All The Single Mommies

As I've mentioned before, S is an academic. I'm a lapsed academic. He is an assistant professor who loves what he does, whereas I got my Ph.D. because I came to hate my cubicle job and Yale was willing to give me money to read, write, study languages and travel abroad. My point is, S is one of those academics who publishes steadily and attends conferences regularly, not just because he has to, but because he likes it. There is one conference in particular that is a huge annual gathering of everyone in the field, and it is held in a different American city each spring. He is there right now, and has been away on the East Coast since last Wednesday. He does not return until this Friday. That means that I will have been a single parent to a two-year-old for TEN DAYS STRAIGHT. 

I know, ten days is nothing when you think about all the single parents who do this for years and years. But when you're used to having someone share in all the logistics of making a household run and in helping with the childcare, and that person disappears for a week and a half, it means suddenly having to figure out a new system with no back up. Obviously I've been alone with O before, but this is the longest stretch and this is the first time he's at an age where he can be difficult. I think if I spoke to almost any other parent of a 2.5-year-old kid, they would think that O is incredibly easy and laid-back. But you have to understand how much easier and more laid-back he used to be! He is now doing totally normal-for-this-age things like trying to get his way and having screaming tantrums, etc. Needless to say, I was very nervous about how things would go.

Overall, though, it's been pretty great. (I'm probably jinxing myself by writing that when it's only Tuesday.) Yes, it's harder because now I have to do absolutely everything by myself: the cooking, grocery shopping, laundry, dishes, garbage, cleaning, playing and entertaining, diapers, bath time, bedtime routine, getting up if O wakes up crying in the middle of the night, dealing with tantrums and discipline. But fortunately he's at school now, which means I can get a lot done during the day. A couple of days before S left, O had been throwing fits about having to take a bath (S always gives him a bath when he's home) and I was terrified that I'd have to let him go ten days without bathing because he wouldn't let me get him into the tub. I mean, if S was having a hard time, what was I going to do? Our first night alone was tough (I heard at least one "Daddy do it," to which I had to respond that Daddy wasn't there--gulp), but after the first couple of days we both got used to the new routine. (I even managed to survive the news on Thursday that Owen was BITTEN by another child at preschool. He still has the teeth marks on his face, but seems to have forgotten it even happened.)

Even the weekend was good. I had wondered how that would go since those are the days when O gets to spend tons of time with his dad, and I also wondered how hard it would be without school taking up a huge chunk of the day. It actually turned out really well, though. I made us French toast with strawberries for breakfast (I'm trying to start a tradition of one cooked breakfast on the weekend, at least twice a month.) We went to a park in the morning, which was very crowded despite the icy conditions, and ran into twins from O's preschool who were there with their dad. It was funny because I was trying to follow along in Swedish at first but as soon as the dad remembered who O was (at first he thought his name was Noah, who's another kid in the class), he immediately switched into English with no acknowledgment of the fact that he'd just been speaking a completely different language. And on the walk home we ran into another dad and his daughter whom we'd met at open preschool back in the day. It was the first time I ever felt as though our neighborhood was, well, like a neighborhood, where you actually run into people you know. Sunday was more boring. Our big expedition was to the supermarket, but I think it's fun for O because child-centric Sweden has mini-shopping carts for children to push so he was pushing his around the store and helping me put things in it. He's really good about it and wasn't trying to intentionally ram into shelves or people or treating it like a toy. Otherwise we just hung out at home. 

It's funny how quickly I went from dreading this whole experience and kind of hating it at the beginning to enjoying the time with O and getting to do whatever I want. (Example: S is not a fan of O pushing the mini-shopping cart because he thinks it slows everything down too much. Sigh. Another example: I'm eating way more pasta and junk food than normal.) Don't get me wrong; we are looking forward to having S back at the end of the week. But it's given me confidence that this is something I can do and that I don't need to freak out before the next long conference.

Talar du svenska?

Now that O is in school, I've somewhat halfheartedly been trying to look for a job. I say that my search is half-hearted because, realistically speaking, it's necessary to know at least some Swedish in order to get a job here unless you are a scientist like my husband, or in business or IT, or willing to work behind the scenes in a factory, hotel, restaurant, etc (and even then you probably need to know a little Swedish). Jobs for school teachers require certification, even in private schools, and besides, the international schools are looking for someone with a working knowledge of Swedish as well. It makes sense. I'm living in Sweden, after all. Several weeks ago I found one advertisement for a job as a copy editor at a video game company that did not require Swedish, but I think it was pretty clear from my application that I know nothing about video games. I was politely informed that I had not been selected for an interview. I'm slowly sending out copies of my CV to different schools in the hopes that they might need a tutor or assistant teacher, and that certification will not be necessary for such a job.

In the meantime, the only thing I can really do to improve my prospects is learn Swedish. I began my classes about three or four weeks ago through a program called SFI, or Swedish for Immigrants. These classes are completely free and you can actually receive a cash bonus if you pass the final exam within a set period of time. At the moment I'm feeling pessimistic about being able to get my hands on that money, but who knows. Anyway, I had to trek down to the headquarters and take a placement test to determine which class I would be attending. (There are levels A-D, and the ultimate goal is passing the 3D exam.) I waited with my number for about 20 minutes, was called into an office, a Swedish man asked me a question in Swedish, I looked at him blankly, he repeated in English, "Do you speak any Swedish?" and I told him, "No." That was the extent of my evaluation. Imagine my surprise when I was placed into Class 3C. Apparently A is for people who have had no schooling at all, B is for people who have had some schooling and C is for people who have completed high school. Presumably D is for people who already know a little Swedish.

The class has been better than I expected, though it is a little strange to feel as though I'm back in high school again. Roll is taken, recess is held (the class is three hours long), people quickly form cliques. We practice dialogues in pairs, introducing ourselves over and over again, talking about our daily schedule to practice telling the time as well as using different verbs, and we have even enacted doctor/patient scenarios to learn the parts of the body and various ways to describe illnesses and pains.

Our class could be the basis for a really bad '80s sitcom. There's the kooky, middle-aged hippie teacher who insists on broadly acting out or drawing every vocabulary word, and who pigeon-holes her students. (When I told her I'd have to miss a couple of classes, she asked if I was going to China. I told her that I wasn't actually from China despite my Chinese name, to which she responded, "Oh, were you adopted in Sweden?" Hmm, adopted at the age of 33? Or adopted as a child yet having to learn Swedish from SFI instead of within my hypothetical Swedish family?) There's my classroom partner, a waitress and part-time nanny from Poland who has ambitions of getting her MBA, who also looks like she could be a model. We are the only two in the class nerdy enough to consistently choose seats right in the center front row. I don't know enough about everyone else in the class, but they're from all over (Colombia, France, Turkey, Serbia, Russia, Czech Republic, China--real China) and I'm sure they all have interesting back stories. Wasn't there a show just like this about adult immigrants learning English?

I do think I'm learning a lot in the class, plus there is the added bonus of thinking about pedagogical techniques as I observe the teachers. Seeing how things are done here could be useful if I ever manage to get a job teaching language again.