May, Norma, Edna, Tara and me.

There they are, all snug with their flags. Can't wait till the big day (tomorrow), and what-oh-what will The Dress be like? And will it shape Tara's idea of wedding dresses forever and ever?
Tara's looking a bit tired, that's all. So much hard partying at school. She's made her very own coloured-in flag to wave and doesn't want to wash off her face painting at bed time.
My one resolution is to watch the whole thing - this involves finding a pub that screens it (which shouldn't be difficult) - and ENJOY every minute of it, come what may.
William and Kate?

Tara, Norma, Edna, May and me agree: "AAAAHHHHH!"

(Next one of its kind in roughly 30 years.)

(PS Yes I know I'm a bit out of date with my blogging... I'll catch up and evntually all will be good!)

(27/04)

I Will NOT Share This Extra Large Banana With My Extra Small Brother!

*LOL* What can I say?! At least she doesn't shriek quite as loudly as Leo when he doesn't want to share a thing!

(4/4/11)

"Are they crying now? Now? NOW?!"

This looks like England celebrating England and Englishness, mostly

A big day for England, and a big day for us... It was meant to be, anyway, but come The Wedding, it's quite a job getting everyone motivated, out of bed, into a reasonably decent outfit and out of the house in search of a public screening - eventually found in a pub down by the harbour.
Tara and I are the most excited (not to say, the only ones in the family who care), but big weddings and princesses? Who would not be over the moon?
I've prepped my girl and told her how it was going to go down: Wedding in church, fabulous dress, everyone crying, long ride in carriage, kiss and done. For us, brunch in pub with telly and very many ooohs and aaahs.

"Are they crying yet?"

The Girl Approach to celebrational hats, and The Leo Approach

Ride in carriage with flashback

We have visitors (but they're not very interested and therefore face the wrong way)

Kiss kiss

What a dress!

(Five years of my new anual salary, apparently, before tax. But it's pretty.)

Hand-made flag, courtesy of school art session im Hochzeitsfieber

I guess you can't call us patriots if we're not proper English... but the House of Hannover and us, well we're practically family! And Tara and I, we like a good story about a beautiful princess any day.

I loved it, Tara liked it (but preferred Diana's dress), Jose escorted us through it and Leo ate his way through the English breakfast, slept his way through the wedding and scrunched his way through his Union Jack hat. Hurray to England, Royalty, Tradition and Extravagant Occasions! And a happy married life to the bride and groom.

I kiss my kids (her)

It's been nearly two years since Tara's last haircut and her hair's grown grown grown. Long long long, and she loves loves loves it. Me too. "I'll NEVER cut my hair," says Tara with conviction. So much hair, and so much love!


And then comes the weekend at the beginning of Spring on which Tara loses as much hair as seems reasonable in a month or two. A bit like a lamb. Or a cat. Or a dog. Except she's my kiddy and there's a history of hair loss in the family. So Jose and I brush her hair, remove enough hair from the brush to stuff a doll's cushion with, and exchange panicked glances over her fleeced looking head. (We freak out, actually.)

Remedy number one: The hair must come off. How do we sell that to a kid who loves her locks? Easily. Poor baby girl, so susceptible to brain washing and manipulation from mum and dad. For one week we bang on about how chic short hair is, and how mum and Tara must go get a twin hair cut. A few days later - lucky coincidence - Tara's friend Sophie has her hair cut, we add a twist of peer pressure / 'gotta have what she has' into the equation and we're there! A twin appointment for mum and Tara, asap.

SNIP SNIP

Snip snip, and don't we look a light year better and at least five years younger? Well, me anyway - Tara not quite, but she's cute either way. Preferably with hair on her head, not in the brush.

Meanwhile, Tara has different worries anyway. Said friend Sophie has cancelled their friendship, and Tara talks about it daily. This is what transpired (so I'm told): Tara and Sophie, then with long hair, were playing tag. Tara caught Sophie by the hair once. Then Tara caught Sophie by the hair again and received the stern warning that they could never be friends again if she (Tara) pulled her (Sophie's) long hair again, ever. But Tara caught her long hair again, accidentally, twice, that being four times in total and the end of all friendship.
Tara recounts the events leading to disaster for days, talks about apologising and feeling sorry, draws pictures of princesses holding hands and writes "Im sori Sofie" but never hands her card over.
I'm feeling very sorry for her but don't want to interfere. Should I? Should I?

KISS KISS (Mum kisses kid)

KISSSSS (Kid kisses back)

PS: I'm writing a month after the haircut. There's Tara, looking over my shoulder: "Ooooh, I loved my long hair! I want to have long hair again, all the way up to my bum! Mummy, I miss your long hair!" I've clearly neglected the post-hair cut brain wash maintenance.
On the positive side, no more hair loss since. (Is she a seasonally sensitive kitten after all?)

