Tara Reads

Tara reads. Book Day got it started with its gift lo a book about Magic Molly, a vet's daughter with the magic ability of speaking with animals. It has a pink cover, had "magic" in the title, she chose it herself and read it cover to cover.
Her next discovery were Fairy Bears. Pink cover? Pink wings? But of course! They have her anthralled and go like this: On Firelfly Meadon, in an old sycamore tree, down a forgotten squirrel hole and into the hollow trunk there are the Crystal Caves, home of the Fairy Bears. Fairy Bears work hard by day and night to care for nature and keep human children safe. They go to school to learn their magic, and even when still so young and cute, get sent out on their First Mission by their teacher. Oh how fearful they are that they might fail in saving that injured bird/human child! But over the course of some 80 pages they learn to believe in themselves and their special powers, overcome any obstacle and return to the Crystal Caves triumphant!
Tara can't get enough!
The next series of choice is called "Rainbow Magic," and amazing money making machinery along similar lines as the Fairy Bears that churns out at least five books a year, it seems. If not pink in cover (At least they agree that thay can't have all 200 plus books in one colour only), then surely pink in content, and Tara starts collecting. And devouring them. And, no doubt, jumping up the Reading Steps ladder at school.

Fairy Bears. If it's got wings we'll read it.

Bedtime gone, come ten pm, Tara still can't get enough. There she is, sat up in bed well after her third reminder that children who don't go to sleep on time will be sad and sorry in the morning.
Mum and dad are downstairs, and we can her her little voice read out each word aloud. Eventually I will send a thundering daddy up "to go and switch off our daughter." (But I can't help thinking back of a smaller me reading to all sorts of hours under the covers, torch or no torch, taking 40-odd books out for the summer holidays and running out by week four. Different subject matter, but who am I to compare and judge, for one, I was much older - hah! I could not read at age five!)

Leo, too, is spellbound. Stories pouring fourth from his sister! Amazing! Must sneak up and listen! The boy loves his stories just as much. Three years before I'll know whether he'll go for creatures with wings or rather start on Horrid Henry and other boyish reading material... Tara loves Horrid Henry too. Tara loves anything, really. Tara reads the cereal boxes and pages from my books. Book loving children. It's hereditary.

(But really, anything will do...)

Jubilee Visiors

England. June 2012. It's the Queen's Jubilee. It's half term. It's rainy. Whatever it is, it's cool. Cause we have visitors. Foreign embassadors with a suitcase full of presents and time on their hands to indulge every single whim of Princess Tara and Prince Leo. With a drumroll, I present... Tito and Tita!

Regalos gustosos!!, los DVD's de Barbie...no fallan, verdad Tara?

(Tara is delirious. Barbie DVDs for a present, just as requested. "I wold lieke Bearbii and the magiec of Peegasis plieees." Need to scrap two titles of her birthday wish list...)

Leo....veo...

(Leo grabs any present he can get a hold of. When he gets a playmobil policeman on a scooter it looks like that's all he needs... but only for a minute. "Where is more?" Yes, he's a very switched on child. He did notice that there is a whole suitcase full of stuff.)

La Reina Isabel...no tiene nada que hacer al lado...no os parece??

Leo este dia dijo asi como unas 100 veces....let's go to the beach please..100 veces?? no creo que fueron mas!!

No pudimos tomar cafe aqui porque habia tanta gente....y tanta decoracion inglesa....

Tara, has aprendido muy bien a hacer fotos!!!, este es el ejemplo

Familia??, cual de los dos mas guapo??

(Did anybody ever wonder where Tara got her looks from? Yes, well the above should answer that question. Bit freaky if I'm honest.) 

Lovely and sunny day...

(Says Leo, "First it's sunny and then it's moony. And then it's sunny." And he says that only about five times, what a treat! There just is no room for rainy day vocabulary on a beautiful half term June holiday like this.) 

 

Que mejor manera de celebrar el "jubilee", que con dos espanolitos!!, a pesar del mal  tiempo, han sido unas vacaciones muy divertidas, hemos descubierto a la princesa Tara... mas guapa cada dia y a un Leo muy gracioso... y sin parar de hablar y luchar ni un momento!!

Nos ha encantado visitaros, os esperamos pronto!, muchas gracias por todo. Os queremos!!. Muchos besos, tito y tita.

