Single Mum, or, That Decision

Not everybody was aware of it, but for the last couple of weeks we've been debating whether or not we would move our little family across England, and settle in Sandwich for a, hopefully longish, bit. After much to-ing and fro-ing, and a great fat lot of indecision, long lists of pro's and con's, imaginary family and career future development plotlines and a fair amount of shouting down the phone, we have come to the conclusion that the safest and bestest option is for mummy and Tari to stay in Leicester, and poo to that too.. But hey, mummy lacks the guts to uproot, relocate and hope for the best, and though I have very sunny summer fantasies about parading Tara down the seafront in Ramsgate or Margate, the reality of it would probably look very different and include a fair share of sunburn, at the very least. So here we stay.

On weekends, we'll have fun bulk buying stuff (especially cheap bread just before closing time) and dragging it home packed like donkeys cause on weekdays mummy only ever dreams of shopping for food, fresh or otherwise. Tara will be a good girl and help with the shopping, even though it's so d*** near bedtime.

Monday to Friday, daddy will be that picture on the computer and the voice on the phone (buttons! lights! excitement!), and Tara's enthusiasm will be exclusively for daddy's picture and voice, and a good thging it is - about time she stopped changing the settings on mummy's computer by hitting random keys that turn out to be shortcuts that nobody knew existed.


Tara will be a star when I decide that there is no way around the ironing or other fun house hold activities. She will play quietly with all those child safe toys mummy provides for her entertainment, and stay away from the screws and staples that get overlooked.

And then, Tara will read quietly in her high chair when mummy wants to read a book too, have a quiet moment, chat on the phone without someone trying to chew through the cable or press random buttons at the same time. Hmm, literature - fascinating. Enchanting. Captivating.




Life as a semi-single weekday full time working mum will be great, won't it, Tara?

Bank Holiday A&E Party

Does this kid look like she'd snack on nails and screws when mummy is not looking? No, does she? And yet she does, naughty thing.
I put her on the bathroom floor so I could powder my nose, and thought what a brilliant idea it was to let her play with the washing pegs. And a great idea it was, except that at the bottom of the box of bunch of nails and screws were hiding that I'd dumped there in one of my untidy pre-Tara incarnations, and had forgotten about. Until Tara started crying, nails scattered about her, and a belatedly inspired mum retrieved a small screw from an ouchy inquisitive mouth.

Now, apparently, when your baby's been snacking on screws and you're not sure whether she's actually consumed any, these are the tell-tale signs to look out for:

any signs of pain
difficulty swallowing
changes in breathing pattern
retching or vomiting
foaming at the mouth, i guess
(and generally it is not recommended to let them snack on nails that young anyway)

Now, mine looked roughly as depicted above, and proceeded to play, screech and snack on banana, bread and anything else I gave her (thinking, if there's a nail inside her I'd better cushioned it in bulky food). And yet, when daddy came home from his long working week away, we set out to A&E to get her x-rayed. Just to be sure.

To be sure, it took forever. Tara didn't exactly act an emergency, so all other emergencies were more urgent.
Oh, those wonderful older children! Playing and making a noise! Tara's got to join in! And those admirable glaring lights that light even the smallest corner! And, oh oh oohh!, these wonderful new toys, mummy can I take them home, I love them so! (No honey, they say "Please don't steal me" written across them, but I can take a note and check on ebay when we got home...)

Oh yes, getting home? At 1.30am. Just a little after bed-time.

But it's a good thing we went to Tara's A&E party and had us some bank holiday fun, cause it's been raining ever since and all other parties sind in's Wasser gefallen.

PS.: Everybody, hands off this auction for this moosical cow, it's got Tara written across it!

The Big Sleepy Silence

We're being rather quiet recently, aren't we? It's the Big Sleepy Silence that's descended on Tara's blog. She was rather feverish most of last week and kept calling me up so I couldn't ever start or finish anything (kitchen included, but we've seen that before). And when she calls me, I cuddle up next to her - never mind getting a nipple stuck and finding it difficult to unlodge it without upsetting her again - and flake. And the next thing I know is the alarm is ringing for me, the computer has been on all night, and all I get for a lunch at work is chocolate and microwave meals. Very bad for the electricity bill. Very bad for nutrition and weight gain. But ever so cosy!

