Mami Want Coffee

So here we are, at Play Bay with friends, and because my coffee is sitting on a faraway table getting cold, I'm saying to said friend (in English): "I'll just go and get my coffee, would you mind looking after Tara for a sec."
And Tara's little voice goes, from half a meter further down: "Mami want coffee."
It's the day of 'want' it seems. At breakfast she had already surprised me with a decided "Ah-wan leckert" (I want joghurt).
Great stuff, and ah-wan to use the opportunity to broadcast these lovely family pics, and let's call them I Want Coffee, 2008 (i-iii).





That said, I later clicked into the fact that when she's calling me a cute 'Mami' these days - as in Mami want coffee; Mami's hat; Mami's jacket etc. etc. - then that's actually MUMMY. She was shouting after other kids' mother earlier, and it was just too blatant for me to keep overlooking it.
Mummy want coffee!
And guess what - just like Jose being miffed at being referred to as daddy, I'm feeling a bit miffed too. Mami, mummy... I know, same difference, BUT STILL!
*sulk* Ich reduziere ihre Kindergartenstunden! *grummel*


A little later yet, and we went for out coffee with another friend (super-social Tuesday, and I've no-one but myself to blame for a touchy teary more-than-tired toddler well before bedtime), and Tara had no less than FIVE (5) (oh yes) babyccinos. Cause, you know, Tara want coffee TOO!

Pitsch!

Idyllic, isn't it? Combine with a lovely day (disregard the hat on daddy's head, what we're dealing with here are lovely English days) and an antiques fair flea market type on the village green just off the shore, and voila, mixture for a great Sunday outing. Tara's doesn't even mind it's a stony beach. Much as she loves sand, the more stones for throwing in the water - PISCH! - the better. And believe it or not, when the sun's out I can get comfy even on the pebbles. That might have something to do with me lying back in my thickest winter coat though.

"Papa! Mas! Pitsch! Weiter!" (Papa, throw more stones, keep going!)

See that stone in Jose's hand?

Tara war nachhaltig von ihrem trip ans Meer beeindruckt. Als sie mir am nächsten morgen zum Auswachen mein Handy an den Kopf schlug und entdeckte, dass das Foto von ihr und Papa der neue screensaver war, kannt ihre Begeisterung keine Grenze. Ebensowenig ihr folgender Monolog, gemischt mit unverständlichen Zwischenlauten für eine volle Minute:
"Ah! Ah! (begeistertes Juchzen) Papa! Pitsch! (S)tein! Ah! Pitsch! Werfn! Ah!"
In ihrer Einsilbigkeit ist die Morgenansprache ein wenig der ähnlich, die ich ihr über die letzten Tage gegeben habe, gemischt mit unwilligem Morgengrunzen und wesentlich kürzer als eine Minute, aber dafür voll erfolgreich:
"Uhm. Papa! Frühstück! Unten! Milch! Kekse! Datteln!" (Lies: Lass mich in Ruhe, ich will schlafen! Greif dir deinen Vater und sag ihm, er soll dir Frühstück machen, unten, weit weg von meinem Bett!)
Leider ist das Wochenende um, Papa aus dem Haus, und dem Papa-Pitsch-Stein Monolog folgen die Aufstehorder:
"Mama! (R)unter! Up! Ütük! Mi(l)k! Kekse! Dattil!"
Gut gelernt, Tara, und so wunderbar viele Ausrufezeichen in so vielen Sprachen.

Nicht alles, was sie uns so mit Ausrufezeichen mitteilt, sind Befehle. Ganz großes Kino diese Tage:
Tara: "Mama, BUBU!" (was sonst?!)
Mama: "Och nö, scho wieder? Muss das sein? ich will aber nicht, ich putze die Küche (oder so)."
Tara: "BUBU! Sit down!" (zeigt zum Sofa und zieht an Mama) "JETZT!"
(Mama gibt klein bei. Keine Lust auf Gebrüll, Küche kann warten.
Tara nuckelt und nuckelt, und hat schliesslich genug.)
Tara: "Dankeschön!"

Perfekt, oder?

Hiya Millie!

Tara loves babies! Oh YES!

Granted, owning a baby small enough to carry about in one's hood is great. And, lo! the beauty of having a baby that Tara can draw on in blue - such pretty circles round the eyes! But what's better than a small handy Baby? Why, a small cute real baby!

So we welcome into our world baby Millie! We hope we can scrape together the airfare to see her sooner rather than later! That will be fun, and I'll make sure Tara does not poke at her eyes too much, and no pushing either. Only ei-ei und kuschel!

