8 Women, or, BabyBoom

There is this odd French film (French + film = odd, as we all know) that we all went to see some time ago. Eight women, one dead man, lots of singing, and who killed the guy?
Now the only thing that had died a horrible death today was academic talk around a table that saw three of us pass various exams over it in most laudably academic ways, again, some time ago, examined by lady number four (resp. one). No singing, but Ava meowed and snuffled, Lia burped, Tara first screeched, then cried, and Martha actually talked ('heiß' she said, and that was exciting in a near-academic way!).

Ava Emilia (1m), Lia Peanut (4m), Tara Olivia (8m), Martha Pauline (12m)

There! Eight women: four mothers, four daughters, nearly four months between them each, one after the other, four chairs, four table legs, four academic degrees... but I'm losing fo(ur)cus!

Ava is Ruth's, Martha is Katja's, Lia is Nirite's, and Tara is MINE MINE MINE!

(the table and its legs are Ruth's)

Hannover

Hannover, o Hannover
what art thou to me?
A bagel in a coffee shop
on Lister Mei-y-lee.







A bookshop full of German books
...to shop I never meant!*
I only meant to take a look
at bargains! 20 cent!**







The sun shines bright, a cold wind blows
attacking baby's nose...
Now snotty snails creep in and out
my sweet sweet daugther's snout!






And friends aplenty, old and new
around us all day long.
O happy times, not just a few
Te-ding, te-dung, te-dong!***







* Over 70 Euros. Don't mention it to Jose!
** Got some 10 of those as well.
*** Indicating happy music, till fade out.

33 (Mummy Is Cool)

Another couple of years, and Tara will think that I'm ancient (like we thought that our parents were ancient) (which they were't really). So rather than ageing gracefully and counting my grey hairs (plenty! too time consuming a job!), I'm proving a point today and drag my daughter to the playground for a cool young mummy photo shoot. And here we go. I'm ageing. I'm cool. I'm young. Tara is not impressed. But she will be, she will be...

PS.: Daddy, we missed you today. You cound have eaten so much Butterkuchen!

Tara Travels

I look like I can do it, and I know I can, but where did those unplanned extra bags come from (not seen on picture)? Stack luggage as follows: Push chair. Car seat on push chair. Baby on car seat on push chair. Hand bag (large, inc. change of baby clothes, toys and nappies), under baby, car seat and push chair in blessed carrier net. Stuff in backback on back. More stuff in large gym bag. Not provided for by travel plan. Dragged along somehow.

Baby travels well. Sleeps all the way on the train and wakes for the real action.

Even after check in we look like a pair of tramps. Tara sees passports and says, gimme that!

Tara sees boarding passes and, having collected both passports, insists; Gimme that, too!
Then she starts flirting. Men. Dark eyes and dark hair seem to be her type (tbc later. Much later). One she's particularly delighted with and nearly jumps over my shoulder to get to. Gimme your number, I tell him, she'll be in touch in about 16 years.* His mates think that's funny (hehehe).

Safety instructions, magazine, flight sickness bag, camera, foodstuffs: Gimme that too, gimme everything, gimme all of it! We trash the magazine and travel sickness bag. The safety instructions are laminated. We leave them dripping. More flirting, the men in the seats in front, behind us, and all in sight across the aisle. Some delighted screeching.
The stewardess agrees: Tara travels well.

* 18, Jose corrects me later.

Tara & Sarah McDonald

Old McDonald had a wife (ee-ya-ee-ya-yoo). Her name was Sarah. While mummy liked coffee and comfy chairs, Sarah liked FOOD (which mummy liked, too, but of course admitting to just liking coffee and comfy chairs is much better PR). At first, Tara (who likes milk best), thought that hanging out in particular restaurants was not a good idea at all. But then... no no, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's get back to our tale.

Now, old McDonald conveniently also had a farm, and 'cause Sarah liked food so (as we have already established) he opened a fast food restaurant, where he served lovely red wrapping paper, beverages in plasticky paper cups, and some bread 'n stuff too, all day long. Also, balloons. Now these, Tara loved. Of course, at first she did not know that.