PPS: "Hey Tara, are you and Sophie friends again?" - "Yes! We copy each other again, and that means YES."

PPPS: Me, I needed a hair cut to look good for an interview re-applying to my employer to see if they wanted to let me keep my job. Rephrase: Efficiency reviews, job cuts, redundancies, the whole lot. It's a bit of a surprise I don't lose hair over it as well really. Anyway, I looked fab at the interview and got to keep my little job, joy all around.

Hair grows back, friends grow back, jobs grow back... good news all over.

We're Still There! Well, Here. Well.

I really did say STAY TUNED, didn't I. Well, I'm eating my words. But we're still there, although of course there is now here and no longer there!
Of course, given this virtualy return from the dead, seeing is believing. So here goes, very briefly:

WE PACKED

LOTS of boxes! Snowstorm. Desaster.

THEN WE UNPACKED. Partially. Women and children first.

And miraculously, we lived to tell the tale. Including: The kindness of strangers and new neighbours who fed us meals, and old friends whom we still have not thanked for Christmas presents due to lack of time and good manners. It's awful, really.


We have achieved a fair bit, though (cooking and letter writing not being among those achievements). Seeing is believing:

Kitchen - then & now

Tara's room, before and after (being before she made an unsightly mess of it)

We are out of one and in the other, some stuff is still in boxes, other stuff out, but more of it in cause there are still not enough boxes to stick it all up in. In the midst of it all, I have put my back out, and - wait, it's really high time I stuck the kids into their beds.

So, here we are. Back from the digitally dead, one hopes. Somewhat invisible still, putting it slowly all back together.

Family Photo 2011

And thus we enter the new year...

(... of course it's really more like this...)

Schneefrei... SAY WHAT?

Thursday. Roughly zero degrees and a handful of snow, and the local schooling system collapses and all schools close. Seeeeriously. Of course, I work for a school, so HA HA HA, I'm off too, and cuase no busses run, Jose gets stuck with us all at home. Brilliant! We're a family on a mission! Or rather, a few missions. "Mummy, FISRT we go on MY mission, which is a park mission, and a snowman mission. THEN we have coffee. THEN we can go on any mission you choose, which is going to be a house mission."
My, what a clued up daughter I have! So we wrap The Baby warmly into his pushchair and trot off into winter wonderland. Leo doesn't look too impressed, but really, he's just extremely displeased with being tucked away and patiently awaits his turn.


Mission one, The Park! Very idyllic, all of it, rather cold and luckily the snow is so flakey it's no good for rolling up a proper tall and abominable snowman, as I'm quick to explain to Tara. Suits me - I really want to get to Mission Three, which is a) all that interests me these days, and b) somewhat crucial gievn that we plan on moving in 9 days, and still have no kitchen, no bathroom and no paint on the walls in the one house, and not a single box packed in the other.


Unsnowmanable snow does, of course, say nothing about the potential quality of snow angels, and Tara plops down anywhere. Trodden down snow: fine. Head stuck under a bench: great! Flip flip, wave wave... and daddy's pretty good at it too!

Snow angels... whooooaaaa!!!

Leo is being kept happy with a now ball. Nice, cold and a novelty. Aaaah, that's a happy baby! I turn my attention to The Snowman and seconds later Leo begins to cry. Bitterly. Loudly. Inexplicably. Only daddy can explain: Mummy left Baby with The Snowball, completely forgot all about it, and Baby's poor little hands are freezing cold and hurting. Who wouldn't cry?! (Did I say I'm slightly distracted? That I want to be at The House?)

The Snowman (not that he really deserves the caputal letters...)

Mission one accomplished, I say, and we slither off into town on our coffee mission. Just a pit-stop really before the house mission, which deserves an entry in its own right another day, if I ever find the time.

Tara is happy enough with her mission. Also, there's plenty of things to do at the house. Talking to the builders, writing and drawing, dancing to the radio, singing along... All is a bit better still at home where my singing flapping angel can don her fairy wings and wave her wand, and where there's a choice of lots of pens in lots of colours, and a separate set for Leo when Big Sister doesn't fancy sharing hers.

"Mummy, Miss Flower says I sing like the radio!"

After Dinner Drawing, At Home

But then, "At Home" is about to change its meaning radically. The countdown is on, the boxes are still all up in the loft (flat, empty, ahem....), the kitchen is still at the shops und not yet paid for... What can I say, other than STAY TUNED!*

*(And, of course,חג שמח! , Nirite ;-)