I took Emily and Grandma to visit Auntie Sheila in the morning. She seemed very well physically and mentally; not bad for a woman of about 80 who had recently been widowed after dealing with a husband stricken with Alzheimer's. It's hard to remember Grandma before she got so confused and forgetful. Grandad is in a sorry state physically but still pretty sharp for 93.
Trudie had borrowed a pushchair from her friend and I loaded Emily up so that I could walk her off to sleep after lunch. We walked up and down the old railway line path for a good hour; I caught up on Private Eye as I slowly pushed her along in the sunshine. When she woke she got very upset and wanted me to carry her. I couldn't carry her and push the buggy, so I told her she could either walk or ride. That didn't go down well: she promptly threw herself to the ground and there began her first full-blown tantrum. It was hard to keep my resolve and not pick her up. It broke my heart to see her so upset and know it was in my power to stop it, but I knew that I had to stick to my guns. After more than half an hour of me trying to coax her, and just about keeping my cool (especially in the face of inquisitive passers-by), I forced her into the buggy, with her arching her back in protest. Two minutes later she was fine, and getting excited about a plane overhead. Only her red eyes gave away what had happened.
We popped into town briefly later to meet Tim's mum, Eileen, for a coffee. It was nice to see her, and of course she was keen for details of our week away with Tom. Back in Fairfield Road the boys were home from school, and we played with them for a while before tea. Emily had a fantastic time climbing up onto their bunk beds, and rolling around inside Hayden's laundry bin.
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