Aaaaaw! Millie, 18.4.2008

Cute (II)

Now, this one? Really really cute, and nothing else!

Cute

Aaaw, so cute! Look at how she loves her babies, and hugs them tight, just like her mummy hugs her, and she hugs her mummy, and daddy, and daddy hugs her, and hugs all around!

"Kuscheln!"

Except, at nursery. And just about everywhere else now, too.

I swear, about a month ago, she was still a perfectly angelic child, as sweet as the dates she consumes by the half-dozen a day at the moment ("Datel! Dattel! Eh! Eh! Mama! Datil!").
It started with her coming home form school, telling us "push!", and gesturing a push with both hands, happily and enthusiastically. A swing playing context, I assumed. An older child befriending her in the nursery playground, and pushing her on the swing. Ah, a happy image. So I inquired, and found out that "push" had nothing to do with swings, but indeed only pushing, and that the instruction they received at nursery obviously was, "No Push!"

Moving on from there, Tara decided that she was being neglected at home, and that a great, inspired and highly successful response to bad cases of neglect - aka as 'mummy sending a text message' or 'mummy ironing two pairs of trousers and 3 t-shirts' or 'mummy looking at the computer for 10 minutes'; just so we're clear about the character of the neglect the poor child suffers - was banging her head against the table, or, joy of joys, clawing at her own face, crunching it up in her little hand, and complaining to mummy of "aua! aua!" in the hope of cuddles, kisses and attention.

Now let's combine the two, and refer to her daily reports from nursery.

2.2.08 Played in the house giving 'doll' and 'rabbit' some dinner. Was pushing some of the children away with her hands in their faces.
4.4.08 Played quite well this afternoon but has been pushing the older children and hitting them with toys, mostly if they come near her when she is playing.

(Not to mention the incident with daddy dying from tummy ache on the sofa, and Tara telling me daddy was "sick-sick-sick", only then to go to him and hit him on the head with her cup as hard as she could)

Last week I still felt reassured by the Kindergartentanten's explanations, that she only did it if a child approached her with unwanted attentions, or encroached upon her personal space. I noticed to my great relief at play time that she seemed to spare smaller children and babies, who she studied with loving tender attention.
Yesterday, however, we were invited to someone's house. Someone has a 2 and a 1 year old. Tara want straight for them, the way other folk approach a visitor with an outstretched hand, she approached her baby hosts with a hand reaching to push their faces, and got extremely territorial over their toys and their little chairs, stopping only short at hissing. Great. Greatly embarrassing.

Now I'm sure there's a perfect developmental, or child-psychological explanation for it, and I'm equally sure that it will have stopped by the time we get to marry her off. But. Dammit. Tara. Stop. It. NOW. No push! Nicht schubsen! Nicht kratzen! Und schon gar nicht kleinere Kinder! Come on, live up to your gorgeous angelic darling looks!

"Nimm!" - "Nein, Tara, du musst sagen, 'Komm!'"

Blast, Tara! Mummy is trying to make friends here!

Of course, we share mostly great moments, her and I on our lonesome. Like our midnight snacks in bed when she wolfs down a whole pear in no time, and then throws herself at me for a "kuscheln!" before we go back to our 'night-nights'. Like kicking the ball around outside. Like chasing the neighbour's cat and trying to pull it's tail (hehe). Like - well, anything that doesn't involve ironing, computers, mobile phones or other children. Phew, what a hand-full. Needs a sibling, ideally an older one, that she can scratch, fight, and push legitimately. But as it is, only everybody else is having more babies. And the only other available children we could borrow as play mates on occasion, she scratches and pushes illegitimately.

BUT, before anyone suspects so, me trying NOW to get her into the best Roman Catholic school around for September 2010 has NOTHING to do with all that, at all.

Kaka? Gone!

A rather random picture to accompany the Good News: Kaka? A name of the past! As Tara would say (if it was a doll and she could throw a blanket / towel / kitchen cloth over it): "GONE!" Last weekend she upgraded from 'Kaka' to calling herself 'Kara', and lo and behold!, has since upgraded once again to a random mix of 'Kara' and 'Tara.' That's great news, although it's taking time getting used to and coming up with the correct responses to declarations of "Kaka!" For example, Tara studying the rubbish bin and announcing "Kaka" must now trigger something along the lines of, 'Yes, that's a very dirty bin, isn't it?' Not a now-unrelated, 'Yes, Mama and Tara are leaving the house!'
Mind-boggling.