Leo, 8 Months

Supported tentative wobbly standing boy, 8 months old

First things first: Just for the record, Leo, here's what I tell you daily: Goodness, I adore you! And then I sigh in general, to no audience in particular: Goodness me, how much I love this boy!

Now that that's off my chest and on record, black on white, and for future reference if ever there was any doubt, on to some facts about Leo at 8 months.

A piece of technology? GIMME THAT!

8 months, 4 teeth and a fifth showing. Two stubborn little legs that will refuse to bend when I want them to, so I continually find myself fighting with the little things sticking feet first in the pushchair, refusing to sit down and crying bitterly when I finally manage to wedge him in, heqad first, anyway. The same applies to the kitchen seat, the changing table and any other surface that I require him to sit on. Bribery with food works, and apples are particular popular. Or hot cross buns (Rosinenbrötchen) - he gets positively high on them (even though sugar is only listed as the 15th or so ingredient).
He still won't roll either way, continues to hate tummy time unless he's lying on my tummy, but sits long and stably when sat down although he still hasn't worked out how to sit up himself and is going about trying all the wrong way like a bug on his back.
In terms of weight and length: Weight just under average for his age, length some 10 weeks above average. Long and lean as ever.
Gone his great fascination with his mobile (of the bird variety, above his changing table); it has been replaced with an equally intense fascination with my mobile (of the electronic variety, insurance claim pending. The birds handled baby slobber better.)
Also, he is very enthusiastic about: cables, phones, plastic-button/sound/light toys, Tara's big doll Sophia (whom Tara does not like to share), balls and his weekly music class. All in all rather boy-like favourites, although Tara occasionally likes to pretend that he's a girl called "Leah" or "Lucy".
Sweet, ey?

If Leo was a girl (THANKS, Tara!)

But really, he's a BOY, going gaga over balls

Wait - really really he's His Mamma's BABY

Beautiful and Handsome

Below, a bed-time conference. What are they talking about? I don't know - future bedroom designs, perhaps, and the amount of pink that would be acceptable? Tara does most of the talking, for sure, and Leo loves being spoken to. Boy, is he happy to be spending some extra time with Big Adorable Sister!
Equally better fun together: watching Peppa Pig, or having a picnic in the garden: Leo healthy peaches, Tara tasty ice cream (what else).

Kiddie Conference

From left to right: Little Brother, Big Sister, Peppa Pig (not pictured but VERY present)

Picnic for Two, peaches and ice cream

I love seeing the two of them together! Especially when one is all dressed in pink and the other all dressed in blue. My blue baby and my pink baby, I call them. But we like them in any colour.
"AAaaah! My two beautiful things!" I say.
"One is beautiful..." says Tara, "And one is gorgeous?" I chip in, wondering who she thinks is the beautiful one, but wanting to make sure they both get praised if only one is 'beautiful' in her opinion.
"... And one is handsome!" Tara completes her sentence.
But of course. I remember learning that in school. Girl are beautiful, boys are handsome. And here's one they don't teach you in school:
Mine are especially beautiful/handsome!

Ahem, what can I say... Maybe: Above, a lot of waffle about how much I like seeing my kids interact in a positive manner. I can't quite find the right words, but I really do like it... *sigh*

House Hunting: Offer Accepted

Saturday morning. Pancakes with nutella for mum and dad, pancakes with sugar for Tara, and pancakes plain for Leo who wipes his face with them in an attempt at getting as much as possible into his mounth.
Also, one phone call from the agency to tell us that our offer has been accepted and that we are on our way to owning a house. YAY!


Well, YAY, says Jose. Tara seems to be saying OUCH, although why, we do not know. (Yes, Leo is wearing pink hand-me-down bibs from his sister. Ho doesn't mind, and now that we are looking forward to buying a new kitchen and a new bath along with the house I'm certainly not shopping around for blue. All Leo cares for is pancake.)

I've spent a week stressing over the great choice of solicitors (online somewhere in England, cheaper vs. local, more expensive but more direct and possibly faster), then agonised some more over mortgages (fixed rate? 5 years? 3 years? which provider?), and I've also made it back to the house to take detailed photos of every piece of furniture, floor, wall, and other pieces of equipment. I can't possibly post any of those interior pictures. They would give my father a heart attack. So here are just a few: Front room (note: 'SOLD' sign outside), back of house, and garden - currently lawnless, but that represents a huge improvement over the child-swallowing jungle of weeds it still was a week ago.

"SOLD" (subject to contract and excluding curtains and that arm chair!)