Prince and Princess (Red 'n Blue 'n White)

Prince Leo

In the run-up to the royal festivities we've gone all red 'n blue, and a bit of white.
Festivities and celebrations at the school, more of the same at the nursery; even I'm tempted to go to work with a union jack painted across my forehead, and bunting hanging from my frocks.
But it's Tara and Leo who are invited to dress in red-white-blue (or comes dressed as their favourite queen, king, prince or princess).

Princess Tara 

Oh the drama before we're ready to enjoy the celebrations! (Cause I'd be lying if I said we all enjoyed every moment of it.) Six or seven outfits I've lined up that I feel meet the requirements. But my girl and I have a different understanding of what constitutes blue, and what black (I have the fashion industry on my side, but Tara scores with higher levels of stubbornness), and whether a tiny bit of green here or orange there might be permissible (No, I can't ring the school. It's late at night, there is nobody in the office. No, I also refuse to call them in the morning just before we leave the house. Sorry.) We're also a little sad that the plaster cast is only pink and glittery, not red with blue glitter.
My poor Tara is reduced to tears, the night before he school honours the Queen's 60-year reign, and Mummy throws a most suitably red-hot tantrum along the lines of "I have 32 years of life experience ahead of you why can't you just believe that I know what I'm doing and do as I say just for once!" (Honest. I think I need a party too.)
But the next morning runs smoothly, the girl is out of bed and dressed red white and blue before my feet touch the floor, and, we understand, has had a wonderful time at the school, and then some more at her friend's house at a screening of Barbie.
"Mummy, I was a bit of a fusspot yesterday, wasn't I," she says at bedtime. Well, ahem. A fusspot fit for a queen. Well, ahem. Just like her mum.

For the love of crown, cookie and brother and sister

Leo arrives at the nursery in blue and red, and shyly accepts a golden crown at the door that he then wears with pride for the next few days, and the next few nights. "Where mine crown? Where is mine crown, Mummy?" it is when the crown is not sat right on his curls. On a windy walk through town he pins it to his head with both hands, for fear it might be blown away. At night I have to peel it off his head carefully after he's fallen asleep. Leo loves his crown. Leo loves his new identity as royalty.

Of course it's not far off his general experience of who he is.
"Who's mine sugar cake?"
"Me!"
"Who's mine sausage pie?"
"Me!"
"Who's mine prince?"
"Me!"

And my crowned prince looks just as royally delightful in his underwear as he does in red and blue. I get the camera out, my kids think they're being filmed and put a late-night jubilee celebrations show on for me. A speech about their days! Song! I'd love to say it was the national anthem, but actually it's more like Bah Bah Black Sheep and Twinkle Twinkle. Which is just fine because they're not singing for the Queen after all but twirling and twinkling for their mum.

And just because they are so fabulous, here are some essays from students at Tara's school (one year up from Tara).

If I were Queen...

"I would buy everything in the world and put the pictures up on my palace wall and also the cooking things in my big kitchen. The cook would go in then too and I would bring my servants with me. I would go in a plane and meet everyone in the world. The left over food I would give it to the poor.
My palises will be made out of chocolate, sweets, ice cream, brik metal wood and plastic."

"I would help Africa. I would do it because they get disease and they would have to work so the first thing I would do is get some doctors.
I would tell everyone instead of eating 5 a day it would be 20 a day also I would give naughty people another chance.
Every Book Day I would give each child £10 to spend on books."

"I would let all the poor people stay at the palace and give them money to buy a house. I would give the prisoners more of a choice. I would do this with my friend Hollie.
I would meet everyone on their birthday. I would provide birthday cake for everyone in the world. I would let people go to different countries on their birthday."

"I would buy 1,000 tickets to the Olympics I would buy them because it is fun. I would take my whole family. I would buy for poua Oliympics, football, athletics and rugby.
On Sunday everyone had to wear a hat.
On Saturday everyone had to wear a blue top.
I would buy 1,000 dogs, 1,000 cats and 1 penguin. I would have a pet room.
I would have 10,000 dressis and 11,000 knickers."

"I would ban prison because if people are naughty sometimes they can still live and you really shouldn't break the law any way. I would do it the old fashioned way by putting people on the cross instead.*
I would stop the war because I don't like people getting hurt and poorly**, and it must be really sad leaving your children (if you're a lady or possibly if you're a man).
I would send my servants to help the poorand I would pay for wells to be dug and food to be grown because people should never be without food and water as they might die. I would help all the charities and pray to God and Mother Theresa. I would exercise every day and I would stop people from killing animals like cows and pigs."

