And so, we are moved. Or mostly anyway. We are here, the important parts, and all the rest of it – furniture, books, the lot, will be here by Sunday night, all the way from Scotland, where it has been living for six months.
Right now, Ava is sleeping on the bed that has been put up in the spare room (whether it stays here or not), the only piece of furniture in our house. Our house. Our home.
I am typing by the light of fairy lights, and we are eating chocolate and drinking juice on the new carpets in this room, bags of our clothes and toys strewn around the floor, the somewhat pleasant smell of paint and newness still in the air.
I cannot begin to explain, in any honest and thorough way, how relieved we are to be here, or what it means to us, or how inexorably happy we have felt today – this much longed for freedom once again to be a family, in our own family space. It has been a long time for us, and this will be the third time we have moved in six months. I am grateful and relieved and incredibly happy that this house is everything we wanted to find in a house.
We have spent the day exploring these new spaces and just being in them, trying to get a feel for them before all of our stuff arrives and we must decide what should go where. Mostly though, we have spent the day laughing and playing, alone and with friends, and we have had our dinner cooked for us by those dear friends who are now our neighbours too, and it has all been good.
We are ready for this, once again. To leave the last six months behind and to be who we are, each of us on our own and together, as a family.