Cookie?

The munchkin's linguistic repertoire is expanding. Toddler brains acquire language so darn fast you can almost smell their curly little hairs burning. Last week Miss Noodle became really good at pointing at the right part of a face if you said "nose," or "hair," or "mouth". And this week, as if by magic, she can point at "Mommy's mouth" or "Daddy's nose" or "Noodle's ears". 

Before there were cookies.

People are always interested to know what their first words were. It indicates their earliest priorities. According to my parents, after the obligatory "Mommy" and "Daddy," mine were "read" and "cheese," which is pretty much the story of my life. 

I guess Miss Noodle already understands a hundred words (okay, Google says 50 but I think it's more), but the first ones she has spoken are: Mommy, Daddy, this (and das), I see! (which she uses as one word), no (and nein), dog, hi, bye-bye, yes (and ja), up, down, apple (pronounced appie), done, and mine (and meine). There are a bunch of other sounds she says regularly but that are such terrible (and wonderful) mispronunciations that they can't really be counted, e.g. "ahm" for food, "bang" for blanket, "buh" for book, or "nananananana" for banana. Or "sgut," which we think is "ist gut" and "kois," which we're pretty sure is her sweetly Yiddish way of saying "of course". 

Before there were teeth there were macaroons

Yesterday she even tried to say "Nackerbatzl" when I was getting her ready for a bath. "Nackiba," she said. Nackerbatzl is German for a naked person, and it's one of those things that's part of the vocabulary we use exclusively when interacting with kids. 

By the way, have you noticed how many words and expressions we have like that? We expend all this energy teaching children to say things that they will not ever use as grownups. 

You do not believe me? I can prove it. Cock-a-doodle-doo. What right-minded adult describes the crow of a rooster as a cockadoodledoo? Man chickens do not "say" "cockadoodledoo". Maybe, like, a "a-ooo-oo-ooooo." But if you have every heard a cock say "cock" or "doodle" I'd like to know about it. Video, please. 

"Cock-a-doodle-doo"

"Oh dude, I'm exhausted. I was roused at 5 a.m. this morning by a loud cockadoodledoo," said no one, ever. I urge you to recall a single time that you have used the word "cockadoodledoo" in adult conversation. So why do we teach it to children? Is it just to hear their adorable, muppet-like voices saying "cockadoodledoo"? Probably. 

But anyway. That is not the point of this blog post. The point of this blog post is this: One word that Miss Noodle can say VERY clearly, and which is a clear indication of her priorities, is "cookie." 

She knows where we keep cookies. Mid-play they will occur to her, and she will rise to her feet and walk across the entire apartment with her finger pointed toward Mecca and her face pointed toward the nearest adult, all the way invoking the name of cookies. Often I then say something along the lines of, "You already had a cookie today and if you eat any more cookies this week you will turn into a cookie and I will hate myself for being the kind of crappy mother who buys their child's temporary affection by giving them what they ask for i.e. more cookies. No cookies."

But the Noodle is still coming to grips with the fact that even though she can clearly state what she wants, she may not get it. After all, when you're a baby the entire problem is that you can't tell your adults whether you are thirsty or too hot or need a clean diaper. Suddenly you can express your wishes, and the grownups turn out to be giant jerks. The only solution, then, is to drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes, possibly causing lasting damage to the old noggin, stomp your feet, flail your arms and scream. 

Noodle can throw a killer tantrum. It's one of her new skills. But she is very sweet and won't pitch a fit until she is sure that her mother is the asshole. After all, she doesn't speak very well, and it may be that I am simply not understanding what she really wants. 

"Coo-KIE?" 
"No more cookies, Noodle."
"COO-kie."
"No more."
"Cokie."
"No."
"Cokay?"
"Still no."
"Coogie. Cogie. Cakey. Cokey. CooKAI. Kaikai."
"Noodle. I already told you, love. No. More. Cookies."
"WAAAAAH!"

I tell you though. It is hard to deny this kid a cookie. She may be a 16 month-old with but four teeth, but she loves a crisp cookie snack. They make her inordinately happy. As you can see here, in this video that I (AGAIN! Koisses!) filmed vertically in the heat of the moment. 

May all our weekends be filled with cookies. 

The Superior Parent

My fellow parent has many excellent qualities. Yet it has always been clear to me that I am the superior. Evidence? Please. It is evident. I mean, just look at me. I'm GREAT. 