"I fight you, Mummy!"

What can I say... LONG LIVE THE QUEEN! (And our lovely children.)

* I'm not making this up.
** I'm really not making this up!

Deja vue (pink, this time)

Here it goes, the kind of call that parents dread. "Can you please come to the school and take a look at your child's arm. She has fallen over in the playground and is complaining about a pain in her arm."

I can't really see the benefit of coming "to take a look,"  so I come and take the child - a pale little thing that hugs her arm and looks at me, "Mummy why did you take you so long?" - straight to A&E for an x-ray party, some cold sticky plaster and a promise of a choice of colours and glitter when we come back in a few days for the proper cast. Mostly, Tara is bored after we've exhausted our very limited options of entertainment, being snacks and a kiddie magazine (very pink and glittery too).

Please note the glitter. And the colour of the cast, of course.

I'm as amazed as I was pretty much exactly three years and tree days ago,* at how little it takes to hurt little bones. A fall off a tiny wall into soft dug up soil three years ago, a fall of bucket stilts this time. Makes me want to wrap the kid up, sit her on the sofa and let her watch telly all day, preferably pink and glittery... Not really, but wouldn't it just suit her!

* 28 May 2015, I have my eyes on you. Just in case Tara does move in magic cycles of three...

Children devastated as arsonists wreck favourite local playground

A CHILDREN's playground was left scorched and in ruins after a devastating arson attack in a Ramsgate park.

The playground's pirate ship centrepiece was turned into a charred mess on Thursday evening, just two years after the £50,000 play area was built.

A spokesman for the council said unless it can claim for the damages on its insurance, it will not be able replace the area.

Devastated local children assess the damage to their beloved park

"We fist it? Bob de builder fist it," suggests local child Leo, 2, who has been left bewildered by the attack on the palyarea, and unable to comprehend that we cannot fix it, nor access the remainder of the park until the damaged ship has been removed.
Leo had only recently begun to climb it by himself, enjoyed the park thoroughly and demanded to be taken to visit it daily, whatever the weather.


"The police! I know the police are investigating this and they will find the baddies who did this. And kill them." Tara, 5, feel very strongly about vandalism of any kind, but is particularly unforgiving of attacks directed against children and their playthings.

Two baddies were seen fleeing the scene. The police are investigating.

(See also This is Kent and Kentonline.)

Kaboom!

One last sentimental look across the bay onto this (not quite so) beatiful landmark of Thanet on a (definately) beautiful Sunday morning. Bye-bye Attenborough Towers, you Three Milkshakes and a Straw's. As newcomers, we've never quite grown to love you at all, for entirely obvious reasons. So we're among the coastal folk that have come to see you laid to rest and rubble.

Attenborough Power Station. The last minute of its 50 years.

More people in the crowd than rubble on the ground a minute later (nearly)

A sixty second spectacle. Some cheered and clapped, others (like Tara's friend Elena) cried and cried, but all were there to see it. Kaboom! (They look a little surprised half-way through, those towers, poor giants.) (Picture courtesy of someone with a better camera who got up early enough to get to a great spot... unlike others who underestimated the turn-out and associated traffic and just about made it to the closest convenient spot in time, ahem.)





We now have: A pretty coastline, the largest off-shore windfarm in Europe, the best Chips in England, a cool new gallery in the neighbourhood that even the Queen's come to visit, fabulous sandy beaches and a few new cafes in town, a new pool being built three minutes from our doorstep... You'd think the town is nearly exactly where you'd want it to be, with a pleasant little future ahead.
One major concern is left: Will we become the twinkly lights that illuminate the runway of expansionist, up-for-sale Manston airport? A pretty coastline and tasty chips are all somewhat futile if you can't sleep at night because your politicians think flying noisy planes right over your house in the middle of the night might be a superb idea. Or failed take offs crashing into your neighbourhood, now that would even off-set the gallery, the queen and the lovely beaches on a sunny day.
Fingers crossed, everyone, that our poor little - slowly reviving - town does not become the UK's hottest nightmare address. (Watch this spot.)

