I’m still emotionally shattered after the weekend and for more reasons than just football. Obviously, hearing the maggies do the right thing for the first time since 1952 was just about more than a man with black and white blood can bear, but following on from the Swans the week before, it was just overload. Combine with that, my darling wife’s weekend junket to Newcastle on Tyne with her work leaving me and Linnea to our own devices for a few days and it was a pretty intense couple of days.
The precious is learning the art of manipulation and psychological torture, bless her. Ever since she became fully self-propelled her expectations of life have increased somewhat. This includes the right of refusal at meal time, NOT being placed on the floor unless with her explicit approval first, no horizontal positions what so ever (making changing her nappies interesting…) and unlimited access to mama and booby. The last two created some challenges when neither mama nor her boobies were present during the weekend.
We survived, but I suspect she has made some mental notes during the weekend that will be used against me sometime in the future when I least expect it. Rannveig received the royal treatment when she saw her this morning, but quickly became “assertive” after I had left. She is developing all too rapidly and I expect will be running the house by this time next year.
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