True Love Goes All The Way (In the Other's Shoes)

Ouch, did my feet hurt! I was not going to walk one step further in them, but New Walk on socks on a day after a rainy night was not ideal either. So Jose was convinced that True Love exchanges shoes.

Tara, for some reason of her own, threw her own right shoe in as well, but it was too small to enter into the True Love exchange.


Getting them back off was a tough family job as well. Involved all of our best intentions and efforts. A bit like exchanging rings maybe?


The shoes will go to some charity shop.
Tara and I will go South to take our family life back up again in the first half of December. Sod the extra cash, and sod the car on her 18th birthday. We have enough to buy some extra toys, and for now, that will have to be enough.

There we go: decision made and delivered by Friday, as requested. I can't say that it would necessarily have been the same one Friday before, or one after, but this is it, now.
So there we go: off to our proper happily ever after, for now. It's a bit wobbly, but boy, is it funny, and not painful any more!

Morgen ist Freitag

So. Nochmal ordentlich gebadet und gewaschen, und danach gekämmt, denn einmal dürfen wir noch drüber schlafen. Hätte uns mal Väterchen Staat bloß nicht plötzlich so viel Kindergeld für die nächsten sechs Monate (und danach nichts mehr) zugeschrieben. Tara, hm? Was soll's sein: Der Winter mit Papi oder ein Auto zum 18. Geburtstag? Oder alle, alle, alle Spielsachen in der Stadt? Na?


Ah, schläfst schon drüber. Besser so. Müssen Mama und Papa ohnehin für dich mit entscheiden, bist ja noch keine 18.

P.S. Tante Rosi, your present has been delive(red) and is being much admi(red)!

Dr. Dr. Daddy

In the morning, Tara lent daddy her one and only piggy for good luck. Then, everybody liked those fat black lines as much as Tara had. And in the evening, we came home to piggy and daddy, now Dr. Daddy. That's how easy it was!

Of course, among ourselves, we'd already worked out that daddy is a genius. There is unequivocal statistical proof: His record-breaking bedtime success. And how he feeds Tara without trashing the kitchen floor!

Ingenious at comforting his little girl (when mummy & the boobies let him).


And CLEARLY the bestest entertainer in the whole of Leicester. But we've known that, at least, for a long time! To us, he's been Dr. Daddy all along. So now, he can be Dr. Dr. Daddy!

One family hug into chemical (not comical) Dr.-dom, mummy gets the camera out. But of course! So pictured below, from left to right: Mummy ('I MUST take an official family shot now that daddy's a proper doctor!'); Tara ('Give me that camera now, or I will wiggle and wriggle and whine!'); Dr. Daddy ('Calm. At peace. Relaxed. Aaaaah... Hungry! Not eaten since yesterday 3pm.').

Family Portrait: Dr. Dr. Daddy and His Girls

... and off they walk into the sunset and their happily ever after. (Spot the green traffic lights?! That's a GOOD sign!)


Ah, not so fast now. There's Friday still, and That Decision. Still to be made. So we'll keep walking for a while, and on our girly own too, Tara & I. Dr. Dr. Daddy got on a train and went back to Sandwich to help save the poorly of the world.

A Spoon is a Spoon is a Spoon

Is a spoon. Of course, a hand is a hand is a hand, and a mouth is a mouth is a mouth.


Occasionally, however, a hand is a spoon is a mouth, and a mouth is a spoon, or a hand. The face also plays a role along those lines.


That's when we're somewhat relieved that daddy only visits on the weekend, for otherwise he would surely die of a heart attack or two, daily, when

Tara eats (with a spoon).

Although that is, once again, an issue under debate. Changes in mummy's work place mean that That Choice is to be made once again: Should I stay, or should I go. We're weighing up: A challenge at work for the next six months for semi-single mum Alex (and no paternal heart attacks) versus a 7-days-a-week-family (multiple heart attacks included, though it does have to be said that pasta peels off the floor beautifully once it has been given a change to dry over night, even if the same cannot be said for tomato sauce). Both options come with a lot of baggage attached: finance, mummy's fear of lots of spare time with a clingy toddler while not knowing the area nor anyone in it are just two of them.

A decision deadline has been issued (this coming Friday), and we all know (most of us) how bad I am with deadlines, and decisions.
Except Tara, who does not know yet, but looooves having funny daddy around, and would surely go for the 7-days-a-week if asked. Although of course nursery is a cool place to hang out too, they serve ever such nice food most of the time, even grapes are much tastier than at home, and CAN I HAVE MY BREAKFAST NOW PLEASE?!

Breakfast, Tara?, mummy says. Surely, but easy on your dinner now because tomorrow you will have to fit some serious cake in when we celebrate Dr. Daddy's official acquisition of his title, following his final oral exams at 1pm Greenwich central time. Maybe even a sip of champagne; the occasion would very nearly justify it!

P.S.: Now that Tara can go to sleep without a boob, I went out last Friday, HA HA HA! Cider was involved (HA HA to that too), and IT WAS TOTALLY COOL being out and shaky on heels, yeah! Went to a gig of this lot in a 'lil country pub and MISSED my baby half ways through. (cured that with more cider) and had to show her picture to everybody.

