Five month padawan

Magnus is five months old today, and the midi-chlorian count is off the charts. This past few weeks he has added the following to his repertoire:

1. Bedtime! He now goes to bed at 19.45, and with a comforting parent hand on his chest and a lullaby or two, he is out by eight o'clock most nights. He wakes up only once during the night to nurse and then sleeps until eight in the morning. I suddenly feel human again.

2. Gulping down a whole portion of corn porridge in the evening. He loves it and tries to swallow the entire spoon when we're too slow with the serving.

3. Sorting his statements into vowels and consonants. It's either aoaoaoae or bptrrpt.

4. Sitting and standing. I try to limit it, but he wants to come up, up, up!

5. Screaming with laughter, or glee, or just to drive Pims crazy. She thinks he's in pain and comes running full of anguish and worry. - The baby, she says, and looks into the bassinet with gigantic eyes. - I think he's in trouble! - Nah. He's just practising his dinosaur act.

6. Ski jumping in Holmenkollen, but no telemark landing as of yet.

The jury is back

After all your kind input on the matter of Sølverdal v. Sølveros, I've decided that the name should be:

SØLVER

Short and simple, and in the spirit of Coco Chanel (who otherwise has nothing to do with my world, I promise). I decided Sølver had momentum enough on its own. It doesn't translate elegantly into English, perhaps, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

And then everything flows effortlessly. The valley becomes Sølverdal, the town becomes Sølveros, and the river becomes Sølverelv. The latter is slightly unconventional, since a valley is usually named after the river that runs through it (as in Surna - Surnadal), but that's fine with me.

So Sølver it is, the realm of moonlit frost.

On an entirely different note: the photo is, as usual, by Lin, who is just getting better and better and better at this. Thank you for letting me use your art on my blog, sis.

Confessions of a nerdy mom

Here are some of the things I find myself saying to Magnus every day. Nerdy points if you catch the reference.

1. Magnus. I am your mother.

2. And I thought this smelled bad on the outside. (Usually when changing diapers).

3. What say you, young Atreju?

4. It is by will alone I set my b%%% in motion. (Usually when Magnus wakes up twenty minutes after I've gone to bed)

5. You're a daikini baby!

The new leaf

The diamond apple dangled at the very tip of the branch, spikes glinting dangerously along its hard edges. Rupold plucked it unceremoniously and bit into it without so much as looking.
- Told you they’d be ripe, he grinned.
Adalee sqinted up at him from the bottom of the ladder and hissed.
- Rupold of Rodentree, it’s a marvel you’ve still got teeth and gums, she whispered.
- Well, said Rupold, licking his cleft lips to savour the clear sweetness of the fruit, - I could take it home and peel it first. And I could mash it and bake it into a pie, to make absolutely sure there were no splinters left…ouch!
He spat out a broken spike, along with tiny droplets of blood that looked inky in the moonlight, and smiled sheepishly.
- But where’s the fun in that?
- Fun? There’s really nothing funny about diamond apples, nor about sneaking into the house gardens. If the Farmer catches us here, we’re done for. He’ll have our hides for sure. I don’t know how I keep letting you talk me into this.
- Oh, come on. People travel from all over Apfeld to taste your diamond apple pie, and you love it. If it weren’t for these little expeditions, you wouldn’t be famous, and Odar would probably never have hired you, neither. You’d just be a village cook, serving up stew to smugglers and piracats. So just hand me that basket and wait prettily, lady fair.
- Just keep your voice down, said Adalee, but she did as she was told and kept quiet as Rupold picked the sharp fruit into the padded wicker basket. He was right, after all. Diamond apple pie was her specialty, her most secret and wonderful recipe, and her life would not be the same without it. If this was the only way to acquire the main ingredient, so be it. Besides, all food in all of Apfeld came with a certain risk. It must be stolen out of the Farmer’s fields and gardens and orchards, where the Farmer could show up with His deadly wooden club anytime. She just wished she could stay away from His most prized crop, was all.
She cast a glance behind her, at the great main house looming on the hill. It was dark except for the fluorescent light above the main entrance, but that meant nothing. He might be there even so, watching His gardens from behind the curtains, ready to chase after them in a heart beat.
- Hurry, she whispered, clutching the ladder as hard as she could.
- Yeah, yeah, I’ll just get a couple more, and then…Hey, what’s this?
There was a small flash among the branches, and Rupold fell suddenly silent. Adalee craned her neck to see what he was up to, but he wasn’t moving.
- What’s going on, she breathed, heart racing, but Rupold didn’t answer. She cast about, whiskers shaking, pricking her ears. And then she heard them. Footsteps, fast ones, on the hill.
Rupold came flying out of the tree, hitting the ground hard. The wicker basket rolled off to one side and spilled a few of the glimmering apples, and without thinking she bent down to retrieve the precious loot. But Rupold yanked hard at her scruff, pulling her to her feet.
- Flee, he all but wailed in her ear, and then he darted off wildly between the trees. Adalee followed as soon as she could get her feet to obey. They felt like cold water coursed through them, weak and unstable, but she managed to stay on Rupold’s tail while they crashed and stumbled through the dark gardens as if their fur were on fire.
Something followed with thunderous steps that kept coming closer, no matter how many short cuts Rupold knew between the rows of fruit trees. The Farmer was fast, she knew, but He wasn’t supposed to able to outrun two petlings, not when they weren’t hampered by loot. But somehow He was gaining on them anyway. Any second now, He would catch them, would strike them from behind, and then that would be it. He would skin them and hang their hide on the barn to make an example, just like He did with that poor caravan knave last year. She ran for her life, breath aching in her throat and tears blurring her vision.
- Here, Rupold suddenly hissed, and dove underneath the skirt of one of the many hedges that ran through the grounds. She threw herself to the ground and tumbled after him into a shallow pit beneath the branches, just in time. Something raced past them in the lane, just inches from her snout. Her eyes bulged as she watched its claws flash by right in front of her, and she had to bite her paw to keep still.
- What was that, she whimpered when the footsteps had faded into the distance. - Rupold, those claws were metal!
- I don’t know, Rupold said, - But it came when I touched this.
He opened his clutched hand. A small silver leaf with serrated edges lay in his palm, visible in the darkness of the brambles because of minute blinking lights that ran across its surface, chasing each other in jerky, random patterns.
Adalee swallowed.
- Is it real? It doesn’t look…right, she said and leaned forward to sniff it. One of her whiskers touched its surface, and it gave a red flash. Somewhere in the distance there was a horrible sound, like a howl turned into a siren.
- Adalee, Rupold croaked, and it made Adalee's fur stand on end to hear his voice so laced with fear. - I think the Farmer has a new dog.