7.15! Time to GET UP! We want to leave the house at 7.30!

Mummy, what are we doing out here?! There's far too much light, and only 20 minutes ago I was still asleep in bed!

Monday Morning

Come monday morning (yaaawn), and we two girls are on our own again. So out comes the mobile phone, along with the alarm clock, and Tara gets to hold both - for being such a good girl and helpfully submitting, without great complaints, to speed-dressing cause mummy has overslept again. In short, monday morning ritual, and yes, you can call it bribery too.
Oh those little thumbs, they are so so good at pressing little buttons, and then there's the added incentive of lights coming on when you hit the right ones, and different colour lights too! And only occasionally Tara hits the wrong one, and switches the whole phone off, but boy! is she good at hanging up on daddy! Do we tell him that the enthusiastic shrieks he hears down the phone, at the other end of the country, are more to do with button pressing and funny lights, than with his sweet daddy voice cooing down the line? Naa... we won't! Though he would probably be very proud of his technologically minded daughter! Like father...

Hello? Hello daddy? This is Tara calling!... Daddy? Oops, pressed the wrong button again.

Flip Flop

Flip

Just as I was saying (again) how my daughter would never, it seems, want to turn over, she actually, finally, did. I hadn't really meant it anyway. Surely she would work out how to swing that heavy head over and get her arm out of the way, some time before she was 18 and left the house. So here we go: made it! - 17 years, 2 months and two weeks, roughly, before said time. Now over she rolls, pushes that heavy head up for about ten seconds, smiles a big fat grin at mummy, then flops flat onto her front and goes on grinning. Or whines, and is turned back onto her back by an understanding mummy who knows, babe, it's hard work holding heavy bits up when you haven't got the muscles yet.

Flop!

Far more Tara's element - the vertical.
See that spot on the orange-purple-pink bit of the rug, near the sun yellow lion, which I've helpfully marked with a red 'x'? That's where I put her before I put the washing up. Now, officially this kid doesn't move yet. At all. Full stop. A mystery? I have a theory. It involves bending of legs and pulling that bum along, as seen on a baby friend at nursery. We will have to keep an eye on this. And start thinking about rearranging the house. Bummer.

Much safer - supervised standing. Great fun, fully controlled, and no danger to kitchen cupboards or other elements of established order around the house. Clearly mummy's preference for now!

P.S. I know I've been complaining about how I have to help her stand all the time when she could just as well sit (but won't) and play on her own (not a preferred choice), while I could have my hands to myself and do stuff. Just ignore me.

Waschmaschine Gucken

Diesmal habe ich darauf bestanden, und Tari hat mir Geellschaft geleistet. Ein kleines arges bischen nervös war ich schon, als ich meine Lieblingsjacke nach einem staubigen Jahr in die Wäsche warf. Aber ach! als wochentags allein erziehende Mutter kommt man eben nicht mal eben zur Reinigung. Und siehe da, nach spannenden 30 Minuten im Wollschonwaschgang (30 Grad), hatte ich endlich wieder eine Jacke, in der man auch mit Stauballergie atmen kann. Diese 30 Minuten... fast so spannend wie Eurovision gucken!

Opa hat Geburtstag

Zum Geburtstaaaaag vieeeeel Glüüück, lieber Opa!
Beim Torteessen sind wir nicht dabei. Daher wollten wir Fotos mit Geburtstagskerze machen. Gut, dass wir uns im letzten Moment noch überlegt haben, dass Anzünden wohl doch nicht die beste aller Ideen wäre.


Wie es aussieht, sind Kerzen ohnehin zum Beißen da. So wie alles. Also. Zum Geburtstag guten Appetit!

Friday Night

We make it through the week, and come Friday night, Tara just about makes it through the door onto the sofa, through all availble boobs like a very hungry caterpillar, and conks out on mummy. Mummy takes pity and sits, for over an hour, contemplating the week-old mess all over the house, while Tara holds on to the last remaining nipple. Finally we maneuver her into a position that allows mummy to phone up some take-away restaurant; daddy will want dinner when he comes home from his travels, and there is neither any food stuff left in the fridge, not any house keeping energy in me.
Just Tara will be refreshed for daddy's return, and she will SHRIEK with delirious JOY, and no other way of describing it.

Sounds like Friday Night to you?
Well, that's what it IS.