Cheeky Monkey!

So where were we, when I last left you? Ah yes, lots of questions and puzzles.
Here goes: Paperwork? Pah! Mummy slept, and it was well necessary too. Although by today a certain degree of progress has been achieved, at the cost of weekend pleasures and enjoyment. But you gotta do what you gotta do.
Gull poop? A one-off. As I've been instructed in the meantime, if it hits you spot-on the head, it's lucky. If it doesn't... and since I didn't bother with Paper Mountain that day...
Right. Tara at nursery? Lots of crying. Poor miserable soul, clutching wauwau to her grieving bosom and sobbing whenever she remembered the relation of her whereabouts (Toy Paradise, Tara, remember???) to those of mummy (Paper Hell, just to be clear on that one. No no, not bed, not me!). Pick her up at the end of her session, and she's a happy chappy who's read lots of books - for one, because she loves books, and for another because I've told nursery staff that books will always work as a distracting mechanism.
Day two, Friday. Things start off badly as Tara goes in asleep, and silly mummy thinks it might be a good idea to not be in sight when she wakes up, but sit next door for back up, and put an appearance in if waking up mummy-less in toy paradise is all too tough on the chicken. Which of course it is. Mad sobbing and clutching of mummy and Püppi, this time. And again, at parental pick-up, happy as a bee.

So, here we go now, three times a week, half a day, and surely she will settle properly in a couple of sessions. In the meantime, there is still a lot of time she will spend at home with boring old mummy, and the attempts at education she gets at home.


Like: No, you can't read that book, AND have your dinner... Books and dinners don't go together well... so give me your book, and then you can have your... lets see... lovingly cooked ready made gnocci in defrosted homemade tomato sauce. Great. Which, as you can see, was obviously sufficiently convincing, as book was released in exchange for food, after I'd applied the show and withdraw approach, combined with repeated gesturing, on top of the usual talk & explain strategy. Yum.

Talk about talking. Tara's speech development is coming on in leaps and bounds since, well, since she started nursery. In terms of which language, it's a bit all over the show, but she's getting very good at repeating after you.

Mummy: Hands off those things, they're for cousin Maya.
Tara: Maaaya!

Mama (by the seaside): Das ist das Meer.
Tara: Mee-ja.
Mama: Mööööwe.
Tara: Mömö.

Or this one. Tara watches Papi shave his head over the bathtub, and points at the black stuff in the tub: Kaka!
Papa: No, esto es PELO!
Tara: PE-ka.
Papa: Peeeeelo.
Tara: Peeee-la.

Or a similar one. Tara points at a drop of milk falling off her favourite boob, and onto my top:
Kaka!
Mama: Nein, das ist MILCH.
Tara: Miiich.
And today, at the seaside, she turned to me and said: Miiiich. And meant it! We'll work on her sense of time and place in due course...

Anyway. Getting there. And, as a first act of linguistic independence, Mama and Papa have been promoted to Mami and Papi. Unprompted, promise, and we are well flattered!

Two nights ago, though, she was left a little speechless. Or maybe she just didn't get the chance to say much, as I intervened rather quickly when I found she'd called the POLICE.
"Do you want to speak to the police?", said this voice on the other side of the phone that I had - stupidly - let Tara play with when she didn't fancy sleep and climbed over me, and off the bed, to play with whatever was at hand. "Tara, what are you doing!" I shouted, and hang up quickly. NOT an ideal reaction, but I let daddy handle it when they had traced our number some 15 minutes later, and called to investigate. Really. 999. Silly number. ANY BABY can dial that!
Anyway. This baby won't. Again. There no longer is a phone in the bedroom, as of yesterday.