Bedroom, bedroom, (tiny) lean-to 'conservatory' , kitchen (left to right, top to bottom)

Garden: South-West facing. Aaaah, sunny!

We're about to grow roots in England, and this of all places. I'm thinking: My kids will possibly look back at this house later as the house they grew up in. They won't have any memories of living in any of the other houses, and living in England will be normal to them, 'home' and all they know. For me, it's totally weird. Possibly in a nice kind of way, but mostly bewildering and baffling.

All going well, we're on a 4-8 week countdown to getting the keys. It's weird.

House Hunting: We're Placing an Offer

I've not even gotten round to posting any of our many house hunting pictures, and I'd actually decided to give the hunt a bit of a rest for a little while, but then, well: I walked past this street, and that house had a For Sale sign up that wasn't there before, and I though I'd just ring about the price for this handsome little piece of property, and it turned out to be affordable and in need of modernisation just like I'd come round to wantin; so before I knew it I was walking round the house a few days later, thinking, Oh isn't this just right!
South-West facing garden, 4 bedrooms, plenty of light around the house, and just the right size between being too squishy and so big I feel out of my depth. It needs a new kitchen and bathroom as well as floors and heating (which is reflected in the price), so we would get a house finished to our liking, which is much better than buying something done up to other people's tastes but being unable to replace it because it's new and you exhausted your funds buying it new, never mind having to have builders in for a few months! Location: a central tiny cul-de-sac, no thrugh-traffic and everything in walking distance, busses, (classy) supermarket, city centre and shops, harbour and beach, park and playground the other direction, gym, nursery and library all between 2 (library) and ten minutes (park or beach).
The only downside is that there is only on-street parking, but then that's pretty normal for a central location.
We saw it on Saturday, I've slept badly since cause I've been planning kitchens and bathrooms in my head at night, and come Monday morning (that being today), I've placed an offer just a tiny bit above the asking price (as there are other offers as well). We hope to hear back this week.
Bet I wasn't much fun to be around for the kids this morning, spending most of it on the phone, ignoring Tara and her half-assembled scooter, Leo dangling from my arm.
But Tara is concerned with lots of other issues anyway: Mummy, can I scooter to nursery? Mami, my legs are tired. Come on, Mummy! Mami, I want to take my knee pads off. And my helmet! Mami, if I was Father Christmas I wouldn't want to get stuck down the chimney.
Where ever did that come from?!
Well, it's a while to Christmas. Fingers crossed we have good news about the house (or another one if this one's not meant to be) before then, and then I'm all for seeing Father Christmas stuck in a chimney if only it's mine.

Left half of the semi-D at the end: Is it meant to be? (And have we offered enough?)

Across the street, or: View from front room (nice ey?)

And a bit further up the street, going up towards the park at the end

I used to have - and I used to treasure - a tape that my parents recorded when I was about 5. On it were some random little snippets like me, in my little voice, naming my favourite colour (blue). Also, there was a conversation between my parents about houses they'd been looking at. So, one of them said, which of the houses that we've seen do you think it is then, said one to the other. The house on what's-it-called street, the other voice replied, sounding not quite so sure but hopeful. And the house on what's-it-called street is indeed the house I grew up in.
I look at my children and I think: It's time we stopped paying other people's mortgages. Thanks to my parents there is enough for a deposit on a house, and by the time my sweet little poppets will need money for their education, we could be done with the mortgage and able to pay for it, or put some aside for a deposit for their future homes perhaps. Or both. (Or, given the state of the nation, keep our dear old selves in food despite some minimal pension, instead of having to move in with one kid or the other.)
Look at them. What comes to mind is a pink room, and a blue one. One for the future engineer, the other for the future musician. *Grins*

"Look Mami, I'm making Leo laugh!"

This is MY jelly and I AM taking it home! AND THIS ONE TOO!

