After I picked Petra up at pre-school this afternoon, we walked to the gas-station-slash-post-office to mail a couple of packages, then continued to the grocery store, where we intended to buy only eggs but came out instead with two heavy-ish bags full of things we probably could have done without.

When we were within a block or so of our house, we noticed Tage and his cousin Alex playing outside, and when they saw us, they ran over to meet us.  I spent the remaining fifty meters of the walk herding the three kids along and trying to keep them out of the street, struggling a little with Petra, who was excited to see the boys and didn’t want to wait up for me.

I had just reached my house when a car pulled up across the street from me.  The driver, a middle-aged woman I didn’t recognize, rolled down her window and leaned out to ask me something.  I didn’t catch what she said, but I assumed she was asking for directions.  When I asked her to repeat herself, I was surprised to hear her say, in a kindly tone, “I can give you a ride home with all those little ones and those heavy bags.”

I thanked her for her offer and told her that I had actually made it home, at which she smiled and nodded, saying that she knew how tough it could be to manage heavy shopping and energetic kids at the same time.  I laughed with her in agreement before she drove off, then I stood a moment thinking to myself how often I hear that Swedes are “cold” and “unfriendly,” and reflecting on how different my own experience has been.