Heading south. I think we were over Egypt.

So imagine my dismay when I returned on Wednesday from a week-long work trip to Nairobi and the homestead was in perfect order and our child SEEMED both happy and throughly kempt. The kid barely noticed I was gone. At first I was perplexed, but looking back over the evidence of the week, I have an explanation. Gross corruption. 

My daughter has been bribed. 

Exhibit 1: Vegetables (lack thereof). One evening I Skyped in to my wee, dear family to find that my one year-old was merrily dining on take-out from the local cheap Chinese place. The child clutched a gyoza and was smeared in pork fat, soy sauce and jollity. A transparent effort to buy her chubby little heart. 

Exhibit 2: Bedtime. Last night at dinner, Alex's sister asked when the Noodle usually goes to bed. "At eight," I answered promptly. "Between seven and eight...well, nine," said Alex, just as promptly. He said, "I mean, it would be seven fifteen every night if I had my way. Ha! Hahaha! HA!" We looked at each other. I raised an eyebrow.  

Corrupted.

Exhibit 3: Television. Also last night, while dining at Alex's sister's home, our daughter kept picking up the remote control for the TV and pointing it at the screen and pushing random buttons in what can only be described as a well-practiced motion. When the TV finally came on she was utterly transfixed. "Wow, look how fascinated she is," I said. "We almost never watch TV when she is around at home." I looked at Alex. He looked away. 

Exhibit 4: Cookies. Again last night at dinner, Noodle was given a piece of cookie for dessert. Then she wanted another one, which I was inclined to let her have. "She never eats this stuff, so it's fine," I said. At the same moment, Alex said, "No more! Noodle, I think you have had more than enough cookies lately." 

Daddy and daughter.

"Wait, when was that?" I asked. 

"Psh," he said, holding up his thumb to start counting. "Just this afternoon she had one, two...plenty," he said. 

I looked at him, and had a sudden vision of the dozens of cookies that had disappeared down that delicate toddler gullet over the last seven days. My husband shrugged.  

I rest my case. 

But also, I would like to reiterate my thanks to my darling husband for making it possible for me to go gallivanting halfway across the world to do my job, indeed to enjoy my job, without worrying for a minute whether my baby is being taken care of. 

Of course she is. She has the loveliest Daddy in the world, and we both love him very, very much. 

Three big loves. 

We Heart Bedtime

When it comes to ease of parenting, the first fifteen months of Miss Noodle's life have had their ups and downs. We are definitely, definitely on an up right now. 

Noodle reacted to her first month of daycare with what can only be described as dismay. At the kindergarten itself she was fine: she wanted her teachers to carry her around all the time, but was otherwise friendly and personable. But once she got home...DAMN. Tears. Lots and löööts of saying "no". She reverted to her face-smacking ways. Threw things on the floor. Would not go to bed. 

She had also learned a slew of new techniques for driving us slowly bananas. If for example it was bath time or time to leave the apartment or time to put her coat on or whatever, she had learned how to go as limp as a sack of dead cats, leaving us to try and and manipulate her dangling, whining body into or out of her clothes without accidentally dislocating her shoulder or whatever. 

Also, she learned how to pick her nose. (Except she doesn't even do it right. Nothing comes out. She just inserts her pointy little finger further and further up her wee nostril until her left eye is tearing, and then she leaves it there a while.) 

But anyway. This tumultuous period is behind us now, and it is the dawn of a new era of total compliance. Well, 50/50, anyway.  In the mornings she is ultra keen to go to kindergarten, where she has made a few equally tiny friends that bobble around with her. She has stopped saying "no" as often, and now mostly says "yes," even when she has no idea what we're saying to her. Actually, she doesn't say yes. She nods. But we'll take it. It is so brilliant to be able to ask whether she needs a new diaper, whether she is hungry or thirsty, whether she would like to play with her blocks, and actually get an answer. 

And here is the best part: 

She TELLS us when she's ready to go to bed. When she is really on her game she'll even point toward her bedroom and start saying "bye bye".  Other evenings she is cranky and unamused, but if asked whether it is bedtime she will nod. And then she starts chirping "bye bye" while her PJs are put on and her teeth brushed. 

The video below doesn't actually capture bed time, but you can see the nodding. 

