Tarlielula

Tara is in love. With Lola. With "Taarlie". With "Tarlielula".
She was 22 months old two days ago, and for a special treat (and also because it was raining again and I needed a break from active mummytainment) I thought I'd introduce her to television, and (Trommelwirbel) the endearing, genius and original one & only Charlie & Lola!

Lauren Child's Charlie & Lola (middle). Aah. Tara's passion.

Two minutes into her first episode she'd lost her heart, identified with the "Kinners" (Kinder) and "Nenes" (G,S, 'children'). And after two days that she's started by asking for "Taarlielula" before even asking for "Füsück" (Frühstück, breakfast), and protesting loudly and tearfully when I only concede to two episodes (and I'm not even asking for how many daddy allowed before I took over), I'm very honestly rather sorry, really!

I do have to admit, I enjoy them as well. Quite greatly, really. The English original as much as the honestly outstanding German translation. So. Here we are, rain or shine, enjoying some quality couch time together, discussing the action, and watching spellbound:

Quality couch time staring at The Box

(There IS a *** video but I've now tried FOUR times to upload it, and the last attempt lasted all night, 8 hours, and I just can't get it up (o to speak), so **** that)

"Fah'n Daja"

Während ich heute Tara den Rücken zudrehte, um am Computer Sachen zu machen, die wesentlich weniger interessant waren als der Kindersachenbestellkatalog, den Tara gleichzeitig nach Babies durchforstete, muss sich die Tara gedacht haben, dass man bei so einer langweiligen Mama am besten auswandert. Ein empört gequietschtes "eh, Jacke!" habe ich ignoriert, nur um mich etwas später umzudrehen und mein selbst-angezogenes Kind auf dem Soßa strahlen zu sehen. "Jacke!" strahlte sie mich an, und erklärte gleich darauf: "Fa'hn Daja! Fa'hn a Daja!" (Zu Claudia fahren)
Gesagt, getan, und los mit dem Puh-Bär-Töff-töff!


Weit ist sie nicht gekommen, mit ihrem etwas luftigen Rücken der verkehrt herum angezogenen Jacke, und zum Glück kam dann auch gleich Papa nach Hause, und hat sie abgelenkt von dem Unglück, dass Tante Claudia viel zu weit weg wohnt, um mit Puh Bär vorfahren zu können.
Aber wir erinnern uns gerne and Frühhochsommer in Wunstorf und mit "Daja" auf dem Sofa chillen...

Erm...

As fate would have it, the day after we announced the arrival of summer, it took flight and departed. That was highly frustrating, we'd already gotten quite used to it, and forgotten all about how drab life inside push chair and weather shield could be.

Life inside push chair and weather shield? DRAB!

So when the rain took to an on-off pattern after a day of climbing the walls, we waited for a dry lull and took to the shops. By bobby car. No push chair.
MISTAKE!
I'm told that when I was small, it took about two hours to get to the end of the street, which was about eight houses long. So by comparison, 90 minutes for 5 streets and back, including shopping for fish and pears, isn't too bad. Except, it was.
Tara riding the car? Didn't quite work. Spent about 2% of the trip on it, and the remainder having fun
*trying to push her car
*eating a snack
*touching up trees, cars, fauna, stone walls, and pebbles
*asking to be picked up again and again and again
*sitting on benches
*sitting on curbstones
*admiring half dead worms
*pausing in the middle of the road to contemplate life
*trying to visit a high number of neighbours
*chasing all available cats

She drove me to distraction. In fact, she drove me to the purchase and immediate consumption of a fat brownie as soon as we had gotten to and had safely left the shop. This is the bad kind of brownie, for extremely frustrated mothers. It comes with a warning that reads: "Warning! This is an extremely scrumptious treat. If you consume more calories than you burn, you will get fat!"*

What can I say. Tara had fun all right. Except when she got pulled off the street by a mother two degrees below desperation point, and told in no uncertain tones that stopping to contemplate life
while crossing a street wasn't on, because the streets belong to cars, which are dangerous animals.
Except Tara's little red car. Which won't be taken out again for any similar trips for the next 12 years at least.

For the remainder of the rainy season, we will read books, bake cakes, take hot baths, and shop online.


* It doesn't really say that. It says, "Warning! This cake is an indulgent treat. If you eat more calories than you burn, you will gain weight!" I had to go back and buy another one to confirm the exact wording. Of course, I didn't have to eat it for that purpose. However, I did.

The Arrival of Summer

Summer arrived over night, while we were away as well. Adapting to decent temperatures? In steps!

Step One: Send child outside with a bit of water to mess about with.

Step Two: Slap sun block and a heat on. Ignore tears and cries of "No deam! No deam!" (No cream).

Step Three: Accept that no water will stay in any container that child can manipulate.
Step Four: Find container for child and child made puddle that child can NOT manipulate.

Step Five: Inflate paddling pool and sun roof despite child's protests "Decke! Decke!" (blanket) as she pulls limp sun roof over her legs.

Voila! Success!
Step Six: Accept that hat will not stay on child and strip her of remaining clothing as well.

She played and played and played, mostly by herself - if you don't count her demands on her mother as refiller of water containers when she'd tipped them into her puddle. For over an hour, it was a proper domestic miracle. And after she'd come out, she just went on playing by herself, and read a book without wanting mummy to sit on and turn the pages. That hadn't happened since we moved down, i.e. for half a year. Bless summer for miracles in toddler independence.

That was on Thursday. Today we dug her summer clothes out. It seems the 'not-on-my-head!' rule applies to hats only. Everything else she tries to put on and got stuck on her head.

Quite and effort, given that we aim at being as naked as we can for as often and long as we can!

Been gone a few days

Why, you impatient American lot! We've been to the Homelands for a few days, and we've had ourselves an all-singing, all-dancing time!

Laa-laa, ding-ding - Great time in Germany

The main purpose of the visit was to visit baby Maja, 3 months old already, and to celebrate Opas 58th birthday, again!


Maja was too small to really care for us. We compensated for the loss of attention with over-eating aplenty, especially of cake.

Opa, of course, did care greatly for our singing, dancing and eating company. For a special birthday treat he got asked to come and play in the sand on the playground (which he refused), and to unblock the toilet (which he could not refuse). Technically, that had everything to do with the trees we planted too close to the house some 20 years ago (when Opa was some 38 or thereabouts), and which have since sunk their roots into the plumbing and blocked the pipes with a fine but firm mesh of intersecting, impenetrable roots. Yes, that is so.

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?