Turning Public parenting shame on its head

First day and feeling more chilled about public meltdowns

Ever felt embarrassed or guilty when your kid causes a scene in public? Felt that pressure from other people to get them ‘under control’ as quickly as you can, when you know it’s nearly impossible? Shortly after our arrival in Stockholm, the different attitude to kids start to become apparent. Kids have tantrums because they haven’t learnt to regulate their emotions yet. The Nordic approach leans onlookers towards being nice to the kids (and even the parents in the process!).

And so, after 3 months of endless admin, planning and packing in London, at 10:00 a taxi arrived to take us to Gatwick Airport for the big flight. Well, actually the taxi company cancelled the 10:00 taxi without telling us, then apologised for not having a taxi available in time. So the 10:30 taxi (another company) arrived and Little Bear waved goodbye to the house: “Bye-bye home, bye-bye Greenwich, see you soon”… Err, not that soon little guy.
 
It definitely felt like time to move. The house was empty, with everything either sold, sent or stored, and even our old sofa we’d had since we got our first place in London over a decade ago was gone. It’s an odd feeling. You suddenly realise as you lock the door for the last time that for the next few hours at least, you don’t have a home. Can you make the new place a home? Why didn’t you think about how this was going to impact you all? Is this the right thing to do?
 
But it all picked up when we arrived at the airport. In good Nordic style, the Norwegian Air staff rushed over to us as we dragged far too many bags whilst herding the toddler towards the baggage check-in. They helped us with the bags and labels and we were through in record time (in stark contrast to our normal Ryanair and EasyJet stress).
 
Using Sweden’s worker and parent friendly equivalent to Uber, ‘TaxiJakt’, a driver picked us up at the airport (with a little sign showing our first names in the arrival hall and a toddler seat ready installed in the car).
 
Once in the flat we immediately headed out to the local shops to stock up on food for dinner. After finding our first expat snag (there are NO Weetabix in Sweden! How, will, Little Bear, cope?), Little Bear decided he needed to do the shopping. Having not slept during the flight, this including having a few melt-downs when the barrier wouldn’t open backwards or he wasn’t allowed to fill his basket up with ice-cream. This was preceded by some overtired giggling as he tried to climb on the displays and into the basket.
 
Embarrassing for me? Weirdly not. The thing that struck me the most, and made me relax in a way that I never have whilst in similar situations in London, was the reaction of the other customers. From elderly men and women to a teenager (not just parents), Little Bear’s antics were commented on. Comments aimed at both me and him.
 
But the comments weren’t what I was expecting. Instead:

• “Well what did you find in there little man?” (with a little chuckle from a giant who looked like he’d just climbed off a Viking long-ship)
• “Oh, it is tough to being a little person” (from a 60 year old lady)
• “Wow, I wish I could lie-down on the floor too. Feeling a little sleepy? Me too!” (from a 20 year old bloke)
• “Ice-cream does look tasty, but maybe not so good for your tummy?” (from a shop assistant)

 And if people didn’t comment, they’d laugh a little at the cheeky-troll who was stopping them from reaching their frozen meatballs. I also got lots of sympathetic smiles, which made me relax a lot more than normal in these situations. It felt like everyone in the store was on my side, and on Little Bear’s side along with it.
 
It felt like the situation was normal, and most importantly, ok. My style of parenting was being supported by the people around me. Despite everything being different from home, the reactions around me to Little Bear’s behaviour made me feel more relaxed than I’ve been in my local Sainsbury’s or Co-op for a long-time.
 
Here his antics are a kid being cute, not a nuisance.
 
Don’t get me wrong, people were nice in London too! But a lot of the glances (frequently frowns) I got from other adults just felt more judgmental. I felt under pressure to ‘control my kid’, which is bloody difficult when they’re tired, 2, and you need to do something else at the same time.
 
People don’t comment on your kids when they have tantrum’s in public in England, but they do look at you. I don’t think I’m being paranoid when I say that what they’re often thinking is “he really needs to get control of that child”, or equally judging the child for losing their shit.
 
I’ve grown up in a culture that praises discipline for kids, and thinks it’s great when kids are ‘well behaved’. A tantrum happens when something has ‘gone wrong’, so when it happens in public, you feel like a failure and like your’re not doing the parent thing very well.
 
Contrast this to my first day in the land of Pippi Longstockings (consummate rebel child), and there the judgmental pressure is all gone. Having visited Sweden a lot before, I do know that such situations are not pressure free. But the pressure is reversed.

I don’t want to shout at my child when he is clearly struggling to cope with his emotions. But often in London I felt that others expected me to in order to restore control.
 
I am quite certain (and have seen it), that if a parent shouts at their kid in public, the happy and sympathetic gazes change. Swedes in general do not look kindly on big people shouting angrily at small people. It’s not to say it doesn’t happen of course, we all lose our control now and again, but parents shouting at their kids are seen as people losing not restoring control over the situation.
 
I’ve been a little taken aback by how common these friendly comments and looks from others are, but I’m starting to really like it. It feels like you have a bunch of people around you supporting you through the stressful parts of parenting, and like they understand or even remember what it can be like. And like you, they are empathising with your kid, and not expecting them to be little adults when their age is in the single digits.