After today’s school day, the world’s most perfect teenager is halfway through his IB exams. The pressure is real. If he doesn’t hit the required tolerances, he won’t pass and won’t get the Diploma. Simple as that.

This is surprisingly hard for Swedish friends and family to wrap their heads around. Because in the regular Swedish school system, pretty much everyone gets approved — one way or another.

Sweden as a society is so woke and “inclusive” that we’ve spent years putting the ones who don’t behave, don’t show up, or don’t try first in line. The study horse is already more than okay, so she or he doesn’t get any extra — and very well-deserved — attention.

My own son is far from a classic study horse, so I’m not speaking for my own interest here. Right now I’m thinking about all the real study horses out there. The ones who’ve shown up, fought, and put in the effort day after day for twelve long years.

Those kids deserve their moment to shine when it actually matters.

It feels deeply unfair that the troublemakers — the ones who’ve prioritized everything except school — get the same piece of paper as the ones who actually did the work. Sure, the grades differ on paper. But we all know there are students leaving Swedish compulsory school after 9 years plus 3 “voluntary” gymnasium years who can barely read or write and still get passed through the system.

Let the study horse have their time in the spotlight for once.

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This is a new post on the new dewlar.me blog.
You can find the old blog here:https://mrsdewlar.blogspot.com

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The world’s most perfect teenager turned 18 last September and overnight disappeared from all my banking apps, healthcare apps and just about everything else.

The only thing he hasn’t disappeared from is our insurance and the school app, which I still have access to until he graduates this summer. And honestly… I’m ridiculously grateful for that. I’m clearly not ready to stop being his mom in that way just yet.
He’ll always be my baby — no matter how tall he gets or how old he turns.

Eight years ago we got a letter from Social Services in Stockholm that made my stomach drop.

I tore it open in the dimly lit entrance hall by the mailboxes and tried to read it without my glasses. When that failed, I sprinted up the stairs to my husband.

The letter asked why our son wasn’t enrolled in school — even though school is compulsory in Sweden.

We had just switched him to the school he still attends today. We assumed the schools would handle the transfer and register him automatically when they applied for funding.

Turns out this school was completely private. And of course it was our job to notify the authorities.

For a few terrifying minutes I genuinely thought social services were coming to take our son.In the end, the only ones who had dropped the ball… were us.

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This is a new post on the new dewlar.me blog.
You can find the old blog here:https://mrsdewlar.blogspot.com

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Today the world’s most perfect husband and I were at my parents’ summer house. My 78-year-old mother, who is still terrifyingly curious about technology, asked me to show her how to use AI.

We went through the basics. She lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

Then my father walked in, saw what we were doing, and immediately declared: “I want that too.”

Of course he did.

My husband downloaded Grok for him on the spot.

Let me be crystal clear: my father’s history with technology is an absolute disaster zone. Printers die, computers freeze, and simple logins turn into full-scale emergencies.

If Grok suddenly starts speaking in riddles, deleting files, or just quietly gives up and walks away… we all know exactly who broke it.

Grok is about to discover what true technological terror looks like.

(For those who missed my previous tales of technological terror, you can read about our role as my dad’s full-service gas station here: We Are My 80-Year-Old Dad’s Full-Service Gas Station)

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This is a new post on the new dewlar.me blog.
You can find the old blog here:https://mrsdewlar.blogspot.com

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The world’s most perfect husband and I manage my parents’ investments – and we’ve done a damn good job.

My dad is extremely frugal. My mom loves to shop. The contrast is endless entertainment.

Six weeks ago dad asked me to invest a large liquidity surplus from his company.

I’ve tried a tax-free account for several. years. The return is pathetic.

So I arranged a LEI number and moved the money into a proper investment account. The invested part is now up more than 16 %.

But I’m only using a small fraction of the surplus.

The rest is being held hostage.

Why? Because my 80-year-old father is shockingly bad at invoicing — despite me chasing him every single week.

Until he gets significantly better and faster at sending invoices, I refuse to release more capital.

And knowing my dad… this hostage situation is going to last a very long time.

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This is a new post on the new dewlar.me blog.
You can find the old blog here:https://mrsdewlar.blogspot.com

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A little over a year ago we sold our beautiful tenant-owned premises in Östermalm where we ran a B2C business. We got paid very well.

Since then we’ve been running a much smaller B2B operation from an industrial property my parents own, and invested over 70% of the proceeds in the stock market.

The result? Considerably more free time.

And I hate it.

I am apparently wired for work. Free time does not suit me at all. I get restless, slightly annoying, and start overthinking everything. My husband, on the other hand, is thriving and loving every single minute of it.

I’ve now been looking for a new job for almost a year. Sweden has been in a recession the entire time, so the market is not exactly rolling out the red carpet. I’m lucky enough financially that I can turn down offers that don’t feel right, but the truth is… I really need a new job.

Especially since the world’s most perfect husband and I now spend every single day together — I need a new job before he stops being quite so perfect.

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This is a new post on the new dewlar.me blog.
You can find the old blog here: https://mrsdewlar.blogspot.com

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My husband and I have become what used to be called a “full-service gas station” – or as the young people say, a “one-stop-shop” – for my dad.

I handle the accounting for his company, all bank transactions, payments and investments. My husband helps him with his private investments, computer problems, and gives advice whenever he needs a new printer, laptop or gadget.

Last night he was over at our place. My husband helped him with several share purchases and ordered a new printer for his summer house.

This morning my dad called early, in full panic mode.

He couldn’t log into his computer. It was asking for a password, and my dad only ever logs in with his fingerprint.

I tried to calmly explain that he had probably accidentally changed the login settings, but he was already too frustrated to listen. Five minutes later he was ringing our doorbell.

My husband fixed the fingerprint login in two minutes. Dad checked that his email and internet sharing from the phone were working, and left happy.

My dad is 80 years old.

He still runs his consulting company and works six days a week. But when it comes to technology, he is completely helpless – worse than a one-year-old.

When I was a teenager, my mother bought a brand new CD player. That same evening she went to a sewing party at the neighbour’s. When she came home, my dad had tried to play a CD… and managed to completely destroy the player.

She had to buy a new one the next day.

Some things, it seems, never change.

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This is a new post on the new dewlar.me blog.
You can find the old blog here: https://mrsdewlar.blogspot.com

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