurt.

7. I think I'm better at cooking than I actually am. I also cannot under any circumstances be kissed when I cook, brain overload!

8. I'm freakishly fond of my sister and brother. Okay, that one was not new.

9. I'm a grammar bully and privately sneer at mistakes in people's facebook status, then feel bad for being such a snob.

10. I talk to my father's photo sometimes.

Bedtime battle

Guess who prevailed this night... Okay, so Magnus isn't ready for bedtime at eight just yet, no matter what the books say. He wins. For now.

(Sorry for the blurry pic, but at that point, I actually thought it was because of my own sleep deprived eyes.)

Three months along

Magnus is good at:

1. Squealing! Loudly. Very.
2. Laughing.
3. Grabbing plushies from his chest and shoving them in his mouth.
4. Saying gooooooo.
5. Mysteriously waking up four minutes after falling asleep at night. He then proceeds to drive his parents crazy until they cave and let him come back into the living room. Resourceful.

Update: And at three months and three days, it's becoming increasingly obvious that Magnus is good at eating, too. 7.1 kilos. Wow. I'll have the underarms of Popeye pretty soon.

Sometimes it's quiet..

But not often.

Tooting Bec, I'm glad you're home!

Lin is on her way back from London. She's been doing all sorts of cool things that kiddoless people get to do, traipsing around fancy shops, eating at nice restaurants, going to concerts, holding hands with boyfriend in autumn parks, smooching in cozy hotel rooms. While I have been nursing and not getting any sleep. I will celebrate the return of the world's very best sister to Grünerløkka with the five sillyest sounding stops on the London Underground:

5. Tufnell Park
4. Waterloo
3. Totteridge
2. Goodge Street

and the winner is:

1. Tooting Bec

Which you can also use as a funny profanity if you like.

Magnus Robot Fighter

Remember how pulpy sci-fi stories sometimes end with the wail 'Nooooooo! I slept too long!'?

Magnus got this too cool little onesie from Laini and Jim long before he was born, in honour of his name. Or actually, what they hoped would be Magnus' name, since Jim loves the comic book Magnus Robot Fighter. Which is why the onesie has a robot on the chest. Which is one of the many little things that made us choose Magnus in the end.

The label says 3-6 months, and now that Magnus is 11 weeks old, I thought I'd fetch it out of the closet. And it turns out that Noooo! I waited too long! It just barely fits!

Guess I forgot that Magnus also means big. He is now 6480 grams and 64 centimeters and ready to take on every evil robot in Oslo.

Songs of autumn

I got tagged by sweet'n'cool Stian. So here are five songs shaping this autumn. (It's supposed to be seven, but since my head is only on 40 percent capacity due to almost no sleep last night, five will have to do.)

1. Yankee Bayonet, The Decemberists. Old song, of course, I have practically nothing new in my life except Magnus these days. But I adore it, and so does he. If he's wailing, I put it on and do the oh-oh part while we dance around, and it always quiets him down. Besides, I like the word Manassas.

2. Someone like you, David Wanderwelde. This is my favourite song on the mixtape Stian made of his favourite songs from last year. Everything could be for the last time, you know.

3. I sing I swim, Seabear. I don't how many times I've listened to this album, which Lin have me for my birthday. Hard to pick a favourite. There's the amazing Owl Waltz, and so many others. But this is nice. Such cozy beauty, straight from Iceland.

4. Stompin' at the Savoy, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. No autumn without my favourite cookie jazz album, Ella and Louis Again, and this is Magnus' preferred song. He likes it when I sing along with Ella's do be do-part.

5. Grevens Vise. Now this is a little presumptious, because I wrote the lyrics and some of the music myself. (The rest came from Eiv, the star.) But it's by far the song I've sung the most these past few weeks, to try to coax my darling Magnus back to sleep at night. It's a song from my story, a coded version of the storyline, in fact. The lyrics are rather scary, but he doesn't know that. He'll grow up thinking that it's perfectly normal for a young boy to give away his heart for someone to eat, and for secret keys to be carried in his hand, and to be tied down by pale, invisible chains. So sleep tight, little one!

By the way, why am I not sleeping instead of blogging? Silly me.

Snowchild

It's been a great weekend so far: Coffee with Lin at Påfyll. I was Magnusless, and it was my first time sitting down there for months, since it's not safe to leave the stroller outside on the narrow sidewalk with the tram rumbling by. I even got to sleep in while my Pan and Magnus hung out. When I finally awoke, I snapped the photo above. The kid likes his dad, no doubt about it.

Life as the mother of an infant is much busier and more exhausting than I had imagined, but now that the first weeks of utter chaos are over, it's also really nice. I don't have a lot of time to write, because Magnus doesn't like to sleep during the day, except when we're out walking. So every day we trudge along, criss crossing Grünerløkka, staying withing a fifteen minute distance of the toasty apartment and the boppy pillow in case the food alarm goes off. The low, golden sun that lit up all of September and most of October is gone, but the birch leaves still glow yellow and the noses of the not-so-steady crowd on Olav Ryes now glow red, and the shop windows glow with twinkly lights. We follow the river, stop on the bridges to listen to the waters rushing by. And as we walk, I have time to think about my story, and there have been a snick or two.

Thank goodness none that will require extensive re-writes, but I've made some decisions regarding the Inner Realms that I'm quite pleased with. Fayre and Telthic are now twin cities in Someria, instead of independent states. The league of traditions now has three provinces, Nordia, Grymm and Legendwald, all rooted in Northern European fairy tales instead of a mish mash of traditional tales from around the world. Less clutter, more sense, clearer flavour. Oh, and the name of the realm where Snowchild takes place will be changed. I've not completely made up my mind yet, but I have an idea.

Just need to do some more walking first.

And to all a good night

H-h-h-happy

I feel like a kid with a stutter: so much I wanted to say, in so few seconds, and nothing good comes out.

I could write about my Pan's 30th birthday, which came and went in a flurry of nappies and muffins and beef. Or about my favourite season, so absolutely beautiful this year, golden and with twirling leaves falling into my hair and onto the stroller as we walk along the river. Or about my wonderful, little kid, the coolest and kindest and sweetest baby on the block. Or all of Oslo, maybe? Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's all of Oslo. Or about the song I sing him, where I wrote the lyrics and my brother some of the music, and I the rest. But now Magnus woke up, and I've run out of time.

So exhausted, but happy. B-b-bye.

No, seriously!

Magnus tells jokes now.

Who's this?!

I could have sworn this is a happy baby, who got enough sleep last night and who is cooing contentedly after a meal and a change. It can't possibly be Magnus!

Two years ago tuesday

Oh, just look at us. So clean and lean and... well rested! Happy anniversary, Pan! Next year, maybe this:

Are we there yet, Mom?

How come my belly hurts all the time? How come you're sick all the time? How come someone just crashed into our car on the street outside? How long is this going to last, with the belly aches? Are we there yet?

No, sweet boy, we're not quite there yet. Let's both just stick it out a week or so more, okay?

Little drummer boy

More boppy action. Not so late at night for you, maybe, but for people who begin their day 20 minutes past six, it's waaay past bedtime. And yet Magnus will not calm down - unless his dad holds his hands and helps him play drums with loud music blasting through the room.

It is the curse of every child that his parents expect him to live out dreams that they themselves never got to fulfill. So Magnus, I really hope that one day, you'll be the drummer in an indieband, just like your mom always wanted to be.

I'm sure he'll rebel by singing in a boy choir with his hair slicked to one side.