It was typed at 6: 30 on mother’s day, as me of Olaf on the back and me in front of the choice was: continue to sleep or go to Breakfast, do without, or get Up and have Breakfast. My brain, the happy days since it had, at least in the first third of my day of nothing to work, needed something to get the engine revved up. “Why?” I asked and kept your eyes closed. “Well, because I can’t take the Mini to the Baker,” moaned the Olaf, as I would be asking the impossible. “Yes,” thought I, “with a four-year-old somewhere is going to be tedious.” He climbs everywhere, up,, he hates to go by the Hand, he’s rappelling down like.
Christiane Tauzher: The Pubertäterin
Since puberty, our daughter, the mosquito, shortly after her 13. Birthday in your violence has got, we keep the Windows closed so the neighbors call the police. The Pubertäterin is not loud and unpredictable, when she sleeps, just like a Wombat, or eat – what you do for luck often.
The stories I tell – a journalist, 41, from Vienna, married to Olaf, a 46 – here, not act, of course, the Pubertäterin in my family. No. They come from my thriving imagination or come from other families. There, it is arg in the other families … 😉
of Course, it was not reasonable for Olaf to go on a single day of the year WITH his son to the bakery to get to the hard-working mother, who would have slept still more, an oven-warm Croissant. “Can’t see the Wombi?”, I asked and felt like I was behind the closed eyelids, always awake. “Asleep,” said Olaf. “Don’t you want to Wake her up?”, I asked. “Better not,” was his answer. The Mini kissed my cheek until it was wet and shook on my shoulder. “Get up!”, he trumpeted. The last remaining Chen drowsiness pulled back in this Moment, scared in the back corner of my body. “Get your sister to Wake”, I asked the Mini. He tapste in your room. After less than a Minute I heard the Wombi roar: “Out! Leave my phone there! You fuck with my brush don’t! If you take my earrings, I will be angry very, very much!” Short silence, then a shrill cry. The Mini had been clamped in the swivel chair of his sister the finger. It is the blood ran to his little Finger down. “Come on,” I said, “we’ll give you a plaster.” The Wombi was wrapped in her blanket and pretended we were not there and never been there.
The Olaf needed to sixty minutes, until I had my Croissant on the plate. The oven heat was came to him on the way lost. But I didn’t want to be petty, and I was happy. The Wombi shuffled in the Moment with narrowed eyes into the kitchen, took three cups from the cupboard and placed them next to the plates. Then they ate in silence, and said, when your belly is full: “I lay me down again. So I could set the table, I got up extra early.” I looked around mute on the whole table and held the cups of nothing, what she had had in the Hand. “And otherwise?”, I asked. “Today is mother’s day.” The Wombi shook his head, which meant as much as “eh, it is clear that this had to come.”
C. Tauzher: The Pubertäterin The barter of the teenage girl and what said the old mother of good
“sleeping”, the Olaf, and you are gently pushed out of the kitchen. “You see,” scolded the Wombi, “you want me eh only way.”
I stuck the last bit of the croissant in the mouth, so I had no Chance to reply. The fatigue had overcome the Wombi on the way to her room, which is why they had her on the living room couch revealed. “Are You going with us to the zoo?”, Olaf asked the Wombi. Contemptuous grunt was the answer.
Nimble as a weasel in the cave disappeared
“This was not expected,” I said, “who would accept that on mother’s day, something with his mother.” The Wombi realized in the Moment that it was a mistake to have been to drape herself on the Couch in the living room. Nimble as a weasel, she left the scene of “thick air” and was looking for a floor higher to take refuge in their cave. “That’s pretty disappointing,” I said out loud in front of your room. Behind it, nothing moved.
In the zoo, it was, despite the drizzle of rain, nice, but the behavior of the Wombi was pressing on my mind. When we were on the way home, I got ten photos on the phone: Our house is in a clean condition. “Happy Mother’s Day!”, sent the Wombi and “I love you, I’m sorry.”
and More of Christiane Tauzher
“I’ll say it now for the very last Time! Stories from the nearly perfect life of a mother”, by Christiane Tauzher, Goldegg Verlag, 14,95 Euro
at home, waiting for us to actually order made by Wombi. Amazement I the rooms. That was actually the work of our daughter, could not believe the Olaf. “Great,” I said, “thank you.” The Wombi lectured now about how hard you’ve been working for the last two hours, now is the back and the legs hurt did and that she was totally famished.
I said again “Thank you” and disappeared with the Mini in the bathroom. I listened to the Olaf quietly to the Wombi say: “You wanted to buy a gift for mother’s day. I gave you extra money for it.”
Wombi: “I know, but last week, there was nothing Good in the school to eat. We had to go to the Mäcki.”
Olaf and I, we sighed at the same time.
Wombi: “If you consider what a cleaning lady costs these days, I made my mother a very generous gift. So you need to see this.”
We saw it. Exactly.