I LOVE THIS NOODLE! And also: walking around, climbing on furniture, saying "no," going to kindergarten, and putting herself to bed? I hereby declare this baby a toddler. 

Dribs and Drabs

Alex is sick, I am sick, the Noodle is sick. It is very gray and very cold outside. Bleargh. Our apartment is awash in Kleenex and yuck. Seems like a great time to update the old blog with some pictures from the last month or so, in which we went to the zoo twice and enjoyed a wonderful visit from my mom, aka Grandma aka Nana. 

Brace yourself for a ton of photos, because I don't have the brains to write today. 

Our first zoo trip, about a month ago, was with a group our friend Antonia, her siblings, their respective partners, and all their babies. It was madness, and lots of fun. Our second zoo trip, last week, resulted in far fewer photos because we were already totally jaded by wild caged animals. We were with Alex's brother and his wife, plus their fabulous daughter Charlotte, who gave the Noodle this awesome stuffed pink llama. Because I am awesome, I don't have photos of any of these things. However, I have a picture of this lemur: 

By our second zoo trip, we were jaded as this lemur. 

Here is a young elephant. 

Our only real photo of Noodle during Visit #2: Speaking with a distant cousin. 

The rest of these photos are from our first visit. Here we see a young Mr. O on a giant salamander,
in front of the salamander climbing wall. Obviously.

Noodle and Sir E. We took about 475 photos at this juncture. Amazingly,
this is the best one. Sad indictment of my photo skills/ toddlers' ability to stay still
and smile in the same direction at the same time. 

Mr. O and his mama. 

A rhino. In case you were unsure. This was just one of the many animals
that Miss Noodle did not give a flying f*** about. 

Not pictured: Multiple adults behind the camera, begging their kids
to look this direction. 

A dopey looking pelican. So cute! (This IS a pelican, right?)

Mr. E and his daddy and mommy, inspecting the most interesting
animal at the zoo...the foliage. 

Miss Noodle and Alex near the elephant enclosure. 

It is us!

Noodle inside the ibis enclosure. So much excitement!

A week later, my own Mommy came to town. With a suitcase of presents and two hands for playing with her granddaughter. She is probably the Noodle's favourite person ever. I'm trying to think of a clever analogy to demonstrate how well they fit together, but I'm not really in top mental form right now. They fit together like, like...they fit each together like a thing and its analogy, for example.

...Yeah, that'll have to do.

Anyway. Behold! A smattering of photos with Grandma.

Grandma, Alex and a grumpy, hungry Noodle at the Bienenfest (Bee Festival). 

The weather was properly Byronic.

Noodle riding a wooden snail.

And crossing a mini suspension bridge...

We were am Himmel, a beautiful (more so when the sun shines) hilltop
featuring a restaurant, tree circle, vineyards and this epic playground. 

Okay, apparently I can't find any more photos from Grandma's visit. Hmm. But here is Noodle. 

Right. Sadly, this is all the energy I can muster at this time. Do you know how tired we are? We are so tired that we fed our 14 month old daughter chicken nuggets from McDonalds because I can't be bothered to cook two warm meals today. (Alex seems to think this is fine. I think we should never tell anyone it happened...oops). And the television has been on literally all day. And as I type this the Noodle is unwinding a whole roll of paper towels and we are pretending not to notice. And we do not care. That is how zippy and dynamic we are over here, friends.

Have a lovely Sunday!

*COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH SNIFFLE*

Sea Changes

Winter is coming. But before that, we have to get through the Fall. And it is madness, I tell you. We have thrown ourselves overboard into unknown seas. 

I'm back to work at a wonderful new job with great new people. And I have to say, compared with a full day alone with the bebe, working seems easier. It's always nice to do new things, and at the moment I'm sort of revelling in the fact that I get paid to put on nice clothes and interact with adults all day long in an environment full of endless free coffee. And when I snack on an apple at work, it's all mine. There is no child hanging on my leg, gesticulating at my fruit and chanting: "Appie! Appie? Appie! Appie?" I can use the restroom and shut the door. You know. The little things. 

Anyone need any crayon on their wall? Anyone?

However. This also means I need to cherish all the hugs and kisses I can get from my mini mouse when we are together. Because while there are many joys relating to the new job, kissing my baby's squishy cheeks is not one. And I love kissing my baby's cheeks. 

