It is totally uncool to start a sentence with “used to …” or “when I was your age …” or “we had only…”. Then the Wombi with pity in his voice, that she knows everything I’ve been through:

buckle a landline phone that was attached to the wall, Ballerinas with gold,a Walkman with incredibly embarrassing, with foam-covered headphones,carrots pants,fold-down collars of white lace,a flowered Dirndl for the holidays and a Times a week, “Bonanza” or “Knight Rider”. 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 … 😉

I was, so the Wombi, a mentally impaired, poor older man analyzes, and she wanted to try to take that into consideration. I should contribute my part, and as little as possible “from earlier” tell.

In the therapy plan of the Wombi I think that goes for me.

the other morning as she tried to open the door with my black theatre rock and my best cashmere sweater in the school, I was a setback. “If I’d taken earlier just so the stuff of my mother,” snorted I, “then the fire would have been on the roof.” The Wombi saw with furrowed brow searching at the ceiling. “No fire on the roof,” she said, “you can calm down.” With these words, she was at the door outside.

“If I had talked to my mom,” I said to Olaf, the just drew the tea bag in slow motion from the jug and after a storage possibility as he looked around – “you’re going to have to get up,” I said and pointed to the trash can. Olaf dropped the bag back into the kettle slip . “No, you’ve never spoken to your mother,” he sighed and watched the bag until he had sunk to the bottom of the pot. “But if,” after I put, “I had experienced a miracle.”

“think of it as a compliment …”

“Besides, I can’t imagine that you went to the closet to your mother,” he said. I had to think about it. However, there was a blue vest with an appliquéd cherry on the back and shoulder pads – which I have always loved. “The vest, but she has” thought of Olaf to know, “maybe you’ll get to borrow it now.” He laughed. I rolled my eyes. I would have taken him to the tea bag earlier, he would not have said that. “Think of it as a compliment,” said Olaf, “you have cool stuff, otherwise the Wombi would borrow nothing with you.”

C. Tauzher: The Pubertäterin I May tell my daughter that she should lose weight?

Oh, Yes. So considered, it was of course great to be his favorite parts successively deprived. I would go with the Wombi shopping. That was the Plan. Nature, according to the Wombi was thrilled with the Plan. “But you have to contribute some of your money,” I said. The Wombi nodded. Two hours later, as you tipped your new wardrobe onto the counter, pulled out a Five Euro note. “My contribution, please,” she said. I made “Pfffffffffffffffffff” and was proud of me, because I really the Wombi would like to tell that I previously had to pay half to everything. Except for new underwear and socks.

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

But I said nothing. Home to the Wombi crack the labels of the new clothes and left the pieces of paper on the bathroom floor. I said nothing again. It was almost eerie how well I had me in its grip.

In the next few days peace, joy and egg cakes which prevailed in the Early. The Wombi made their new stuff, and I concealed it from me to tell her that it would have been impossible to wear sneakers to mini-skirts with tights.

But there came the day that all the new parts were dirty. Since the Wombi used the Laundry basket in your room as a sitting furniture and the dirty Laundry case, like Hansel and Gretel the bread crumbs that fell on it only late, that the clean Laundry was gone.

quietly she stole into my room and theater skirt and cashmere sweater from the Charging fished. At Breakfast she sat there under the pretext that you would be cold in the jacket. I looked at him, still peeking out of my sweater.

“don’t you Want to tell me something?”, I asked the Wombi was suddenly in a hurry. “But!”, she said, “I think now the fire is on the roof.” And then she ran.


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