That Time We Went to Istanbul

So as I was saying, like, a month ago, Alex and I went to Istanbul for the first time.  And I'm going to blog about it. 

The old part of the city, from across the Bosphorus

We arrived under dark wet skies, and at the wrong airport. Not just wrong in the sense that it was not Atatürk, where for some reason I thought we would land, but wrong in the sense that it was a million miles from our hotel in Kariköy. 

We found a well-appointed bus that took us down a crowded highway, stopping at neon-lit shopping centres along the way to let people out. There was a Burger King within sight of each bus stop, and also our little public transportation map from the airport was sponsored by Burger King and had a little logo to show every Burger King in town. Istanbul, brought to you by Burger King. 

We squinted through the raindrops on the window and tried to imagine how the hills and houses to the left and right would look in the summer, radiating heat. It was pretty hard to tell. 

Us. 

At the port in Kadiköy we picked our way through people and rain, and finally boarded a giant ferry. The main cabin was lit up like...well, like a Burger King, with comfortable but strictly functional seats that were not filled. Three young buskers started singing. A middle aged man sitting across from us fiddled with prayer beads and mumbled under his breath with his eyes closed. The ferry generated its own field of noise and light, and we rumbled placidly across the black water and black sky. We kept passing giant, grand mosques and I thought every single one was the Hagia Sophia. It felt like we were crossing the Styx in a jumbo jet. Alex and I were quiet and perfectly content, the way you are on the first day of a vacation in a brand new place, even if the sky is falling and your feet are wet. 

Fishing off the bridge is apparently an all-weather activity.

Our hotel was called The Vault, and it was beautiful. The whole building used to be a bank but had a recent and pretty lux restyling. We admired the view from our balcony and drank half a bottle of wine before heading off again. That night we ate fish in a nearby restaurant on the top of some other hotel on the waterfront, and looked out across a bustling bridge to the old part of the city. The mosques and buildings were lit so that the whole hillside looked like the altar of a church. We drank beer and we did not have to change any diapers or watch Elmo cartoons or fumble with a stroller. It was good. 

Trying not to shop.

In the morning, tourism happened. We went to the Spice Bazaar and the Grand Bazaar and overpaid for everything and wondered how so many people could make a living from selling little towers of roasted chestnuts. The bazaar, and basically a whole swathe of the old city is nothing but market, was filled with people. Deep-set shops with narrow storefronts were shoulder to shoulder up the entire hill, and the front of each store was hung with products from the ceiling to the floor. There were whole sections that sold nothing but underpants, or bedsheets, or knick-knacks. If a person is in need of, say, a headscarf, how the heck do they decide where to start looking? It was totally overwhelming. 

Over the next couple days, we visited the usual list of suspects. We went to the Hagia

Ayasofya, under construction.

Sophia and the Blue Mosque. At the Hagia Sophia we took a private tour, mostly because it meant we could cut the giant line. Our tour guide was a gregarious middle-aged man in a hat and sunglasses, and for the first fifteen minutes I despaired of ever making it into the building. He preferred to stand outside this grand old shamble and point in compass directions to give us a rundown of Istanbul/Turkish/Ottoman/Roman history, but in a sort of stream-of-consciousness fashion that led me to initially believe we had been swindled, not by a common crook but by a lunatic who actually thought he was a tour guide. 

More Hagia Sophia

"Over that way, some few hundred meters," he said, gesticulating toward a wall, "was where the emperors used to live and there were aquaducts that brought them water from here, where there are some hills" he said, pointing, "but have you heard of the University? You really must go, it is fascinating. It is over there. An amazing place, architecturally and historically! But anyway, just this way are the cisterns that collected the water from the aquaducts I just mentioned and the cisterns were built by the man who lived, like I said, over here but of course when Atatürk came to power over there, and he entered from this direction..." I was quite relieved when the call to prayer drowned him out for a few minutes. 

"Sorry," I said. "Does this tour actually take us inside the building? I'm quite keen to see it. It's just that you said the tour was thirty minutes long, and it's already been about twenty." 

My favorite.

"What? Of course we go inside," he said, a bit offended. "I'm just trying to provide information for background. We can go in."  

And then we passed through the enormous door into the interior. "This door," he said. "Touch it! Rub it! It is made of Noah's ark." And so we did. The tour actually turned out to be pretty wonderful--and lasted well over an hour. We had a rundown on the history of the building, and its partial restoration. He thoroughly covered the mythology surrounding various corners and pillars of the building, while still managing to transmit his very specific and occasionally alarming political views. 

("The Kurds will not have one. single. stone from our Ararat! Do you know about our beautiful mountain Ararat?" 

"Oh yes, isn't that where the Armenians--" 

"--Not one rock! We will die first!") 

At the end he gave us blessings, candy and his incredibly ornate if somewhat scrappy business card, which I politely inspected. 

"Wait, you speak Japanese?" I said. 

Hagia Sophia: the shitty bit. Seriously.
It was like they let the 11 year-old
apprentice do this wall.

