After the three weeks, the had worked the Wombi from the school with a farmer, she drank milk like water, and knew every TV-night series. In the case of Waltraud, the farmer’s wife, she lived in a wood-panelled room with its own TV.
Christiane Tauzher: The Pubertäterin
Since puberty, our daughter, the mosquito, shortly after her 13. Birthday in your violence, 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 … 😉
After four children, the farmer’s wife was toughened and is of the opinion that the bans would make no sense. I only have two children and am not yet so far in my Serenity. “No,” I said to the Wombi, “you’ll get no TV in the room. Because I don’t want it.” You found the “totally bad” of me and wanted to go back to Waltraud. There, everything was casual and all were with each other.
Olaf and I visited the Wombi in the mid-term at the farm, we sat around a heavy table of oak and ate an organic chicken that had pushed the Wombi in the oven. Waltraud and her husband raved about our “hard-working, friendly, tidy and helpful” daughter. You would have been in any kind of work as sent. Whether milking the cows, Washing, working in the fields, in the kitchen, baby-sitting or working in the garden. Smiling the Wombi sat there and said, “you see?” We saw it. Even the window she had cleaned us to honor.
Ten days later, we had you again. Probably because we have no cows and no field, fell the zeal of her like an old skin scales.
“will you Help clean me at the window,” I asked you once, “Waltraud said, you’re a real professional.” The Wombi promised “later” help, and came out of her room. “Can you help raking the leaves together?” I asked you another Time. She said that she would like to have helped it attract but an ingrown nail is impossible to make a Shoe. Two hours later, she met a girlfriend and a spring in their step, went with Vans on the feet, across the street.
A few days passed until I asked her to help me clean up the cellar. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’ve something to do.” The plan was to sleep in a game.
I didn’t know who had billeted the serene farmer’s wife Waltraud for three weeks in the Wombi couldn’t have done it. When Olaf came home, there was Trouble. With a rigid view of the Wombi listened to our complaints about you. You saw in the white wall, than you would be passed out or hypnotized.
“From milking the Cows, we have Oslobet nothing”
“Did you actually anything Useful on the farm, learned?”, she asked Olaf, “from milking the Cows, we have nothing.”
After we had all said, awoke to the Wombi out of their Trance and toddled off. It was already dark when they locked themselves in the kitchen. “What is that?” the Olaf and knocked asked. “You will soon enough see,” she answered, “now leave me alone.” It to sound, “I’ll show it to you.” Olaf and I heard it behind the door, bubbling, hissing, steaming, malmen and bubbling.
After some time, a sweet warm scent moved through the crack under the door.
C. Tauzher: The Pubertäterin The Gray with the eyebrows
Noisily to the Wombi turned the key and swung open the kitchen door. The smell of the dammed had it and broke in now like a snow Board on us, and drove us almost to tears. It was a long-forgotten scent of security, love, Childhood and holidays in the country.
“There are no donut”, called the Wombi from the kitchen. We sat down at the table and regarded with awe the gold brows Crunchy flatbread, in the middle of a Failed jam shone. The Wombi dusted sugar on top of it.
in Silence, we ate. “Delicious,” said Olaf. “Wonderful,” I said. “Still,” said the Mini. “Now you see I’ve learned something Useful,” said the Wombi. We nodded appreciatively. As we had eaten so many doughnuts as we could, there were still thirty of them left. “I divide them up among the neighbors, while they are still warm,” suggested the Wombi.
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
We were in the kitchen, which was the most devastated. Fifteen minutes we waited for Wombis return. It was now getting late. The Mini had to go to bed. I started to tidy up and clean. After about an hour the Wombi of the donut distribution came back. I just mopped for the third Time around the stove, the floor was covered with a Film of clarified butter. The rest of the kitchen flashed in the meantime.
“Where were you so long?”, I asked the Wombi.
“I had to write five Times the recipe and tell the story of how I made the doughnuts,” she said, “all were amazed.”
“And when were you going to take care of the kitchen?”, I asked.
“Tomorrow,” he assured me the Wombi, “after school.”
Ommmm! Olaf now says Waltraud to me.