She thought she only loved red plasticky paper and cups and generally everything that mummy had. Or, alternatively, Sarah, cause the difference isn't so great at all.

So while mummy and Sarah enjoyed the occasional foodthing and drink (old McDonald conveniently farmed beef, chicken, lettuce, tomato, potato and other other similar edibles), Tara gradually took to her weekly visits, and who can blame her!

There was the undeniable pleasure of having a social life, friends, and company, and also the added joy of being photographed every time. Who could say no to that?!

Smile!

Then, one fine day, mummy had enough of Tara scoffing wrapping materials, and generously purchased Tara's first foodstuff at uncle McDonald's restaurant: A white bread roll, sliced and toasted, hot and wrapped in its own delectable sheet of wrapping material, all just for her, and all just for 30p. Oh, how she loved it! And mummy and Sarah leaned back, and took pictures of the spectacle of Tara scoffing her first burger. A joy it was to behold! And here, the story ends, and all live happily ever after, and only occasionally suffer indigestion.

Scoff, scoff, munch, munch

(Yes, Old McDonald also had a clown, but he does not feature in our tale.)

Nursery

So. Does this tiny person enjoy nursery? You bet she does. She gets to play with sooooo many toys, even though occasionally she has to fight some other tiny people for them. Not an issue with the balls though, enough for everyone!

And then, she gets visits from mummy, who comes running at 10am, and again at 1pm, and brings some yummy milk, and soooooo many cuddles.

And then, oh, there's soooo much to learn! Like how to bite a bottle. Or how to eat. Or how to sit up without falling over too much. Or how to play with the zip-up animals. Or... or... well, plenty other stuff too, like doing artwork! And making cards for mummy and daddy on every possible occasion!

One thing left to learn, though, is that when mummy comes, and looks through the window to find her little love, and then disappears again, it doesn't mean she's disappeared! She's only gone to the door as she can't come in through the window. Poor Tara, bless her! She always laughs at me through the window, pulls a face when I step back, and by the time I've made it through the door she's crying crying crying for mummy!

Papi

Papi is back! Waking up on Saturday morning is so much nicer than on any other day! Now why would that be? Cause Papi is back! There he lies, on his matress on the floor, and as soon as Tara opens her eyes, mummy hands her down for smiles, big and plentiful.

Wawawa-mamma-wawa-papa-wa, Tara coos as daddy changes her nappy, and looks at mummy. Nono! cries daddy. I'm papa, she's mama only!
No worries, Jose! She knwos exactly who you are. These giant toothless smiles and loud happy giggles are just for you!

Tara Muss zum Arzt

Fräulein Flötschauge machte am Donnerstag die Augen auf, plink, und eins blieb einfach zu, rot gelb klebrig und geschwollen. Ein persönlicher Rekord, trotz sieben Monaten mit einem mal mehr mal weniger siffigen Klebeauge. 'Super,' sagt sich die Mama, 'das finden die im Kiga bestimmt nicht so toll,' und putzt und wischt und säubert was das Zeug hält. Sogar die Augentropfen vom letzten Rettungsversuch hab ich wieder rausgefischt. Gebracht hat's natürlich nichts, der Kiga hat, auf die feine englische Art, seine 'Bedenken' bezüglich des klebrigen und potentiell ansteckenden Auges an die Mama gebracht und einen Arztbesuch am nächsten Tag nebst 48stündiger Quarantäne 'empfohlen'.
Aber ich hab's ja schon seit 4 Wochen kommen sehen. Ein langes Wochenende also für Flötschäugelein und Frau Mama, und das Bankkonto schrumpft um ein paar Pfund in Gehaltsausfall und ungenutzten Kindergartengebühren. Versehentliches Verlegenheits-shoppen mal außen vor.

Tara beim Arzt: ein kluges Mädchen, das den Unterschied zwischen Patienten im Wartezimmer (arme harmlose Leute, die wild und wahllos angelächelt werden) und Ärzten im Behandlungszimmer (Misstrauen erregende Gestalten, die mit tiefem Stirnrunzeln betrachtet werden). Und das, bevor sie das arme Auge mit Wattestäbchen attackieren, um die Art der Bakterien definieren zu können!