He shrugged. "Yeah." 

As you'll know if you've been, the Hagia Sophia or Ayasofya was originally a Greek Orthodox church that became Roman Catholic and then again Orthodox, before becoming a mosque in the 15th century. Its mosque-ification involved painting over every single interior surface, because these had previously been (fairly glorious) mosaics of Christian figures and symbols. Of course, Islam forbade the representation of such things, not least the enormous and mystical looking representations of angels in the form of wheeling wings and eyes. Thus all of these majestic mosaics were painted over with okay-but-not-that-great patterns. Some of which have since been removed to show what was underneath. Overall, kind of meh, really. It is huge, enormous, and it kind of looks like the belly of an immense golden dragon, but one which is long dead and totally cold. It would look better if they'd restore all the mosaics (that would be something), or maybe just cover them up again--at the moment the place just looks like it has a skin disease. Which just goes to show that trying to make a banana into an apple is never going to be as awesome as just making an apple.  

Sultan Ahmet Mosque. So much wonderful.

The awesome apple, in this case, being the Sultan Ahmed Mosque (or Blue Mosque). Which was designed to be a mosque, is decorated as a mosque, and unlike the Ayasofya, which is a museum, actually continues to be a place of worship. Now THAT building knocked my damn socks off. Actually I had my socks on. We had our shoes off, though, like everyone else.  That building was astonishing from top to bottom, every tile and pattern perfect. A chandelier the size of my apartment hung in the centre. The whole space, which felt like an immense slice of sky captured in a jewelled box for the glory of God, resonated with the recitation of the Koran from the front of the building. It was moving and beautiful, tourist hordes notwithstanding. 

Amazing.

Alex and I also did some shopping. Actually, we did very little shopping and quite a lot of avoiding shopping, which was quite a feat. 

The shopkeepers in Istanbul's tourist area have really hit that date-rapey sweet spot between flattery, begging and outright bullying. For them, "no" just means "not yet". 

But at least many of them were funny. 

On one market street, a guy stepped out from his stall to block our path. "Spend your money," he demanded, without smiling. He pointed inside. "It is almost free! Just check."

One kid selling boat tours ran up to us on the street. "Hello hello! Romantic boat tour! Just like the Titanic!," he said, brandishing a flyer. "But without sinking." 

"Sie sprechen Deutsch? Ich auch! Ich bin in Stuttgart aufgewachsen! Ich sag es Ihnen, unser Lokum ist von der höchsten Qualität. Ohne Scheiss. Es ist tipp-topp."

The man who did end up with our money was a carpet salesman. We spent two seconds in his window and, without really knowing what happened, were sitting on cushions being given a broad rundown of carpet-making styles, techniques and regions in Turkey.

The cistern.

"Hey, can I get you some tea?" asked the young man, who spoke truly excellent English. "I'll get you some tea." He gestured to someone to bring us tea. 

"Well, now we are screwed, Alex," I said, jokingly. "This guy has trapped us good."

"No, no. Not trapped," said the young man, smiling as he calmly unfolded a rug on the floor. "We call it "Magic of the Grand Bazaar". Now. Do you like these colors, or something brighter? " 

On our last full day we took a boat tour of the Bosphorus. Because we did zero prior research and slept late, we missed the public ferry and had to select from among a number of dodgy private tours. The one we went with was probably no worse than any other. 

It really was "wonderful".

What was bad was that the heavens opened and unleashed all their fury on us the minute we left the pier, forcing us and our 15-ish fellow passengers to scurry under the deck. The boat pitched left and pitched right. Within three minutes there were a few people who looked like they were going to hurl. The windows fogged up so badly that we couldn't see out. The most motivated among us spent the whole time wiping them down with our sleeves, just so we could more clearly see the wall of fog and water hammering the sea. I compared the view (of nothing) to my brochure, which indicated that we were passing diverse sites of historical and architectural interest. We couldn't stop laughing offensively. 

The good news is, it stopped raining after half an hour. The skies cleared, birds soared. We climbed out onto the deck and felt pretty lucky to be looking at anything at all. 

And I'm going to go ahead and declare The End, because this was so long I've probably lost most everyone by now anyway. 

xxx

The boat after the rain.

Happy Everything: Part 1

Happy new year and a belated Merry Christmas, one and all! It has been a beautiful holiday season over here in Gumpen Village Street. My parents are here and so we are drowning pleasantly in Christmas cheer, and the Noodle has been spoiled rotten with a constant stream of toys, cookies and company. I am just super fat and on day five of a slow-motion post-holiday sugar crash that has left me slightly cranky and tired. Not in a bad way. Just kind of a flabby way. 

The magic of Christmas *drool*

Noodle didn't really get what Christmas is about, but she has definitely been enjoying the side benefits: sugar, toys and the presence of her smitten grandparents, whom she calls Nana and Gdod, or rather ..., since the "Gr" in "Granddad" appears to present a challenge so insurmountable that she doesn't even try. 

Decorated by Alex. In his defense, he's Jewish.

