TWENTIETH OF JUNE

Dag turned four (!!) and we had a big birthday party last Saturday.
...Of which I didn't take any photos but afterwards, as I had my hands full. (It feels like that pretty much all of the time nowadays, too busy to take out the camera to document things, or to even bring it along. Having that said, I do have a big bunch of pictures intended for posts that have never made it that far and most likely never will either...)


I did manage to take one during the day even though I missed the candle blowing with a few seconds!

But here's the little mister instead opening up his birthday present on the actual day (Monday; yesterday). He has a total ninja-phaze going on and got these soft ninja throwing stars that he was very exited to get.

Dag was born on the lightest and thus also longest day of the year; summer solstice, and quite suitable the name 'Dag' means "day"in all Scandinavian languages. We had decided on the name before already, but he sure came out on the right day!

Four years ago he was just a little bundle in my lap and now he is throwing ninja stars (and even doing so in English, because youtube and Lego Ninjago). Although that does feel like FOREVER ago already. The newborn phase; the first months, were so weird and kind of hard to remember by now.

(The blurry photo is from the hospital just moments after he was born, before he (and I) was washed up. I remember being totally beat, obviously, but still mumbling to Eddi to "change the ISO settings damn it they photos will be crap otherwise".)

But everything after the acute baby-phase feels like on long year only. When Dag turned two and we had pancakes? What, last summer, no? NOW That's crazy.

On a sidenote, as I mentioned I have been going trough laptop hell (rather craptop or lapcrap. Not bitter at all.) and while sorting out some files I came across this folder of short texts I'd write every now and then back in the days, often late at night.
One was about staying out on the balcony of my building with a smoothie and a cigarette (I was always about balancing things up...) at 4am (I've always been a bad sleeper as well) looking at the light summer night sky. It said I had been listening to R�yksopp. There was a man on the opposite side of the street bending over the flower bed along the house wall. It was a nice flower bed with lots of orange flowers; I think they were poppies. The petals were spread out on the sidewalk underneath him like a orange carpet. First I thought he was about to pick some flowers, or collect petals, but then I saw he had a knife and was just smashing them, flower by flower. Why would he do that.� I was thinking that I should yell at him to stop, but then someone came walking along the street and he put the knife in his pocket and walked away. A swallow flew by and I went inside. Eleven years ago, but I remember that strange incident well; it was dated June 20, 2005.  That year it was also a Monday, like yesterday.