He thinks she's a hair's breath away from mentally disturbed. I think she's likely to be working on her Oscar acceptance speech as soon as she can write.
If I'm honest, I'm a little jealous. I lack the ability to switch moods so effortlessly and with so little regard for the emotion left behind. It's living in the moment and it's a kid thing.
Currently, Finje seems to be embracing her "whinge" phase. In celebration we have bestowed upon her the nickname "Whingy Fingie", which in fairness, doesn't help matters when she's in full blown moan-mode.
Today it seemed I could do no right. I swear she didn't veer from squawking in a whiny, sourpuss voice for a second. By supper time my patience was stretched to capacity and I, to my shame, snapped.
I flew at her with both barrels, one English one German.
When agitated, I frequently end up babbling a mixture of bad English and worse German. In the middle of my diatribe, Finje, fascinatingly, found it appropriate to correct my German grammar! She's got balls, my girl. That however got her marched off to her bedroom and told to stay there and think about her behaviour!
I ask you, her behaviour?
I'm pretty sure I heard her mumble something about me being the one who should calm down. I let it pass, it being true and all.
After 20 minutes and two strong cups of tea, I had calmed. But jolly I was not. Finje was sitting on her bed as I entered the room, looking serious and contemplating her navel. Before I had a chance to begin, she stopped me. Claiming she knew what I was going to say she said she was really sorry for being "a vinger" and that she wasn't "vinging" any more. By way of proving her point she grinned, told me she loved me and asked if she could have a banana.
Moved as I was and smothering a grin, I nevertheless thought she should understand the gravity of the situation. Finje was having none of it.
"No mama, grumpy time is over, it's happy time now"
Clever little madam.