ZZZZZzzzzz! (Das Einschlafwunder von Leicester)

It is breath-taking and nothing short of a miracle, and it happened as follows:

Friday night, and mummy was at the gym, working her heart, her bum, and generally having herself a good old sweaty time. Tara was home with daddy. Tara was veeeery tired after a long, toy- and eventful day at nursery. So when daddy told her off for playing with her food (tortellini again as every night, all week, poor kid - very tasty though and cook in only ONE! blissful minute) in no uncertain terms, Tara started crying veeery bitterly, and was shipped off to bed immediately, even though mummy and the boobies were still elsewhere. Tara and daddy and teddy lay down to sleep, nose to nose to nose, and after a bit of poking (eyes, nose), and a great deal of sitting up and lying back down nose to nose to nose, Tara dozzZZZZzzzed off.
Just.
Like.
That.

And I had just sadly declined an invitation for a night out with the gym crowd that I would have actually really liked to accept.
With an eye on potential future invitations (and I'm not fishing for invitations here as none of the gym crowd know about the blog), we tried to repeat the miracle on Saturday (being today). Tara was offered tortellini (erm, yes, again), fed a boob, walked to the bottom of the stairs, hand in hand with mummy (clutching a toy in the other hand), ascended the stairs with daddy, and has not been heard of since (3 1/2 hours later).
Nose to nose to nose they lay, Tara poking her father's eyes and nose, and from how he tells the story she poked and poked, then sat up, went red around the eyes, trumped a really major trump, collapsed sideways and was asleep.
I've been up to take a look, and there she lay sleeping peacefully, stretched out star shaped, and teddy sat and watched over her.

So. A day and a few hours ago I still though I would have to deny myself a social (night)life because my baby cannot go to sleep without me. Now I know I was wrong, and that is such a relief I want to... can I go out and celebrate it? With... any invitations anyone?

Your bonus pic: Tara making ZZZzzzzz. Aaaaahhhhh!

Ab mit den Flusen (Schnief)

... dass wir nicht wüssten, worüber wir bloggen sollen, ist natürlich eine rethorische Lüge! Da hätten wir die ersten Worte zu vermerken, die ersten Schritte, Besuch von Daheim und, weil wir auf den Fotos gar so gut aussehen, auch den ersten Haarschnitt.

Ach, was sehen wir GUT aus! (Und so englisch!)

Geplant war das anders, beziehungsweise gar nicht. Bloß Mama wollte sich wieder in Form schneiden lassen. Aber wie das so ist beim Frisör, sprach ich von Haaren - das Thema liegt so nahe und mir fällt meist nichts besseres ein! Das Thema meiner Haare hatte ich beim letzten Besuch schon erschöpft, aber von Taris Flusen-am-Kopf erzähle ich immer gerne. Und zeige Fotos her - auch immer gerne. Und erwähne, dass der flusige Hüpfer grade mit ihrem Papa und ihrer Tante und ihrem tollen Luftballon im Cafe sitzt und darauf wartet, ihre neue gutaussehende Mama wieder abholen zu dürfen. Und ja schwups ward sie zum Entflusen eingeladen und kam mit Tante Claudia die Treppe hochgeklettert (marschiert eher, um genau zu sein, im Stile Zinnsoldat - das deutsche Erbe, wie ihr Vater frech vermerkt).
Sie hat gezappelt, wie sich das für ihre 13 Monate gehört, und musste zwischendurch auch noch einmal Treppen klettern gehen, aber zu guter letzt haben wir beide entflust den Salon verlassen. Tari ohne Zippeln in den Augen, Mama modisch gekonnt mit.

Ein bischen schmerzt es mir ja in der Seele, denn ich habe ganz darauf verzichtet, Taras Ponyzippeln mit nach Hause zu nehmen, zum Archivieren und ins-Album-Kleben. Sehr untypisch! Und jetzt tut es mir leid, waren es doch auch die fünf langen Haare, die schon vor der Geburt mit dabei waren... SCHNIEF! Ich tröste mich mit den schönen Fotos und dem Wissen, dass für Taras ersten Haarschnitt ein Profi auf einem der besten Salons der Stadt zur Schere gegriffen hat und modisch gestuft und gefranst hat, und dass das Kind nicht aussieht, als hätte ihr jemand einen Topf auf den Kopf gesetzt und mit der Küchenschere drum herum geschnitten (Ja, Papa, REFERENZ!! Vergeben, aber NICHT VERGESSEN!!)!

Und zur Belohnung für's brave Haareschneidenlassen gab's hinterher drei kleine Tomaten, die Mama in ihrer Handtasche fand, Tomatenflecken auf Mamas T-Shirt und bittere Tränen, als Tara dachte, ich wolle ihr die Tomätchen wegessen, wie niedlich.

Niedlich waren wir auch vorher...


... aber gepflegt niedlich ist auch ok...


... und dass die Flusen in Taras Kopf alle noch ungeschnitten sind, sieht man jetzt um so besser!