(This is my third Sunday Scribblings entry. Apologies for the length of the text.)

Fox in the snow

It is so very bitterly cold outside! Absolutely all of Norway is covered in snow, and last night the temperature dropped to minus 20 degrees celsius in Oslo. Magnus and I are besieged in the apartment, keeping the cold at bay with the woodstove and the fireplace and electrical ovens and candles, and two very drowsy cats.

Yesterday we watched a movie together, Le renard and l'enfant, about a girl and the fox she befriends. It was beautiful and blissfully un-disneyfied, and I quite liked it. But Pims! She loved it! She sat in front of the tv, staring intently with her ears perked up for hours.

Now, if I believed in reincarnation, I'd say she had been a fox in a previous life, a very cold fox struggling to survive in the snow and chill, as I'm sure all foxes in the northern hemisphere are doing this very moment, and I hope they make it. But not all do. Perhaps she didn't. Perhaps she had been so brave that she was reborn as an indoor cat with heaps of snacks and food at the ready and nothing to do all winter but toast her paws in front of the woodstove.

And yet, when the forest and the birdsong and the mountains suddenly interrupted her nap, she could not help but long for them, and the sting of frost in her chest as she leapt between branches and chased across fields, and the freedom she once had. Yes, that's what I'd say. If I believed in reincarnation.

The Emperor of Mondays

A little phrase that Laini coined on her blog, ever so casually, as if unaware that she was writing music. But it's true. Mondays are wonderful if you live to write and write to live, fresh and clean and full of chapters in the making. And New Years is even fresher, cleaner and fuller, The Emperor of Mondays, as it were. What do you say we spend it speaking first words and finishing first endings? Have a happy one!

Velocity kid

It's the Incredible Speedy Magnus! From this:


to this:


in only four months.

Magnus now masters:

Eating a teaspoonful of porridge in the evenings. Yum!
Kicking off his socks in three seconds flat.
Lots of different noises, mmms and aaahs and gargles and squeals in an eloquent mix.
Keeping his head steady when lifted.
Laughing at his mirror self.
Laughing harder at his uncle Eiv.
Laughing even harder when someone says 'bæsj' (poo). Already?
Charming every female in any given social setting. Flight attendants are a particular favourite.
Falling asleep - but only if placed between mum and dad in their bed in the wee hours.

Yearbook 2009 II

Most likely to yank your heart out of your chest before you even know what hit you:

Magnus

who is also Most likely to become a spinning instructor, Most likely to double in size and Most likely to be kissed a million times in the coming year.

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.