It’s a bright sunny morning with a comforting, light blanket of snow outside. I feel like the living room is looking surprisingly pulled together considering the general state of disarray which is to be found throughout the rest of the house or even just lurking behind the conveniently neat looking cupboard doors.
We’ve just moved. In fact, today it’s officially been a week since Sam dropped me off here with the last of our boxes and bags before driving to work for the first time from our new home.
OUR new home!
That’s right, we are in a place of our own again. A little cottage out in what feels like the middle of nowhere but is actually just 20 minutes from town and 5 minutes from the nearest petrol station/shop.
I couldn’t be happier or feel more blessed.
I had a dream last night, one of those ones where you wake up and you’re still so immersed in all it’s emotions that it takes a wee while to realise it wasn’t real. The dream had been that we were going to move. The place we were heading to was actually the old Mr Wickham house from Gilmore Girls (who can guess what I was watching before going to sleep?) and all I kept saying was ‘Why are we leaving here?’ every pro the Sam in my dream was pointing out (apparently there was a Zoo in the back garden) was outweighed by the simple fact that I felt there was no way we could be happier anywhere else. Fortunately Sam had no idea what I was talking about when I woke up so he was spared my wrath.
Oh, and Happy New Year!!