But of course, she's not a baby anymore. She is a full-fledged toddler. You can tell because of how she toddles, mincing about like a tiny drunken tyrannosaurus. She follows me around the apartment (on two feet!), playing peek-a-boo around the edge of the furniture, unloading our drawers, crayoning on the mirror, blowing kisses across the room. She tries to put on her own clothes (so far no luck, but we're bullish), insists on feeding herself, and seems to understand basically everything we say. Well, stuff that matters for her, anyway. For example, any mention of fruit precipitates gleeful chirping. Any mention of b-e-d-t-i-m-e results in distinctive fleeing behaviours. At the moment, she flees with all the speed and grace of a chubby flightless parrot. It's adorable. 

Noodle at the playground. Now that she's a toddler, she can do playgrounds! (Well, sort of.) This photo is from my mom's visit. Consider it a preview. 

And despite my secret desire for her to stay one year old forever, she is off to kindergarten. She is currently in the painful phase referred to as The Transition. This is where a parent takes her, stays for a while, and then leaves for ever longer periods. Alex is taking care of this process at the moment. He has a theory--not unreasonable--that our little mommy's girl will be more likely to accept her new environment if someone besides said mommy drops her off every day. It has been five days, and results have reportedly been mixed. Apparently her new teacher does a lot of carrying her around. Since I pretty much have chronic back pain from lugging the chunk around, Ms. Teacher has all my sympathies. 

As does the Noodle. Her new teachers are lovely, as are the other kids in the Frog Group, but of course switching from long, quiet, one-on-one mornings in our living room to the mayhem of the classroom would be a bit of a challenge for anyone. 

Because, you know, children are lunatics. On the morning I went there was a three year-old girl parading around with a naked doll on a plastic plate. She asked no one in particular if they would like a slice of her baby, and then pretended to serve everyone a piece. She was using an inch-long doll knife to pretend to cut into the baby's forehead. 
"Hmm," said the teacher, gently. "What are you doing, Betty?*

"This is a baby-cake," explained the girl. "A cake-baby."  

"Ah," said the teacher. "A cake that looks like a baby." 

The little girl looked up with her big, brown eyes and shrugged. "Ja. Okay." 

Cake-limb, anyone? 

I see cake limbs

This is not to suggest that my own Noodle* is some kind of placid angel. She spent a good deal of time last week trying to force feed another kid her age with a plastic drinking cup. 

"I don't think Lily* wants anything to drink," said the teacher. 

Lily's lower lip quivered as she tried to escape. 

"No no no," said the Noodle, shaking her head. "Baba dis daba." And shoved the cup in Lily's face again. 

You know what their classroom is like? A reef. The three and four year-olds are like sharks. As the biggest and strongest, they can nip down and take what they like (well, as long as their teacher overlords don't see). 

The two year-olds, though, are the piscine residents of our coral paradise. Some of these fish spend the day tearing around in manic circles, while others gently float, opening and closing their mouths every once in a while. They eat the lower forms of life and poop sand. Both the fish and the sharks swim in schools and demonstrate social, even very loving and altruistic behaviour, but are ultimately alone in their little egos, hunting for Things To Do. 

Now the one year olds, however, while technically mobile, are much more like a bunch of anemone. Perhaps jellyfish. They don't really get around. They can spend minutes alone, fiddling with their teeth or a single counting bean or a corner of the carpeting. But should the stormy ocean currents blow them into one another, beware! The first probing swipes of each other's faces are followed swiftly by alarmed poking and then outright violence and defensive secretions, like tears and spit. 

Look how much our dearest pookie pants has changed!

But there are plenty of tempting treats for a young wiener in the Frog Group. First of all, there are endless toys, and endless children to observe, which is the Noodle's favourite hobby. Secondly, there are bananas like basically every day. Third, her classroom features a kiddy pool full of chestnuts, which, you know, is pretty sweet. And as far as assuaging my own deep-seated concerns, I notice that the group includes plenty of tiny noodles who seem happy and comfortable with their caretakers. So I'm sure it'll just be a matter of days until she's happy to go. At which point, I'll probably want to cry. 

Well, that's enough feelings for one sitting. I also need to post photos from our trip to the zoo and my mom's visit this past weekend, but those will have to wait until next time. 

