A Spoon is a Spoon is a Spoon

Is a spoon. Of course, a hand is a hand is a hand, and a mouth is a mouth is a mouth.


Occasionally, however, a hand is a spoon is a mouth, and a mouth is a spoon, or a hand. The face also plays a role along those lines.


That's when we're somewhat relieved that daddy only visits on the weekend, for otherwise he would surely die of a heart attack or two, daily, when

Tara eats (with a spoon).

Although that is, once again, an issue under debate. Changes in mummy's work place mean that That Choice is to be made once again: Should I stay, or should I go. We're weighing up: A challenge at work for the next six months for semi-single mum Alex (and no paternal heart attacks) versus a 7-days-a-week-family (multiple heart attacks included, though it does have to be said that pasta peels off the floor beautifully once it has been given a change to dry over night, even if the same cannot be said for tomato sauce). Both options come with a lot of baggage attached: finance, mummy's fear of lots of spare time with a clingy toddler while not knowing the area nor anyone in it are just two of them.

A decision deadline has been issued (this coming Friday), and we all know (most of us) how bad I am with deadlines, and decisions.
Except Tara, who does not know yet, but looooves having funny daddy around, and would surely go for the 7-days-a-week if asked. Although of course nursery is a cool place to hang out too, they serve ever such nice food most of the time, even grapes are much tastier than at home, and CAN I HAVE MY BREAKFAST NOW PLEASE?!

Breakfast, Tara?, mummy says. Surely, but easy on your dinner now because tomorrow you will have to fit some serious cake in when we celebrate Dr. Daddy's official acquisition of his title, following his final oral exams at 1pm Greenwich central time. Maybe even a sip of champagne; the occasion would very nearly justify it!

P.S.: Now that Tara can go to sleep without a boob, I went out last Friday, HA HA HA! Cider was involved (HA HA to that too), and IT WAS TOTALLY COOL being out and shaky on heels, yeah! Went to a gig of this lot in a 'lil country pub and MISSED my baby half ways through. (cured that with more cider) and had to show her picture to everybody.

ZZZZZzzzzz! (Das Einschlafwunder von Leicester)

It is breath-taking and nothing short of a miracle, and it happened as follows:

Friday night, and mummy was at the gym, working her heart, her bum, and generally having herself a good old sweaty time. Tara was home with daddy. Tara was veeeery tired after a long, toy- and eventful day at nursery. So when daddy told her off for playing with her food (tortellini again as every night, all week, poor kid - very tasty though and cook in only ONE! blissful minute) in no uncertain terms, Tara started crying veeery bitterly, and was shipped off to bed immediately, even though mummy and the boobies were still elsewhere. Tara and daddy and teddy lay down to sleep, nose to nose to nose, and after a bit of poking (eyes, nose), and a great deal of sitting up and lying back down nose to nose to nose, Tara dozzZZZZzzzed off.
Just.
Like.
That.

And I had just sadly declined an invitation for a night out with the gym crowd that I would have actually really liked to accept.
With an eye on potential future invitations (and I'm not fishing for invitations here as none of the gym crowd know about the blog), we tried to repeat the miracle on Saturday (being today). Tara was offered tortellini (erm, yes, again), fed a boob, walked to the bottom of the stairs, hand in hand with mummy (clutching a toy in the other hand), ascended the stairs with daddy, and has not been heard of since (3 1/2 hours later).
Nose to nose to nose they lay, Tara poking her father's eyes and nose, and from how he tells the story she poked and poked, then sat up, went red around the eyes, trumped a really major trump, collapsed sideways and was asleep.
I've been up to take a look, and there she lay sleeping peacefully, stretched out star shaped, and teddy sat and watched over her.

So. A day and a few hours ago I still though I would have to deny myself a social (night)life because my baby cannot go to sleep without me. Now I know I was wrong, and that is such a relief I want to... can I go out and celebrate it? With... any invitations anyone?

Your bonus pic: Tara making ZZZzzzzz. Aaaaahhhhh!

Ab mit den Flusen (Schnief)

... dass wir nicht wüssten, worüber wir bloggen sollen, ist natürlich eine rethorische Lüge! Da hätten wir die ersten Worte zu vermerken, die ersten Schritte, Besuch von Daheim und, weil wir auf den Fotos gar so gut aussehen, auch den ersten Haarschnitt.

Ach, was sehen wir GUT aus! (Und so englisch!)

Geplant war das anders, beziehungsweise gar nicht. Bloß Mama wollte sich wieder in Form schneiden lassen. Aber wie das so ist beim Frisör, sprach ich von Haaren - das Thema liegt so nahe und mir fällt meist nichts besseres ein! Das Thema meiner Haare hatte ich beim letzten Besuch schon erschöpft, aber von Taris Flusen-am-Kopf erzähle ich immer gerne. Und zeige Fotos her - auch immer gerne. Und erwähne, dass der flusige Hüpfer grade mit ihrem Papa und ihrer Tante und ihrem tollen Luftballon im Cafe sitzt und darauf wartet, ihre neue gutaussehende Mama wieder abholen zu dürfen. Und ja schwups ward sie zum Entflusen eingeladen und kam mit Tante Claudia die Treppe hochgeklettert (marschiert eher, um genau zu sein, im Stile Zinnsoldat - das deutsche Erbe, wie ihr Vater frech vermerkt).
Sie hat gezappelt, wie sich das für ihre 13 Monate gehört, und musste zwischendurch auch noch einmal Treppen klettern gehen, aber zu guter letzt haben wir beide entflust den Salon verlassen. Tari ohne Zippeln in den Augen, Mama modisch gekonnt mit.

