Ponytails and Pole Dancers

Ta-da! Tara's first encounter with girly hair fashion. Now that she's not a baby any more we've got to get up to adding a bit of girly charm. Dresses, hair, necklaces, pole dancing. Oh well, the pole dancing is abviously not for her, I'm confusing agendas - pole dancing is on mine, with classes starting this very evening, after a long and uncertain wait at the gym (see, Janet?). Tara however, is quite fascinated with pole dancers, too. We went to see a carnival the other day, and the local pole dancers' float was parked outside the hosts' house. It wasn't even me who drew her attention to it and taught her the word (it was a man, of course), but she didn't stop demanding to see them for the next hour, and still speaks of them a fortnight later; and none of it my doing! Ah, so lovely to see when things run in the family and us girls have a passion in common.
Dancing would even be a passion that spans three generations now. While in Germany, Tara spent a lot of time with her Oma Gisela (primary school teacher for music and movement/dance), listening to music and doing some dancing, and then some more and some more. She'd try to drag me to play (on the odd occasion), declaring, "Hucka! Hucka! Mama kann's"! ('Hooka Hooka, mummy can do it!'), and puzzling her poor old mum greatly, who knew nothing about a song or dance called that, and certainly couldn't do it (bless her trusting daughter's heart). Back home, she's not stopped. We listen to "Kara's Musik" daily, and she will sway back and forth, occasionally grabbing her dollies to hug them close and dance with them, and occasionally (but less so), refusing to let me change a nappy cause dancing is so much more important than clean bums ("Nein, Mama, keine new nappy! Kacki auch tanzen!" - 'No mummy, no new nappy! Poopy dance too!').
Enough telling of matter that maybe shouldn't be told! I must pack my shorts, and serve my freshly bathed family dinner.