******************************

*Names have been changed to protect the dangerously young. 

Life Goes Onam

Do you know what Onam is? Do YOU know what pookalam is? Of course not. You are steeped in ignorance and have no education. I, on the other hand, having learned what these things are a week ago, am sophisticated and worldly. Come, little grasshopper. I shall explain.

Our fine hostess, cooking. 

Our little family, as usual, was late getting to their apartment. Really late. 

"Hello, hello! Oh Gof you're all here already. I'm sorry. We are sorry, " I said, coming through the door. 

Alex came in after me. "Sorry, hi everyone. Sorry." We are often sorry, because we are often late. "Hello, and sorry. Sorry. Hello," we said. Actually mostly I said sorry, in hopes of being endearing. Alex is less stupid. But I digress. And so soon, too. 

We were at Nayana and Tamas' home. Nayana and her friend Geetha, who hail from Kerala in India, were celebrating Onam. As sophisticated people know from frantically reading Wikipedia beforehand, this is a Hindu festival that falls around nowish, celebrates the harvest, and involves pookalams and special food. 
By the time Alex and I arrived with Noodle on her push bar tricycle, everyone else was already there. The table was set, and also covered with food (that smelled divine). Everyone leapt to their feet as we came through the door, apparently starving. 

On the floor of the entrance was the pookalam, which I, in my as yet unenlightened state, did not recognize. "What pretty flowers," I said. 

This is a pookalam, you ignoramus. Thanks for the photo, Milica!

"I did the design," said our friend Louise. She is not Indian, but her work looked very authentic to my sophisticated and expert eye. 

"Right, please gather," said Nayana, before my child had time to even clamber down from her tricycle.  All nine of us gathered. Well, 10 if you count the dog. You could almost hear the stomaches rumbling. ("So, so sorry," I whispered.)

She continued: "Now I will tell you all the story. Geetha, I want no interruptions to correct historical inaccuracies." We looked at Geetha. Geetha seemed prepared to correct historical inaccuracies. 

Noodle and the chefs and Onam experts Nayana and Geetha

The story is this. There was once a king called pause for Google search Mahabali who was wonderful and therefore beloved. He was so popular that the "lead God," Google reminds me his name is Vishnu, decided to take action. He disguised himself as a dwarf...

"No, a small boy," Geetha said. 

"...a dwarf or a small boy," said Nayana. "Divergent narratives. In any case he was very small."

"Not all small people are dwarfs," said Louise, who has Views. Often from below.* 

Nayana said, "Anyway..."

So Vishnu disguised as a person of short stature appears in front of the great and good king Mahabali and says he has heard that the king is very charitable, so would he please grant him (little Vishnu) a favor. The king, being lovely, says he of course will. The small person then asks if the King will grant him (the short one) as much land as he can cross in three steps. The King, ever kind, tells the little person that he has short legs so perhaps he'd like to define a slightly larger gift for himself. The little boy/dwarf says no, three steps is fine. 

Team Eaters, minus me, Alex and the Noodle. And the dog.
L-R: Milica, Tamas, Louise and Markus

But, in what theologians are calling "a classic divine bait-and-switch", Vishnu then resumes his leggy god size and proceeds to cross all the earth with his first step and then heaven with the second step. At this juncture, Vishnu helpfully informs the king that pretty much all available surfaces were covered by the first two steps. King Mahabali, a proper bleeding heart if ever there was one, tells Vishnu to then please step on the king's own royal head with the third step. Vishnu triumphantly steps on King Mahabali, pushing him down into the underworld. 

However, because the King is a really good person who worked hard all his life he is allowed to leave for a couple days a year during the harvest festival and check on the folks back home. Apparently the Hindu underworld and the American service industry have similar vacation policies. Anyway, because the people of Kerala love their king so, to this day they welcome him with pookalams and have a giant vegetarian feast to demonstrate how prosperous and happy they are. This is Onam. 

The story over, all nine of us proceeded to the dining table where we descended like locusts upon a vast array of absurdly delicious dishes. 

"If you see anything that looks like a green chilli and you don't like chillies, don't eat it," warned Geetha. 

No chillies in the dessert

"Especially you," Nayana said to our friend Milica. Milica, I learned, was wary of chillies that might be lurking in the curry like tiny, cruel crocodiles. Her caution was based on a recent personal experience.

