Broccoli and bullet points.

At lunchtime today, Linnea ate so much broccoli that she couldn't chew it. Eventually, she gave up, and spat it out again... but she didn't WANT to. Mmm, broccoli.

She walked up and down a train stopping to smile at people in an aggressive manner - most of them were intimidated into smiling back at her.

I bought some more new clothes; I'm gradually crossing the barrier from "most of my clothes are too shabby to give to charity" to "most of my clothes are too good to give to charity yet".

We had roast stuffed pork tenderloin for dinner. Planning meals makes life easier.

Linnea slept over ten hours straight last night. Had we realised she was going to do this, we might have gone to bed earlier; instead, we watched "Yes, Minister" until after the time for her 11 o'clock cuddle. I love it when Hacker does his Churchill thing. I go all mushy with hysteria.

This evening, Linnea started by giving Rob raspberries on his tummy, in a loving and affectionate way, and then decided that a Daddy so marvellous deserved better, so she put first my (dirty, cold) shoes on his bare tum, then brought him one of her birthday helium balloons. Filial duty knows no bounds. She loves my shoes.

She got very frustrated at her inability to put her own sandals on earlier. And we keep shrieking at her not to climb from the sofa to the dresser. I'm trying to think of somewhere we can move either item, but until we have more stuff out of the middle room - later to be Linnea's room - there really isn't anywhere. And I like having a sofa downstairs; relegating it to a bedroom will be irritating.