This Saturday morning I have the luxury of waking up well rested at dawn (which over here is 7:30 A.M this time of year). I rollover and tell my still sleeping husband that I am going to go for a walk.

The temperature outside is about 40 degrees F, and a thick fog blankets the ground. The air is both crisp and moist, and as it fills my lungs I imagine  I've entered into a cool sauna. The sound of birds chirping along with my footsteps striking the asphalt is all I hear.

Most of the houses lie quiet; I see through one kitchen window what seems to be a sleep-deprived dad with his child in diapers beside him (been there - done that!). When I get to the soccer fields the grass absorbs the sound of my footsteps, and I can hear myself breathe. I can't see more than 30 yards, but having gone this path many times before I move on ahead towards the woods wherein there lies a stream. In the woods I walk along the stream and stop by the old, slanted tree. With my hands on my thighs I do cat-cow to my inhalation and exhalation. I use the trees trunk so that I can do a modified downward facing dog. My stitches still feel a little tight.

I focus on being in the moment. I don't forbid myself to think, but I do make myself aware of when I am thinking. I recall how when I used to jog a simple interruption like having to ties my shoes drove me insane, since it added 30 seconds to my time. Now I soak up the moments I just stand still by the water and notice the small rings formed by the fish residing below the surface.

On my way back home, church bells start to ring in the distance. It's 8 o'clock. Walking along the street I notice that most of the houses have their kitchen lights turned on. I come home and am greeted by my daughter who yells, "Hi, mommy!". My husband is in his bathrobe emptying the dishwasher. The timer rings as I take off my shoes signaling that my softboiled egg is ready. I smell fresh coffee.

We sit down at the table and eat breakfast.

Does life get any better than this?

MBT walking shoes (Masai Barefoot Technology)

My love for them grows stronger and stronger!

As usual, the second I step outside of the door I am suddenly able to breathe again.

I love that our kids are big enough now, and that we have cell phones,  that P and I can take advantage of these walks to actually talk with each other, uninterrupted.

But now it's time for another interruption:  The Swedish version of "Dancing with the Stars" is starting now, so I have to join my family who is already lying in mine and P's bed and waiting...

Dream Vacation: not as sexy as it may seem. It's the stallion that is going to be paired with my husband's mare for nothing less than a king's ransom. Let's just hope that the foal created will not have an extra leg coming out of its forehead.

When my husband first decided on buying a horse (for trotter racing), I couldn't believe it. I was pregnant and suffering from constant and extreme nausea, and he felt compelled to get himself a horse. I have nothing against horses; I think they're fascinating creatures, but unfortunately I am also deathly allergic to them so I can't have anything to do with them.

Over the years we have had many battles about this "hobby", seeing as how I have felt it is both time consuming and pretty damn costly (at least if the horse doesn't make any money). It's taken me years to realize and accept that this is his calling. If he is able to do this, he's happy. If he's happy, it makes it a lot easier for me to do things that make me happy. Plus it's easier to be happy when your spouse is happy.

So sitting here on the couch, I watch as my kids tag-team with Lego Star Wars. P, who just came home from work, is reading his mail (you know, the paper kind), and he hands me this latest breeding contract with a list of expenses: Vet fee, stall fee, cost at birth of live foal, etc.

Let's put it this way: the stallion should change his name to Dream Vacations, you know what I'm saying?

But seriously, I'm OK with it. We've had so many discussions (=arguments), but somewhere along the way we've also learned to negotiate out a deal that we both can live with (Can you tell I love Dr. Phil ;-) ??)

Dare I say we've progressed in our relationship???

I've spent the day trying to organize my papers in a pathetic attempt to find some order in my (professional) life. It's a battle I will never win as I've never been good with paper; neither when I write, nor when I have to store.

Going through some notebooks I decided to even gather my yoga teachings, seeing as I've used several different notebooks sporadically. In each of these notebooks I've even written journal entries. I've always admired people who keep diaries, and more than once I thought I could try keeping one myself. This usually occurred at some more depressing point in my life when I was seeking a change, and I thought that writing would have a therapeutic effect on me.

Looking back, I'm sorry to say that keeping a diary and writing down my blues (even though I tried to give myself small pep-talks at the same time) didn't seem to help me much. Even now, when I reread my entries and realize I've come a long way from for example my worst period in life (which was when I turned 30, had a newborn, and P & I were in the middle of a horrific 7-year-itch), it almost reawakens the sorrow and feelings of being a lost soul.

