My mother is here.
She came yesterday.
I'm already exhausted.
Of course everything is wrong in my house. My French oven for example, it H A S to be French, it is far too bad to be a swedish product. In Sweden ovens like mine are waiting to be eliminated because of their lack of efficiency and will, when time comes, be executed on the public square in front of all perfect swedish women and men with perfect swedish ovens.
This morning I heard her talking to my elder son asking if we only had one lamp upstairs, she said
- oh, I see, so you have to walk around with this lamp because there is no other, it must be complicated when you are in different rooms...
I was listening downstairs, amazed. The lamp in her room broke yesteraday afternoon and I just put the childrens lamp in her room because I couldn't find a bulb... we do have lamps in France, french lamps that works.
This afternoon she shouted from the kitchen - Don't you have a swedish potato peeler?
No, I answered - but take the black one, it's Israeli, I'm sure you'll love it... inside I was smiling. I'm carrying a bomb behind my back, I wonder when I should let i go...
I'll tell her when we get back from Israel.