Milica explained, "I noticed the chilli first because the left side of my face was on fire, so I moved it to the right side, which was on fire, and then I didn't know what to do so I swallowed it. Big mistake. My stomach was like fzzfff..BOOOM." She made a little mushroom cloud with her hands. Upon receipt of this anecdote I started sifting my own plate for suspicious green capsicums. 

I didn't find any, though. It was all so delicious we didn't speak to each other. There were fifteen minutes of determined chomping. 

Pretty much Miss Noodle's favourite food.

And for dessert there was super sweet, cardamom-flavored milky rice dish topped with cashews and raisins that had been fried in butter. It was epic. McNoodle first ate a whole serving and then had half of Alex's. 

How fortifying was this lunch, you ask? 

The Noodle and I came home (Alex had to go somewhere else for work) and this little girl...drumroll please...walked. WALKED! No hands! First one step, then two, and then she was doing six or seven at once before collapsing with laughter. 

So thank you, Nayana, Tamas and Geetha. And thanks, King Mahabali. You are inextricably linked to my little girl's first steps. I hope her legs take her across the earth and the heavens, but I can pretty much promise she'll never step on your head. 

*******
Re: This video, sorry it's vertical (I was scurrying backwards on my butt and somehow failed to turn my phone), and also please excuse my extremely overenthusiastic voice. Best to just turn off the sound on this one, really. 

*I LOVE YOU LOUISE

My Brother is Here, Plus Socks

And what have we been up to lately? 

Let me tell you! 

Well, a week ago we went out to the Danube with friends and family to belatedly celebrate Nava's birthday. Because I am rubbish in many ways, I apparently took only one photo. Here it is! 

Thanks for coming, y'all

I also baked an orange-almond cake and spent much time and effort writing a Happy Birthday message on it. It looked like I did it drunk and left-handed, but I figured my illiterate one year-old probably wouldn't care. In the end it was a moot point since the cake got lightly squashed in the cab and all the words were peeled off along with the aluminium foil covering. So it goes. 

Poorly lit cake photo, prior to brutal smooshing.

Nonetheless, the cake did a fine job holding up a single candle and subsequently transporting ungodly amounts of butter and sugar into everyone's bodies. 

We also used this fine opportunity to release the last five tadpoles into a stand of rushes on the side of the river. It seemed sort of safe, in that it was at least ten feet from a school of approximately 10,000 carp. Some guy who was watching with interest assured us that the tadpoles would be eaten within hours. I did not enjoy his attitude. However, it is true that I had to keep redirecting one of the little swimmers into the rushes and away from the fish. He (she?) seemed quite keen to die, really. 

We did not release any baby frogs. This is because they were all dead. Well, except one. One went missing and is only presumed dead, because of how we have two cats and zero ponds in our apartment. Overall, I don't want to talk about it. 

In happier news, this past weekend my brother Elliott arrived from Los Angeles. It's his ten-year high school reunion. This is significant for me in that it means I am super old. How have those little babies been out of high school for ten years? It blows the mind.  

My brother from the same mother. And father. Also, yes we have a fan and an air conditioner. What about it.

Post-reunion face. Day four.

We are, of course, delighted to have him moping around hungover every morning and cheerily recommending that we cook/go out to eat yet another heart-stopping, rib-sticking Austrian delicacy, generally consisting of pork and onions and potatoes. 

After eight consecutive meals the likes of which I generally try to space out over six weeks, I said: "I need to eat a salad for lunch today. Seriously." 

"Ugh, I'm only here for a week," he said. "YOU can have salad." And then he ditched me to have lunch with someone else. Quite astonishing. 

But really, I see him far too seldom and I wish he lived here. I love my brother. 


And also, Miss Noodle has figured out that socks belong on feet. She just doesn't know how to get them there. Behold: 

Remember Those Tadpoles?

Remember how we saved a bunch of tadpoles and took them home? Well, weeks and weeks later, we finally have at least one teeny weeny frog. Yesterday we also had one, which I picked up and put down a couple of times, only to learn that wittle bitty fwoggies do not like that. It died minutes later. This morning, yet another wee polliwog became a frog--apparently ingesting his tail overnight. I feel terrible about the one I man-handled and have decided it's definitely time to release all of them--I don't have the skills or equipment to care for these incy wincy amphibians any longer. 

