Before last Saturday, I felt a little sad for anyone who’s not living in Sweden, like I am.

If you’re not in Sweden, you’ve missed our summer of endless sunlight (which sounds exhausting but is actually delightful).

And, you haven’t been to the bakery at the end of our street, where they make pastries that taste like sweet clouds.

And, you haven’t met Roberto, of Pizzeria Roberto, who speaks Italian and Swedish and just enough English to say, “See you tomorrow,” when we pick up our daily pie.

Yes, before last Saturday I pitied anyone who isn’t living near the Arctic Circle. (Like I am.)

And then, last Saturday, college football season began.

Woe. Is. Me.

Or, perhaps I should say, “Woe is us,” since my whole family is mourning.

We know what you’re doing there in Ann Arbor, wearing your maize and your blue. We know that when you hum “Hail to the Victors” at the grocery store, fellow shoppers hum along (instead of murmuring in bemused Swedish, like they do here). We know you’re living weekend to weekend, game to game, bratwurst to bratwurst.

And we are green with envy. (But not Michigan State green. My son wanted to make sure I was clear about that.)

This is the first football season we’ve ever missed, and we are truly missing it.

We miss the tailgaters who crouch on the sidewalk outside our house, with their foam fingers and tiny grills.

We miss waking up early and listening to the band practice.

We miss turning on the television and choosing the game that will tide us over until Michigan plays. (Although, to be honest, we’d probably settle for any program in a language we can understand.)

Did I already mention the bratwurst? Because we miss that, too. And ribs. And buffalo wings. And pulled pork sandwiches. And cheeseburgers. (If you really want to boggle the mind of a Swedish waitress, just ask her for a cheeseburger.)

Mostly, though, we miss our friends, who are always up for a party and who love football season as much as we do.

Last Friday, despite the hours and ocean that separate us from home, we stirred up a bit of football excitement. Questions about quarterbacks and UConn’s supposed toughness swirled around our little apartment. My husband did some research and found out that we could get the game online.

Okay! All right! Maybe this would work. So what that we were miles from Michigan, surrounded by people who thought soccer was the real football? We had our family traditions (i.e., watching our favorite sport while eating various meats). We would keep those traditions alive!

Last Saturday, we got up around 7 a.m. and dressed in Michigan gear. The breakfast table was a maize-out. Conversation revolved around scoring predictions. After we polished off the last bit of toast, my son pushed back his chair and asked, “Are you ready for some football?”

“Yeah!” I answered. I looked at my watch. In Ann Arbor, it was two o’clock in the morning.

Bummer.

The day dragged on. At lunchtime, my son asked if we were ready for some football, but I told him the Wolverines were still asleep. By afternoon, our Michigan gear was rumpled. My son moaned, “How much longer?”

My husband stood up. “I’m going to the store,” he said. “For snacks.”

“French onion dip!” I called after him hopefully.

By nine o’clock (three in the afternoon, Michigan time), we’d laid out an interesting spread: Swedish meatballs, pickled herring, and (in lieu of dip) something called "paprika crème fraiche."

Now we were ready for some football.

But when we tried to pull up the game, we got an apologetic message: Not available, due to technical difficulties.

My son sank to the floor.

Disappointed and grumpy, I trudged into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Later, I heard football noises from the den, and I knew they’d found the game on the radio.

When I peeked around the corner, I saw that my son was wearing his Go Blue pajamas, snuggling close to his dad. He'd never listened to a game without video before, and he was asking a lot of questions.

At first, he wanted to know what was going on -- who had the ball and where? Later, though, during a break in the action, he said, "What makes teams become rivals?"

My husband began a patient explanation. Geography. Time. Similarities. Differences.

“Okay,” my son said. “What are the differences between Michigan and Ohio State?”

“Good question,” my husband said, looking thoughtful. “Well, one is best known for academic excellence, and the other is best known for a horseshoe-shaped stadium.”

My son nodded sagely. The radio announcer yelled, “Touchdown, Michigan!” A celebration ensued, and we helped ourselves to a few meatballs.

Our first football Saturday continued that way, mellow and chatty, until it was time for bed. In Ann Arbor, our friends were just getting warmed up, but for us, the day was over.

“Twenty-one to zero, buddy,” my husband said as my son padded off to his room. “That's exciting. No matter what else happens, that’s exciting.”

Heather Heath Chapman is living in Umea, Sweden, with her husband and two children. You may reach her at heatherchapman1@me.com.