A Tooth for a Barbie, or, [Can't Really Print The Intended Subtitle]

It's not even three years after I spotted that first microscopically barely visible cavity, and by now we sport what must be the poorliest baby teeth in town.
Tara is on best terms with the Tooth Fairy - the Spanish one, that is; The English one would not yet know of her existence as it only collects teeth that have come out naturally and in perfect condition, I understand. The Spanish one, being a mouse and not quite so picky, has kindly taken long journeys upon its little self to reward Tara for general bravery at the (by now private) dentist, in particular for treatment-without-trouble.
Oh, has Tara gotten good at treatment-without-trouble! Onto that special chair in a flash, pop the special glasses on and open mouth wiiiide. No problem, any of it. Drilling? Fiiiiiine. Tooth extraction? No problem at all.

Although, of course, this tooth extraction is a First, and we've been trying our best to stop it from happening. One course of anti-biotics (placebos would have worked better), a strict regime of all the good things the health shop suggested (which seemed to improve things but not enough), another course of alternative anti-biotics (gummi bears would have worked better)... six weeks of trying to calm down a nasty yellow leaking abscess on top of a little molar, with no success, so out. it. comes. (and my heart bleeds a considerable bit).

if you're on the NHS, they send you half way across the county to a special childrens' sedation clinic where they extract under full anesthetics. (One of the reasons we went private last year.) Our dentist is very good and so much more child and parent friendly: Extraction by story (and anesthetics that Tara never noticed she had).

Tara loved it. It goes roughly like this (after the gums have been rubbed with bubble gum flavoured numbing stuff): Close your eyes so you can imagine the story better. You're on Broadstairs beach on a lovely day and you're getting in a hot air balloon. You have your chicken korma with you and you're going up up up, feeling all light (in goes one injection). The seagulls try to steal your korma but you're not letting go of your treat. There are lots of tiny people under you as you float over the beach (in goes the second injection)... and now you're coming back down.
Tara adored it. "I imagined how my body got full of air like a balloon, Mummy," she says later, "and I could feel myself flying through the air!"

Leo is extremely sceptical of the whole thing. He perches on the chair in the corner, looks after Baby Sofia for Tara and you can just tell he's glad it's not his turn on the chair yet. Although, just like Tara he's come a long way, and he's totally cool compared to the younger baby who'd cry when spotting a white coated dentist. As long as it's "Tara goin 'a dentist? Not 'eo? Is Tara's turn? Not 'eo's?"


Today we have a deal with the Tooth Fairy. We've put a special request in (by message to Spain), due to the severity of the treatment: One Barbie DVD please. Also, of course, we knew that there would be a lengthy period of rest after the extraction, so I've given Tara a new DVD, and she gets to watch The Moomins, Season one in one go. Some four or five hours non stop. Sucking lolli-pops to keep the new wound nice and washed up in saliva. Known fact that after an extraction, there should not be too much chewing going on, so as a reward (and a bribe) we've got an easy chew for dinner, a take-away chicken korma and other tasties that Tara lives and dies for. Certainly has a tooth extracted for.
And another one, if that's what it takes: "I wish I could have another tooth out tomorrow!"
That's the family dentist politics gone a little wrong. For the next visit, we'll tell the Tooth Fairy to take a holiday.
At the pace we're going though, I have near-to-no doubts that there's another extraction waiting us in not too much time.
In the meantime, we're taking hints and tips for the miraculous reversal of Tara's dental decay; Elmex gelee is being imported, Schuessler salts No. 12 are being taken, it has been understood that brown rice and cherries are good for bones and teeth.
Of all the explanations offered for her poor dental health, my favourite is that it's a developmental thing and the result of her having been so small at birth. Weighing it up against the potential causes for lack of growth Scan Man suggested six years ago, this is the First Place in the race for a healthy child (or maybe second).
We'll plant a cherry tree and hope for the best for the next set of teeth.

Dead baby tooth *sniff*

Recovering from the first tooth extraction among friends*

* I know, two lolli pops. Counter-productive in general, but today I'm more concerned with gentle non-chewing methods of saliva generation.

I got a Monkey on the Loose

Home time.
Enter: Mummy, Tara and Leo. All to kitchen.
Leo: Mummy, I 'macked your bum!
Mummy: So you did! Monkey!
Leo: I 'macked your bum 'gain! 'Mack!
Mummy: So you did! I'm going to get you! And eat you up!

Exit Tara and Leo to front room, with apples. The telly comes on (unauthorised).
Leo (voice from front room): Mummy, I touchin 'de teevee!... Muuummyyy, I touuuuchin de teeeeveeee!
Tara (voice from front room): Mummy! Leo is touching the TV!... Leo, Papi will cut your finger off!
Enter mummy: No he won't. Leo, what kind of monkey are you!