Ein bischen schmerzt es mir ja in der Seele, denn ich habe ganz darauf verzichtet, Taras Ponyzippeln mit nach Hause zu nehmen, zum Archivieren und ins-Album-Kleben. Sehr untypisch! Und jetzt tut es mir leid, waren es doch auch die fünf langen Haare, die schon vor der Geburt mit dabei waren... SCHNIEF! Ich tröste mich mit den schönen Fotos und dem Wissen, dass für Taras ersten Haarschnitt ein Profi auf einem der besten Salons der Stadt zur Schere gegriffen hat und modisch gestuft und gefranst hat, und dass das Kind nicht aussieht, als hätte ihr jemand einen Topf auf den Kopf gesetzt und mit der Küchenschere drum herum geschnitten (Ja, Papa, REFERENZ!! Vergeben, aber NICHT VERGESSEN!!)!

Und zur Belohnung für's brave Haareschneidenlassen gab's hinterher drei kleine Tomaten, die Mama in ihrer Handtasche fand, Tomatenflecken auf Mamas T-Shirt und bittere Tränen, als Tara dachte, ich wolle ihr die Tomätchen wegessen, wie niedlich.

Niedlich waren wir auch vorher...


... aber gepflegt niedlich ist auch ok...


... und dass die Flusen in Taras Kopf alle noch ungeschnitten sind, sieht man jetzt um so besser!

Und was schreiben wir jetzt?

Alles Banane

Beginnen wir mit einer weiteren Fallstudie von Ich-Will-Diese-Kamera -SOFORT:


Es gibt, wie man sieht, einen gewissen Grad an Variation in den verschiedenen Gib-mir-diese-Kamera-sofort Posen. Dennoch ist es ein Kunststück, zur Zeit einen anständigen Schnappschuss zu landen. Gelungen ist uns das zuletzt bei Einkaufen, als Tara (sicher an Gefahrenquellen wie dem Magazinstand und den bunten Süßigkeiten vorbei manövriert) eins der ultimativen Objekte ihrer vollen Begeisterung erspähte: Bananen!*


Zur Feier der Tatsache, dass der Krümel so gesundheitsbewusst ist und so tolle Leib- und Magenspeisen wie Bananen und ach! Tomaten hat, hier das Rezept eines weiteren Family Favourite für gesunde Kinder:

Vegetable & Chickpea Lasagne
(Courtesy of Somerfield Mag March 2007)
***
Serves 4 and is ready in 40 minutes, or so they say

1. Chop up loads of veg like 1 onion, 3 carrots, 1 red pepper, 1 courgette, 150g mushrooms, and maybe some butternut squash (for a yummy extra), or loads more.
2. Fry the lot in not-too-much good oil and cook gently until softened. Add a whole bunch of chopped ripe tasty tomato, or a 400g tin if you feel lazy, and a tin of chickpeas (don't add the tin though, it's not tasty). Cook on but don't overdo it. Mix in some chopped herbs.
3. On to the white sauce, and here's the clever bit: You need 1 egg and 200ml of creme fraiche. You beat the egg and stir it into the creme fraiche. And that's the white sauce done!
4. Layer veg - pasta - veg - pasta - white sauce, and sprinke with as much grated cheese as you wish.
5. Cook for 30-40 minutes at 200 degrees. Yum Yum!
6. Have banana cake for pudding ;-)

(There you go, Hannah. A career woman too needs healthy food. And banana cake for brain power too!)

And when you've then fed your baby tasty healthy food stuffs, they have plenty energy to burn and get caught (on camera!) unawares as they toddle about their business!


* Eine halbe Banane später tobte Tara dann durch die Klopapierregale, wo sie auf doppelter Körperhöhe auf den Andrex (Hakle) Papieren einen Hund erspäht hatte, noch ein Objekt großer Leinenschaft.

An End to Blogging?

Well, stories we do have to tell still... about Tara's discovery of stairs, for example, of how she keeps slipping under the bed either feet or head first (the latter preferably in her sleep), or about the joys of slippery floors and non-sticky chairs that can be used as walkers at home or in coffee houses (Hello, people at the next table... and the one behind that... and the one behind that...). So. Stories, yes. But photos or videos?
We have run into two problems.
One, I've run out of storage space on my computer. Dear me. Too many pictures and videos. Of Baby Tara, what else. But an external hard drive will sort that one out for a couple of (dozens of) Pounds (or Euros).
Number two. Tara. Tara has discovered the joys of cameras and the jolly little pictures and videos of Baby Tara you can see on them.
Now that is serious.
It means that the pictures we tend to get at the moment are multiples of this:

Camera? Great! Now let me have a look...

And in motion, it looks somethings like this:

Tara wants that camera (and sod eating!)

Then, there are two options. You either share that camera with her and watch videos and look at pictures on the display. In that case you do not get any new shots.
Or you refuse. That presents you with the following development:



Veeery funny. But also very loud. And not what you want to see every day.

A phase, surely? Not going to get in the way of blogging forever?

So. There you go, Nirite, this is one of the reasons why Dr. Daddy has been handing in his PhD for the last three weeks.

Dr. Daddy Hands His PhD In

Four years in the making, but at long last it has happened: Jose hands his thesis in. His girls are hoping for recognition and a dedication, for after all we have had quite a bit of input as well, haven't we?






Congratulations to Dr. Daddy for this milestone. Nearly there now...

Video: Tara edits daddy's PhD draft.