the Wagon gets stuck with the front wheels and tipping forward so tvååringen is close to fly out of. Femåringen go with snow up to the knees, it is heavy, he can't be bothered.
”Why can't we go on the other side of mother?” squeaks he, and pointing towards the bike path on the other side of the road, which is so magically clean and free from snow that you would think that it is possible heating coils under it. Freshly washed, it looks to be. Shiny and non-slip. Despite the fact that the snowflakes father profusely through the air.
can we not go there? Nothing bad about the cyclists, many of my best friends have bikes, but there is an unwritten law in Stockholm that the person who enters a bicycle lane, do so at your own risk. Even if it is only a maximum of a cyclist in an hour that will be running here, I would rather not die.
It is of course not vintercyklisternas errors that I and other parents with me, must walk through the decimeterhög snow and fend off uppskottade massive amount of snow with the pram. It is fun for the riders in my area that they quickly get their routes secured for the excesses of the morning. If I were a bigger man I would rejoice for their sake.
I am a small person. It is the ice age, it is Monday and it is still dark even though the clock is nearing eight.
the kids and I are crossing a street and I turn on the cart to turn over a huge, rock hard snöbarriär as skottats away from the bicycle path next to the. Femåringen slips on a patch of ice, I'm trying to get hold of him, and falls for yourself head over heels backwards over a high snökockor.
Ports in the bike path. A cyclist will alert annoyed at me when he drives by.
Emma Bouvin is a reporter at the DN and this is her last heart for this time. In the future, please feel free to read her the chronicles in the DN Saturday every other week. Until then, you can warm up with her previous reflections on visiting the jättetråkiga museums on the diligence and meeting with a man who saved her child's life .