Two teddies. All MINE.

Mum and Leo return to kitchen.
Leo: Mummy, I 'mack your bum!
Mummy: No, you won't.
Leo flings provision of raisins across kitchen.
Mummy: Leo, stop that! Pick up the raisins!
Leo: Nnnnnope.
Repeat x3. Leo exit to front room.

Tara (voice from front room): NOOOO! Those are MY apples!
Leo: Dat MINE apples!
Tara: No they're my apples!
Leo: No MINE!
Tara: No they are my apples actually.
Leo: Actually actually mine apples.
Tara: Actually actually actually.... (shrieking from front room) NOOO! MYYYY apples! MUUUUMMYYY!

De TEEVEE is on the left. What else.

A moment's peace over something Moominmama said or did (not me!)

Ten minutes later I'm reading the monkey some books. Monkeys need lots of books and cuddles. Tara is watching some more Moomins.
Ten minutes after that I'm hiding in the kitchen while a loud battle is fought in the front room, over teddies and dolls.
Another ten minutes later I'm feeding the monkey chocolate. Not sure why exactly, except that it's 'that' time of day, first day back after term break (und die Aeffchen proben den Aufstand!).

Valentine 2012, or, Ten Years Ago...

At the dinner table, between helpings of delicious chocolates.

Mami: "Aaaah, then years ago... then years ago Papi and I just... erm... made friends... We spent a lot of time playing games with our friends, going out for pizzas and salads... I went to the gym a lot..."
Leo, smugly, between mouthfuls of chocolate: "I cried*..."
Mami: "No, you weren't there then."
Tara: "I was in your tummy..."
Mami: "No, not even that...

Aaah, ten years ago...

2002 (one)

2002 (two)

2002 (three)

* Our new routine. I go to the gym, Leo cries. I go anyway. I come home, and he gives me a big fat grin and explains: "Mummy went a gym. I c'ied."

Home in Four Steps

The routine daily pick up round after work. Ten to three (o'clock), start with Leo.

Step one: Enter nursery and peep round the corner, check the monkey out. He might be listening to a story, singing a song, shouting excitedly over a match at sound memory, or be earning praise at tidy-up time. He finds mummy, comes running for a big hug and starts looking for his coat and hat, ready to shoot... except recently, where he's taken to giving me a big grin and staying exactly where he is. Monkey. The crying child is Milo, who's taken to howling as soon as he sees me. There are some likely explanations but they all sound like poor excuses.... Is it me?


Step 2: Coat, hat, waterbottle... all ready to go. "Mummz le's go. Where Tara?" (Gone are the days when he caled her Lala. Sad, so sad.) My, that's a tired child I'm picking up today. Every day. It what happens when little people ("I a little person!") don't go to sleep when asked to by their parents and refuse to sleep at nursery.


Step 3: Get him to sit down in car/pushchair and ply him with food. Gotta run. We have fifteen minutes for a way that takes, well, fifteen minutes.


Step 4: Ah! He's out. As discussed above, the side effects of poor sleeping habits. One down, one to go.


The other kid!
Step one: Collect from school gates (classroom door, to be precise) after having swept round the corner in the last of my fifteen minutes. Who's the last mum to pick up? Why, me. Of course.


Step 2: Question time. "Is anything special happening today?" "Do I have friends visiting?" "Did you bring me any treats?" On average, my answers are no, no, no and no. The last no to any other question she might ask. And I was the last mum... totally unsatisfactoty, all of it.


Step 3: Woo-hoo! We're walking a stretch of the way with a friend! Hand in hand, running off in search of puddles to jump in to - to maternal screams of NOTSOFASTGIIIIIRLS!!! from behind, and WHATDOYOUTHINKYOUREDOININGRUNNINGOFFLIKETHIS!!



Step 4: Aaaannd we're home. There are pictures of Tara diligently bent over some level 15 reading, but let's face the truth. TV. The unbearable attraction thereof. Some more Barbie, Barney, Tinkerbelle, a documentary or two about this animal or that, Tara takes them all. I fix up some snack, she helps herself to another apple, and it's two out of two kids out.


A little breather, a cup of tea, a sneaky biscuit from the secret cupboard. Then Leo wakes up tearfully and Tara is pried off the telly, and we're on to step one of The Evening Madness.