englishman abroad, parenting, the German way

Einschulung

Saturday was the day of my daughter Aurelia’s Einschulung. Einschulung is sometimes translated as ‘first day of school’, and I suppose that, technically, it often is. It’s not really that though. As I said, it happened on a Saturday and therefore isn’t a ‘proper’ school day. Besides, Aurelia has already had ‘trial hours’ (Schnupperstunden) at this school – she’s been there before. Another translation of this word is ‘enrolment’, which is also totally off. Aurelia was already on the ‘rolls’ of this school; she has been registered to attend it since about the time we moved to this town. What the Einschulung actually is, is a sort of ‘into-school’ rite of passage. Here’s what happened…

On that Saturday morning, after breakfast, Aurelia got her first proper look at the Schultüte which had been hidden away for weeks. A Schultüte is part of this German rite of passage. It resembles a brightly coloured and garishly decorated giant ice-cream cone; it’s also a bit like a Christmas stocking in that it is packed with goodies and not to be opened before the appointed time.

That appointed time is always after school, so off to school we all went: Oma, Opa, Mama and Papa. I carried Aurelia’s Schultüte, and Aurelia carried her gigantic, red and purple school bag. All German kids seem to have dementedly oversized school bags, called Schulranzen, which make them look less like first-year schoolkids than they do NASA astronauts. Off we went to school, bobbing along like an Ice-cream-themed Pride Parade for Questionable Cosmonauts.

On arrival at the school, it became apparent that I was the only one who had given this School-based theme-parkery a second thought: every single other child had a brightly coloured Schultüte and Schulranzen as well. The new space cadets first-years sat right at the front of the assembly hall and then it all kicked off. The headteacher introduced all the teachers, each year of the school performed a play or song or dance to welcome the new children, culminating with them being called onto the stage to stand with their respective mentor child and be taken off to their first, half-hour “class”. No parents were allowed of course, but I suspect that it was a little induction and introduction from their teacher. Back at home, Aurelia got to open her Schultüte at last: sweets, school stuff and her first ever alarm clock (pink, of course).

Tomorrow I’ll take her to her first ‘real’ full day of school; 8 am to 1 pm. I’m probably looking forward to it just as much as she is.

englishman abroad, stories

The strawberry who didn’t listen

I previously mentioned that I make up a lot of fictional characters for my daughter, as well as some short stories. What follows is a bedtime story that I made for her a little while ago, it’s called The strawberry who didn’t listen. This story really needs to be read aloud, it doesn’t work quite the same otherwise. Here we go:

There was once a little strawberry who lived with his family in a flowerpot in the garden.

One bright, sunny day the strawberry was looking around the vegetable plot and saw round, red things (they were tomatoes). He saw long, green things (they were cucumbers). He even saw pointy, orange things (they were carrots). But the little strawberry couldn’t see anything that looked like him.

So, the little strawberry went to his mummy and said “Mummy, what am I?”

“that’s easy,” said Mummy Strawberry “you are a strawberry!”

“a sore belly?” asked the little strawberry

“no, a strawberry!” said Mummy

“a snore jelly?” wondered the little strawberry

“no, you silly little strawberry!” said Mummy Strawberry “go and ask your father!”

So, the little strawberry went to speak to his father.

“Daddy?” asked the little strawberry “what am I?”

“That’s simple!” said Daddy Strawberry “you’re a strawberry!”

“a claw deli?”

“no, a strawberry!”

“a raw telly?”

“no, you foolish strawberry! Go and bother Grandpa strawberry with your questions!” said Daddy Strawberry.

So, the little strawberry went to see Grandpa Strawberry, the wisest and oldest of all the strawberries.

“Hello, young strawberry!” said Grandpa Strawberry “what are you up to?”

“I’m trying to find out what I am!” said the little strawberry.

“haven’t your mummy and daddy told you? You’re a strawberry!”

“a poor smelly?”

“no! A strawberry!”

“a jaw Shelly?”

“No! you confounded little strawberry!” said Grandpa Strawberry, who was also a very grumpy strawberry

“you are wally! a twit! a twerp! a nut!”

“OH!” said the Little Strawberry “a strawberry! why didn’t you just say so?”

 

 

 

 

englishman abroad, parenting

Home-grown Fairy Tales

It’s not easy to get a child to behave themselves sometimes. In an ideal world, a parent would always have the patience and temperament to sit the child down and explain exactly why certain behaviour is unacceptable. In an ideal world, the child would have the inclination to listen!

But this isn’t a perfect world and I’m not a perfect man. I have, however, discovered a way to avoid yelling too often. The answer is fairy tales.

It all started when my then-three-year-old daughter had to give up her dummy, which is called a ‘Schnuller’ in Germany. No matter how long her mother and I tried to explain that all Big Grown-up Girls of Three give up their dummy, no matter how rational and simple the argument for better teeth was, no matter how tempting the bribe was, my daughter simply wouldn’t countenance giving up her dummy.

Then my mobile rang and I received a telephone call from none other than The Schnuller Fairy herself, what are the odds of that? The Schnuller Fairy had a word with me and I passed the message on to Aurelia. Job done, dummy surrendered.

I have employed similar tactics recently. After the great success of Santa Claus’ omniscience for the last two Christmases, I decided to invent a new character. The Birthday Hen.

The Birthday Hen is male, by the way. Aurelia’s never questioned it. The Birthday Hen is from Australia and spends all day flying around the sky looking for naughty children. If he finds one, that child has their birthday postponed for a year and the child remains 4 (or whatever) for two years. If the child is naughty on their birthday then woe betide them! The Birthday Hen would swoop down and dive-bomb the party with rotten eggs and peck people on the ankle. Sometimes the Birthday Hen himself would telephone me and enquire as to Aurelia’s behaviour:

“Oh, no Mr Hen! I’m sure she’s in bed right now. I’ll just go and check!”

Lo and behold! Aurelia was suddenly and very convincingly asleep!

She’s had her fifth birthday now and I’ll admit it, I’m running out of ideas. Just today we were in Wilhelmshaven visiting The Pirate Museum when she became somewhat piratical herself. I very nearly invoked the April Eel, a wrathful eel who lurks omnipresently and sneakily nips the ankles of kids who don’t listen.

Not every story I’ve invented is of some omnipotent babysitter, however. I made up a story called The Little Strawberry Who Didn’t Listen, it’s one of Aurelia’s favourites. It’s a little bit long for this blog entry though, so I’ll share it with you next time.