But while she doesn't understand what we were celebrating, she definitely did understand that it was awesome. Here are some of the highlights. 

First off, the Christmas tree. This is the first time Alex and I have gotten a real live dead tree for Christmas, since usually we aren't in Vienna at this time of the year.  We set it up one night after Nava had gone to sleep, and decorated with our brand new string of lights and ornaments purchased in a large box set. We forgot to get a tree topper, so Alex McGyver'd a Kenyan mask onto the top and fed lights through the eyeholes. This is how we celebrate multiculturalism. 

Miss Noodle doesn't know the difference, and was much enthused. 

"Mommy!" she said. "Wow!" And she ran over to the tree and started touching the ornaments, muttering "cookie" and "shaka," which is her way of saying "chocolate". At first I thought she thought the ornaments were made of candy, but I've sinced realized that "cookie" is simply the highest form of compliment she knows how to give. As in, damn this tree is cookie. It is SO chocolate. (This morning, for example, she found a yellow highlighter and pulled the lid off, exposing its fluorescent felt tip. Her eyes widened. You could see her wee brain awash with inspired ideas about surfaces that would benefit from the application of this glorious lazer-and-lightning-bolts hue, starting with Mommy's face. What did she say? "Coooookie.") 

Noodle's special ornament.

Nana and Gdod arrived here on the 20th, and Christmas exploded. We hung candy canes and had wonderful people over for Glühwein. We baked and ate stupid numbers of cookies. We ate several individuals from the avian world, naturally accompanied by red cabbage and dumplings. 

Dinner with Alex's sister, her family and his brother and their family was both delicious and educational, as it was the first time I ever witnessed the Austrian Christmas tradition, a la the Nutcracker: the grownups dismiss all the kids, arrange presents, light real live flaming candles and sparklers and then ring a bell to signify that little baby Jesus has visited. Everyone comes in and gawks at the spectacular sight. And I guess all the grown ups are just hoping that nothing catches fire, because that tree would go up like a roman candle. The noodle was given even more glorious gifts, plus also her awesome teenage cousin let her eat a bunch of said cousin's candy cane and also cookies (obviously). The rest of us drank mulled wine and contemplated the quantities of bird in our bellies. 

While spending time with family and friends is great, we all know that Christmas is really about getting heaps of loot. Noodle got many beautiful, occasionally educational but mostly noisy and shiny gifts. She has been playing with all of them--so thank you!--and is so overwhelmed by the amount of new stuff in our home that she doesn't even know what to do. 

The gift that keeps on giving. In non-girly colours, which makes it okay, right?

But of all the gifts, the one that has occupied most of her waking hours has been the toy kitchen.  This girl loves to pretend to cook and serve tea. I realize that this is the most gendered gift imaginable, but in our defence she effing LOVES TOY KITCHENS. She is drawn to them like a paper clip to a refrigerator magnet, like a pig to poop. She wallows in this kitchen.  

Another cheery force feeding.

It's been several days since Christmas, so Noodle has had time to develop a whole process for the kitchen, which sits beside her also-brand-new tiny chairs and desk. 

A visit to her restaurant begins with a command to sit. She points at her tiny chairs and says, "Sit." Her face is deadly serious. If you walk away, she will grow louder. "Sit sit sit SIT SIT SIT. Sit sit." If you do not sit because you have other things to do, like go to the bathroom or check your emails, or converse with another adult, you will be dead to her for at least a quarter of an hour. But the chef is forgiving. You will eventually be welcomed back into the fold with an order to SIT. 

Once you DO sit, you are treated to a warm and welcoming smile. Maybe even a mouth kiss or a pat on the hand. Then you are handed a cup and are spoon-fed delicious air from a tiny pot. Then you get a piece of toy pie or toast. Perhaps a second course of egg or carrot. These must be consumed rapidly and with gusto, because you may soon be encouraged to relinquish your tiny chair and sit on the floor so that Winnie the Pooh and other stuffed friends can have a seat at the table Chez Noodle. 

After the food courses, you will participate in an elaborate and confusing ceremony that involves pouring "tea" from one vessel to another while making the sound "Ssssss". In between you take sips and/or tip some into the mouths of other guests at the table, especially the furry and inanimate. 

If you leave too soon you will be told to sit. Sit. SIT. You can try to do your own cooking and feed the Noodle your concoctions, but as in real life she only accepts toast and pie. The plastic carrot and plush mushroom stew you slaved over for two minutes can go f*** itself. "Nein," she says, shrilly. "This nein!" Overall, at Noodle's Place the portions are small but aggressively presented, and the service is rigorous. The owner is pushy but generous, and non-threatening because very small. 

My parents have been dining at the wee tyrant's palace of culinary delights all day, every day since Christmas, bless them. Alex and I, though, did the smart things and begged off to fly to Istanbul for four nights, which I'll tell you all about next time. 

For now, please enjoy this video of Sesame Street's beloved Cookie Monster, who has been the patron saint of our 2014 holiday season. 

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.