A very hot day. My daughter, sitting on a bench in town for a quick soothe-the-crying-baby break, gets lucky: Her "best friend" Zack zooms by with his mum, on their way to buying a paddling pool, and we are invited back to their house for a splash. Hurray, says Tara, I WANT TO GO TO ZACK'S HOUSE! (This is something she says with regularity, though only about once every week or fortnight in combination with that enthusiastic hurray.) Great, I say, let's buy some treats; and a littel later we are at Zacks, Tara in borrowed swimming trunks, and the two of them eating crispies (one bag each), and a jelly (one each, of a four-pack). Tara dips two toes in the pool after her lengthy snack: She does not care for (cold or otherwise) water as much as she cares for treats. Especially jelly. (Edit: Actually, especially anything.)
Fun is had by all, for various reasons, and it is home time. One innocently unsuspecting polite mother - not me! - says: Do you want to take the last two jellies home?
Na, don't worry, I say. (We have more at home. Plenty more.) YES, my daughter says by the door, slipping into her shoes one-handed because she is clutching a sweet she was secretly given by Zack in the other. She has very good ears, this daughter of mine.
In the kitchen, Zack begins to cry bitterly. His mother starts trying to talk him out of wanting the fourth jelly.
By the door, my daughter will not be talked into relinquishing her jellies, third and fourth. I suggest sharing, and now she begins to cry bitterly too. All right, all right, I say, choosing fairness and maternal betrayal over reason and educational perseverance: I slip one jelly out of the pushchair and behind the door as we go down the stairs. Oops, I plan on saying at home when we find one jelly missing, we must have lost that on the way.
My darling daughter must have heard the jelly wobble in its plastic bowl. There are three steps to descend: On the second she asks, And we have the jellies? BOTH?! But of course, I say, OF COURSE! and change the subject, quickly.
I think my evil plot might work as we make it half way home on peaceful conversation. But then, the other end of the peaceful conversation changes the subject back: Do we really have both jellies still? Emphasis on really and both.
It is here and now that I make the mistake of changing up on myself, 4 and a half a street from home: Well... I don't want to lie to you... I left one jelly with Zack. Are you very cross with me?
Well, yes, replies my daughter, composed. I am very cross with you if you give my jelly away. It is my jelly and I want to take it home, and if you give it to Zack that is not fair, and I am going to cry. Speaks with great composure, takes a deep breath and HOWLS. Extra. Loud. In between sobs she resumes arguing her case along similar lines as above and cries some more. Again, extra loud. And it is not just me feeling extra sensitive because of all the people that we walk past - people that I wish to exchange understanding looks with and casually wish to say to, Tired time of day married with not enough jelly to go round, you know... Ahem. But nobody seems to care as much as Tara. Tara goes WAAAAA!
I say, Do you want to go back to Zack's house and get the jelly back...
YEEEES
...and give him back the sweety he gave you?
NOOOO WAAAAA!
Does it seem fair to you that he gives you a sweety and you don't want to share your jellies?
YEEES!
But we have lots more jellies at home, you know?
I don't CAAAAAREEE! I want THIS ONEEEE!
We get home, and bless the 'tired time of day', daddy is home. By now Tara wants reassurance just as much as her jelly and she is howling: Mummy *sob sob* cuuuuddles *howl sob* eeeextra long cuuuuddle! I'm on a tired time of day homerun though, have made a dash for the kitchen, am trying to make her dinner (NO jelly for pudding!), and am cruelly refusing extra long cuddles.
Up she trots the stairs for daddy cuddles. Sad to report: only second-best.
From down in the kitchen, I hear the incident told over.
And again.
And again, under tears.
And voila, there's a new element to her tearful account! It goes: I want to go and live in a different house with a different mummy! I want a new mummy who doesn't give my jellies away! I want to live with Tante Claudia! SHE would NOT have given away my jelly! It's not faaaiiiir!
I've been disowned! Over a jelly! Downstairs, I am in tears. Of laughter.
Upstairs, Jose is, too. Tears of laughter. And Tara. Tears of anger and despair. What is she going to do without her mummy?
Daddy does a fair bit of soothing, cuddling and talking, and Tara is willing to move back in. Then there is a little silence in which, I learn later, she sits and eats Zack's sweeties.
My daughter, recovered.
She comes down, eats her dinner, and generously offers me a share of everything she eats, offers Leo a share of everything she eats.
She only has two more concerns, presented calmly.
1. Mummy, I didn't want Zack to have the jelly because he is going to get FAT. He's omly allowed one treat and he already had the crispies... (Ahem. In the first world, little boys do not come any skinnier than Zack. But I won't mention.)
2. Tante Claudia will miss me. (I bet she does.)

That's my girl: Brought up to argue her case.

Happier Days (when Tante Claudia was still here. SHE would NOT have given away Tara's 8th jelly.)

"Self Portrait on a Happier Day" (so named by Mummy; 3 years, 9 months)

Meanwhile, the little man has cut his first tooth and is happily shredding cooked carrots, bananas, toast and fluffy dogs or paper of any kind with it. Also, as of this week, he can sit for considerable amounts of time without falling onto his nose and crying hard, although that too does happen. Does it gets the news coverage it deserves? I does not. Life really really is not fair.