Den Rest des unfreiwilligen Feiertags sind wir dann ganz entspannt angegangen, ein bischen durch die Stadt gelaufen und haben ein bischen wahllos eigekauft: ein T-shirt für Tara zum halben Preis, und ein paar nette Dinge, die Papa Mama zum Muttertag schenken wird (Alex zu Jose: Ich war heute schon mal einkaufen. Zum Muttertag schenkst du mit also diese nette Körperlotion... das ist aber nett von dir! Was krieg ich sonst noch?).

Zum krönenden Abschluß eines teuren aber gelungenen Tages will Tara dann ein bischen Waschmaschine gucken. Besteht darauf und fällt fast vom Hochstuhl in dem Versuch, näher ans Programm zu kommen. Also haben wir ein bischen Wäschestücke im Vorbeisausen kommentiert und gemeinsam Waschmaschine geguckt, wie das ja in den allgemeinen Mediengebrauchsrichtlinien für die Kleinen empfohlen wird. Und danach durfte Tara sogar noch ein bischen alleine weitergucken.

Guck mal, Mama! Spannendes Programm! (40 Grad Baumwolle)

Daddy Calling

Last Saturday Tara did punish Jose with a long heavy critical silence - a who-is-that, mummy? silence - for his long absence all week. And now he's gone again.
But in the morning we get daddy on the phone now. We give him a call and put him on the speakers. And when his voice comes off the table top, Tara looks up from her play session on fur island - it's daddy, mummy!


But before I get myself into a sentimental state, I should consider getting to work on the kitchen floor. I spilled an entire bag of m&m's. Twice. No fun. They ought to be gone by Friday night. And the state the kitchen is in again...

Zwerg auf Fellinsel

Lange ist's noch gar nicht her, da ist der kleine Kribbelkrabbelkäfer nach einer herausragenden Sitzleistung von ein bis zwei Minuten entweder auf die Nase geklappt oder seitlich weggefallen - plop, und wahwah, Mama heb mich auf! Sitzhilfen waren nicht unwillkommen aber doch etwas zeitintensiv (denn schließlich ist ja Mama die beste Sitzhilfe, kommt so schön mit integrierter Bespielfunktion). Aber nun gebe man drei Wochen Kindergarten zum sitzwilligen Kind und siehe da, wackel wackel, Umfallen ist ein Problem der Vergangenheit! Sie sitzt und sitzt und sitzt, und wackelt ein bischen, und sitzt noch ein bischen mehr, gurrt dabei und knabbert an dem Spielsachensortiment, das man ihr anbietet, und guckt alle Nase lang mal hoch und strahlt Mama an, die irgendwas anderes macht.


Ja, wirklich. Irgendwas anderes. Wie, zum Beispiel, Papierkram am Tisch. Kochen und Mittagessen für den nächsten Tag. Die Küche verwüsten (Jose: "Alex, wie machst du das bloß! Wenn ich koche, ist hinterher trotzdem noch alles ordentlich und sauber!"). Und Tara sitzt und sitzt und sitzt, mit warmem Popo wie Robinson auf einer Lammfellinsel, und ist zufrieden.
Und ich auch.
Mama sagt, guckuck Tara! Und Tara kichert und spielt weiter vor sich hin.
Fast bis zum Umfallen, das sich dann irgendwann plötzlich mit verzogenem Gesichtchen und ein paar verstimmten Tönen ankündigt. Worauf Mama, dankbar und zufrieden für die vielen langen Minuten zum irgendwas-anderes machen, alles stehen und liegen lässt und sich die Krabbe greift und knuddelt. Was erkärt, warum die Küche auch nach fünf vaterlosen Abenden ein bischen einem Schlachtfeld gleicht. Macht aber nichts. Prioritäten muss man setzen, und wenn Priorität Nummer eins so toll sitzt, dann stehen alle anderen Projekte gaaaanz weit hinten an.*


* Sonst auch.