Bit of a pause since my last post. This has been due to a combination of family illnesses and adapting to regular school sessions. F's immune system seems vastly improved after two months of relentless viral exposure. Mine and V's seem to have burnt out. I'm trying a new respiratory system that extracts oxygen from mucus instead of air. V gets back from work, shattered, and collapses face down on the sofa, surfacing occasionally to cough.
All the same, I've made progress. I got promoted to a higher level of SFI after a fortnight. C+ is good. The class can mostly make reasonable conversation with each other in Swedish, so it feels like I'm practising a lot more. I followed the entire violent argument over where the Muslims should get to say their prayers in our feedback session today quite well.
'Not by the toilets, please' was their request, but apparently they have a place set aside and when the guy asking was reminded of this in rather blunt terms by a Bulgarian, one of his fellows started a very shouty tirade that ended in a lot of macho posturing round the computer bench. You know the sort, two muscular young men bunching their deltoids at each other, looking like they might start a pushing match without ever quite daring to go past that point.
Last week we went to the Volvo factory. It's very big. They make 160 lorries every day and a half. Their cafeteria is an indoor jungle. Everybody was too in awe of the robot delivery system to start miniature religious wars.
At home, F talks. You can have a conversation with her, pretty much. Subject Verb Object, I've learnt in school. F is on board with this. "Daddy get cookie," for example. Or "TV on please." Or the heartrending plea, on being told it was time to go to daycare, "Nooo, Feja stay hemm. Play. Mumma och Pappa play too. Yes please," with a single big nod on the 'yes' for emphasis.
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"It's time to get out of the bath soon."
"Nooo."
"Well, you can pour the bottle out three more times, and then it's time to get out. Okay?"
Slight frown, shifty look.
F is currently playing 'pouring the bottle out', which you might think you can work out the rules for. There's a bottle, a floaty plastic ring and a toy plastic glass involved, a three-way pouring system and a target to hit. V and I had ringside seats, but even after ten minutes I wasn't totally sure how the scoring worked. All I knew was we were on no account to try and join in.
Holding up three fingers to count down her last three plays with, F seemed quite happy with the arrangement. And then suddenly the whole pouring thing got a lot more complex. Bottle, glass, glass, bottle, like she was channelling Tommy Cooper. The final pouring of the bottle into the ring got delayed and delayed - the glass wasn't quite full enough, or the ring had mysteriously floated round behind her back.
There's subtle and subtle. This was the kind of very obvious subtle which is extremely amusing to watch, where F is so convinced she's being crafty that she starts looking a bit smug. She slightly blew it when she grabbed my hand and tried to pull my fingers back up, saying "Two!" at the same time so I knew we were counting up again now. That made it pretty much impossible not to laugh outright, which rather undercut any attempt at being stoic and immovable in the face of massive diversion tactics.
Obviously when she eventually poured the bottle out there was a massive tantrum. That's just bedtime for you, though. Slightly less of an affectionate family moment when you're tucking up something that sounds like a hurricane wind blowing over the mouth of a recorder whilst being kicked in the face. But only slightly.