TA-DAAPOOOLE!

Of the original flock cloud, only around eight remain*. All the rest went in one of two major die-offs. I don't know what happened the first time, which was about two weeks after we'd first installed the tadpoles in our home. Suddenly the water was a murky mess and half the critters were floating around looking grey and hollow. The second massive die-off was entirely my fault: I had run out of boiled lettuce and cheated by dropping in just a tiny bit of, um, bread. Fail.

Almost frogs (or toads?)

For anyone who cares to know, here are my major tips and tricks for the successful raising of tadpoles. Assuming you consider eight almost-frogs out of 30 tadpoles a "success": 

1. Change their water every few days. The new water should be de-chlorinated. I put tap water in a big glass jar in the sunshine for a few days, which seemed to work. Sometimes I also added a little fresh tap water, but I guess in Vienna the chlorine levels are so low it didn't hurt anybody. I reckon in many other cities tap water would basically be an amphibian death sentence. 

Also, not changing the water is very bad--I'm pretty sure that's what was behind mass extinction one. The water should not get even a little bit cloudy - not at ALL. You'd think that was fine, since tadpoles live in filthy puddles, but it is not. I'm sorry, duders. I drowned you in your own goop. 

How do you go about changing tadpole water? What you do not do is try to individually spoon the tadpoles out, because you have better things to do, like change your actual human tadpole and make lunch or whatever. What you do is take out all your decorative rocks, pour the whole mess of water and tadpoles through a fine sieve (poop<"fine"<tadpoles), and dump the tadpoles into a bowl of clean, de-chlorinated water. Tap tap tap your sieve! Those suckers can be sticky. Put your rocks and your tadpoles back in their aquarium, i.e. their big glass tupperware with no lid, which is what we used. Add water as necessary. 

How the Noodle looks to a tadpole.

2. Direct sunshine murders frogspawn. We put our container on a table next to a big plant whose (non-toxic) leaves sort of gave it some shade, and anyway it was not in direct sunlight. Also, somewhere on the internet it says that mint and some other herbs and plants are toxic for fwoggy woggies, so beware. I'd be more specific but I can't really remember and also there is Google. 

3. Boiled lettuce. Feed them lettuce boiled down into nothingness, which you then chop. You can freeze little chunks in an ice-cube tray (a whole ice-cube would be, like, five times too much for one feeding of 20 tadpoles, though) and drop them in every two or three days. Do not feed them bread. I'm sorry, little guys. I didn't know. 

4. Don't touch them. They die. I'M SO SORRY, little frog from yesterday. 

Have fun growing froglets! 

----

*A flock? A pride? A murder? A group? According to the internet, the author of one book about clusters of animals says it's cloud, but scientists use school or shoal. Let's go with cloud. 

So, So Bad at Blogging: All of July!

I haven't posted anything here for nearly a month, which must be some kind of sad record. Lame! In my defence, it is summer and my parents were in town and we've been spending as much time as possible outdoors, catching the odd breeze, swimming in the Danube, and generally trying not to melt away. The weather has turned a little cooler, and as it's now bearable indoors let me try and recall all of the things we were up to: 

Late last month we went to the beautiful wedding of our friends Jenny and Markus. It was a garden party and Noodle, like everyone else, had a blast. There were many other, bigger kids there who were all sweet to her, as were the grownups. She even ate some grownup food--vegetarian lasagna--except by "eat" I mean she sucked off all the bechamel sauce and spat the veggies out. That's my girl.  

Dad keeping an eye on our stuff as we took a playground
break after a long walk in the Lainzer Tiergarten.

My parents were here! As usual, they filled our lives with extra happiness for two whole weeks. The Noodle was delighted to be the center of attention. Unlike when she is stuck with boring old Mommy, who has to interrupt playtime to do the dishes and work and fold laundry and cook, when Grandma and Granddad are around every day is an endless party. 

Grandma and the Bubble

The grandparents also arrived, as is their habit, with suitcases stuffed full of books and toys and gorgeous gently-used hand-me-downs from the gorgeous and slightly older daughter of an old school friend, whom her parents sometimes call the Squish. Squishy, we are grateful. Your parents (and grandparents) have excellent taste and are supremely generous to boot. Thank you! 

