So, there was I, trying to explain to my German husband the meaning of "All gong and no dinner" (you should see the new "Mutter" at kindergarten!) when we were interrupted by Finje. She does that a lot these days and we are attempti
ng, without much success it must be said, to teach her "We're talking therefore you wait" but she was extremely insistent she wanted to show us something.
Another Mum-fail moment followed as the realisation hit of what exactly it was she wanted us to see. Not some weird drawing of the cat/me/Christian/a tractor. Not how fast she can fill her new wellies with sand. No, she wished to make us aware of her new "friend".
The thing was stuck, fast to her wrist. Fat, white, full of my babies sweet red blood.
OMG!Despite being utterly repulsed by this rather macabre and hideous mite, I managed to remain relatively calm - at least outwardly. Well, I say calm, I did run around the house like a wind up car trying to locate the tweezers but then removed the beast with rather impressive efficiency. Sheer panic can do that to a woman. Finje, far from showing any signs of horror was somewhat indignant at my flushing the thing down the toilet before she had a chance to give it.... a name!
We should, to be fair, be getting used to this by now. Our beautiful dream cottage, nestled deep in the woodlands of North Germany, has provided us, so far, with various rodents, a positive never-ending army of ants and now ticks. Come to think of it I had read in the paper something about the tick season starting. But, is it just me or are ticks never really discussed in the UK? I don't recall being stripped naked every night as a child and examined all over for fat, blood sucking, leg jiggling, disease ridden parasites. Can you?
Anyway, needless to say more research was duly done and it seems here in the North there is little to worry about with regards to morbid diseases and such like. The cat, who by the way is positively teeming with the things, can have some anti-tick treatment but we humans must simply keep an eye out and remove them as soon as we spot them. The direct result being a totally paranoid mother who pounces on anything slightly ticky looking, of which there are oodles.