Now I'm getting more and more into keeping a blog, and the difference this time is that I look forward to writing these small, awkward entries :-). I look back on them and feel both a sense of warmth and accomplishment. Maybe it's because instead of doting on the different events of my day, I just decide on a topic and go with it.

Tonight I am meeting a fantastic group of women to discuss the birth of the long awaited yoga studio at my gym. We're going to try to hold a series of classes for women and focus on stressyoga.

My yoga teacher, Josephine, wrote something really worthwhile in her latest book, "Våga yoga". She had asked one of her first teachers if yoga helped her with stress. Her teacher answered that learning yoga lowered her stress tolerance level. In other words, she discovered it's better to change your life to better serve your needs, rather than obsess with changing yourself to meet the challenges of the day.

I do a lot of driving for work; driving 5-6 hours a day is not at all unusual.  We've been lucky the past couple of years in the sense that I haven't had to drive in many snowstorms - my district lies mainly in the southern part of Sweden with a coastal climate.

Today, however, the temperature was in the low thirties, and as I was leaving Malmö starting my three hour drive home, some snow mixed with rain started to fall. Naturally I was in a hurry since L had a class party tonight that involved the whole family. So I sent a text message to my husband with the words, "Snow - slippery".

It's not like I absolutely had to send the text message just that second, especially since the snow ended about 5 minutes later. But deep down I knew exactly what it was I was hoping for.

And within a minute I got my answer, "försiktig", which means "careful".

All I wanted was to read his coded "I love you".

Why is it that 16½ years later, I still need to be convinced? It's definitely about me - gotta work on that.

I really do have the best job in the world, but even though the demands aren't always cutthroat sometimes "easy" missions can be exhausting.

Like today I had to stand in for a colleague at a local exhibition. First of all, like a schoolgirl, I felt sulkish since I didn't get to stand near my friends(because the best part of an exhibition is standing around, eating each other's giveaway candy, and gossiping). And little did I know that standing for most of the day was going to wreak havoc on my operation sores! So the feeling of being split in two, which I thought I was not going to have to deal with, sort of  made itself known by early afternoon.

Luckily my colleague, whom I was filling in for, showed up mid-afternoon, so I was able to leave early. But seeing as how I wasn't provided with a decent cup of coffee all day (for the record: instant coffee is brown water, nothing more!), my 4-hour drive home was soooo long, and my butt and sores were sooo uncomfortable, and now lying in my bed I am waiting for the feeling in my buttcheeks to return. Good night!

If anyone ever needs to stay at a hotel in Gothenburg, then Scandic Mölndal is all you need to know. I haven't been here for about two years; not since we moved and I switched districts and eventually jobs. Still when I get here, sweet, lovely Emma is on duty at the front desk. She greets me with the warmest of smiles as though no time has passed, and even though I am no longer a frequent guest, and the hotel is quite full, I still get a corner room with panorama windows.

Tonight I will have the pleasure of dining with one of my former coworkers, who, too, is a good friend, just like in our olden days. He and I will be each other's support group as we together deal with our mutual friend's illness. What I love about P is how open he is to his feelings, but in a masculine way. He is secure enough about himself to not have any qualms about saying what he thinks, and he is one of the few people I know who can openly disagree with someone without ever disrespecting that person.

I wonder if Aron will be waiting tables tonight? He usually manages to have us in stitches. His gift of always seeing the melodrama in things makes the "Jays" from America's Next Top Model to seem like pure macho men in comparison.

My daughter is soon turning ten, and we are rapidly approaching the treacherous "girls, friends, and drama" phase. You know, the one that a quarter of a century later still makes my stomach turn and skin crawl.

Yesterday at the school disco, what started out as a fun evening, so much that we moved pick-up time an hour forward, ended with tears and humiliation. All for the littlest thing: a friend, a supposedly "best" friend, whispered something to three other schoolmates, but refused to let my daughter in on the fun. And none of the others revealed what was said either.

Did my daughter play any part leading to these events? No idea. But her hurt was palpable. We live in a small village, and my daughter is in a small class with very few girls. I'm hoping to instill in her more self-esteem than I had at that period of my life, but, like me, she is so afraid of doing something wrong, something that could lead to rejection, that she would rather sit in her room and draw instead of calling someone. It's not about being lazy, it's about being certain. If someone calls then you know they want to see you.

So far I am grateful that she is open enough to confide in me and my husband the intrigues of her third grade class. I hope I find a way to help her deal with the pain (since I know I can't prevent it) in a way that will eventually stregthen her. Her "real" best friend lives an hour away. I keep my fingers crossed that some other girl might cross her path, so that they can help each other through the tough years to come.