But all this largesse was added into an apartment so stuffed that the walls seem to be creeping toward each other--but my parents, ever vigilant and willing to spoil their adult children rotten--were totally awesome and bought us another closet. They are amazing. 

Indeed they are so amazing that in the middle of their visit, Alex and I left them with our kiddo and went off for our first post-baby weekend alone. 

At the Villa Borghese

All hail the Pantheon, which
would be a wonder even if it
was built yesterday.

We flew off to Rome on a Friday afternoon, drank a lot of gin, ate a lot of pasta and saw an absurd number of impossibly perfect and impossibly ancient buildings. 

We took one incredibly crappy 10-minute tour of the Colosseum (Never ever pay Follow Me tours anything. Ever.) that was followed by an awesome tour of the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill by a guy who is usually an actor but is a licensed guide on the side. 

If you're thinking of going to Rome I wouldn't bother...

...the place is just falling apart. 

Our guide was so engaging that we signed up for another two hour walk with him in the evening, after which we were totally wrecked but pleased by the vast amount of information we'd absorbed in the span of one day. I'm going to glue his business card into our Rome guidebook for our next trip, which needs to be soon and last longer.

We were trapped by this tiny gladiator, who later insisted
that we pay him five euros for the pleasure of having been
physically coerced into taking pictures. Five each, that is.
We gave him two, total, received a hearty
vaffanculo and were sent on our way.

On Sunday evening we returned home, fatter and happier. 

Our daughter, we noted, was also fatter and happier upon our return. Apparently my mom spent the whole weekend singing this kid nursery rhymes, letting Noodle strum her guitar, practicing walking and generally feeding this baby something every five minutes all day long. My dad, who had cabin fever, undertook numerous household repairs that wouldn't even have occurred to us but which make our lives better. He even...and this is actually just embarrassing...cleaned our bedroom. True story. My father cleaned my bedroom. I am 31 years old. I am married. WTF. I love my parents. 

Now my parents have gone and we're back to our usual routine. Weekends we've spent down by the Danube with friends and every week day that isn't rainy we spend a couple of hours at one of the nearby playgrounds. 

This is on a constitutional with my parents. We are led by my father, who ends up using his cell phone's GPS to chart a course along an invisible pig trail to nowhere that forces us straight through a waist-high embankment of brambles and hog shit. Everyone ends up either bleeding or having probably contracted some swine-borne disease that won't manifest for six months, when it will be too late. A good day out. 

The Noodle has changed so much in the last month. She's right in between being a baby and a toddler. Her lovely pumpkin visage is becoming a little more butternut-squash, by which I mean thinner, and her little arms and legs are just a little less chunky. Her hair is starting to look like real hair. She pulls herself up on everything and cruises around the room at great speed, although so far no apparent ambition to stand or walk without support. She's much more interested in other children, and in the sandbox she'll sometimes crawl over and annoy the great big toddlers who are baking their sand cakes and digging pointlessly elaborate holes. 

My pookies.

Noodle babbles all the time, tries very hard to sing whenever music is playing ("DAAAAAAAH"), does the classic baby dance (bouncing on her knees, pushing her tummy forwards and backwards and saying "yeahyeahyeahyeah"), and is starting to use a couple words. In addition to using the baby signs for "milk" and "more," she can definitely say no, either by shaking her heard or babbling "neineineineinen" ("nein" is no in German), and she says "das," "this" and "that," which often sound like "dis" or "dat". 

"That?" she points. 
"That is the cat," I say. "Shiva the cat. Cat."
"Ngat. Daaat," she says. "Dis. Das. That." And then she laughs with amazement at her own brilliance.
It's pretty cute. And of course, I think she is kind of brilliant. 

Lastly, and this is a big one: WE HAVE TEETH. Two of 'em. Okay, at the moment they're only a third of the way out--but they are proof of concept. The teeth really do exist. To go with the teeth we have purchased a baby toothbrush and some baby toothpaste, and have taken up the habit of brushing those narrow slivers morning and night. It's a two second job, which may be why she doesn't seem to mind much. I have no idea how you are supposed to get a baby to rinse and spit, though. Our current method is to brush and then spill water down the front of her pyjamas. It's a good system, but we'd take any advice you might have. 

Our current all-time favorite photo, thanks to Jenny's wedding photographer.

OKAY. And I herewith declare this blog updated!