Dog bites Little Man. Little Man bites back.

Ein Voller Geburtstag, und ein Halber

Dem Opa Didi zum 70sten 59sten!

Happy Birthday to Youuuu

Hier wird so richtig laut gesungen, Happy Birthday To Youuuu, und auch gleich 5 oder 6 mal, denn wir singen auch für's Foto, wenn der Opa in einem anderen Land weilt (wo er hingehört) als wir (wo wir hingehören). Und weil auch Opas, die weit weg wohnen, nicht jedes Jahr 70 59 werden, feiern wir hier über'm Kanal so richtig mit Stil: Partyhüte (selbst gemacht), Käsekuchen ("Aber bitte mit Sahne"), Kerzen und ein Fläschchen Cider für die volljährigen Familienmitglieder (B.: "Ich hätte da noch 'n zweites Fläschchen im Kühlschrank..." C.: "Jetzt werd mal nicht übermütig.").


Und natürlich ein Fotositzung, denn was sind schon Feierlichkeiten mit selbst gebastelten Hüten für den Opa über'n Teich, wenn der sie nicht sehen kann? Ein Glück mal, dass Tante Claudia ihre Kamera dabei hat, denn damit auch ein vernünftiges Foto dabei ist, machen wir gleich 70 59. Im Passbildautomaten hätten wir nur vier machen können...

Irgendein Partybild wird schon was werden...

Aaaa-HA! (Bild nummer 59. Oder so.)

Wie... keine Geschenke?

Und dann singen wir noch ein siebtes Mal durch's Telefon. "Himbeerkuchen... für diss, Opa," verkündet Tara, die jetzt schon so scharf auf ihren Nachtisch ist, dass die leckere Geburtstagspizza gleich überhaupt nur mithilfe mehrerer kein-Nachtisch-Drohungen angeknabbert wird. Und wie ist das mit den Geschenken, will Tara wissen? Was? Keine Geschenke für Erwachsene? Höchstens mal ein bischen Schokolade? Na gut, das lässt sich später noch beheben. Jetzt ist erst mal Zeit für Pizza und Kuchen. So richtig mit viel Sahne. Und deinen Partyhut, Papa / Opa, schicken wir dir mit der Post. Mit ein bischen Schokolade.



Lieber Papa und Opa,

Zum 70sten 56sten alles Gute aus England! Wie legen eine extra dicken Schlag Sahne auf einen Kuchen (der im Sonderangebot war, eine Ersparnis von einem Pfund brachte und sehr lecker war) und wünschen dir ein gesundes 60stes Lebensjahr, vielleicht auch 71stes, wer weiß das schon.

Alles Liebe von Britta, Claudia, Tara und Leo





Und Leo ist ein halbes Jahr alt!


... Und ich würd ja auch was dazu schreiben, wenn das Kind endlich mal schlafen tät statt heulen!

Lieber Leo,

du bist ein wunderschönes Kind und wir lieben dich von Herzen und geschenkt gibt's Schlaftraining nach Ferber, denn das ist ja gar zu fürchterlich, wenn du so weinst, sowie ich mich ab 6.30 Uhr abends nicht an deiner Seite befinde! Mehr darüber, wie wunderbar du bist gibt's später, wenn du nicht mehr so verzweifelt schreist, vorausgesetzt, ich schlafe nicht schon wieder beim Danebenliegen aus Versehen ein.

Deine Mama XXX

A Morning Like This

There's something wrong with the picture above: It's not morning yet. It's about midnight, and the two kids flanking me (me being represented by the mid-sized gap between them) are gearing up for a party. I'm not too happy about it. Understatment.
But then morning comes. Before I even open my eyes, Tara has heard her daddy somewhere else in the house and has climbed out of bed to get some post-party nutrition in. And by the time I do open my eyes, the little man is still by my side, all warm, cuddly, contented and smiling. And fascinated by the camera.


We chat and we cuddle and we take our time with this morning. Every second of it is perfect. Just Leo and mummy, mummy and Leo. I'm endlessly in love with my little boy. If I had to hand-pick just a few moments to live over and over, groundhog day style, this is one of them. My mummy and Leo moment.

And then Tara skips back up the stairs and hops back into bed with us for extended cuddles. There's so much love to go around.


On a morning like this, how happy can a mama be? Or, for that matter, a big sister of a divine little fellow?


This is your morning Leo and you are making us ever so happy. Boy, how much we love you!