I really need to PUBLISH posts. This is from the beginning of May!
Life has been ticking along nicely. Littlest Cat has settled into nursery and no longer has heart-wrenching meltdowns when I leave him (though he does burst into tears every time I pick him up, in a bid to convince me that the lovely staff at the nursery actually spend all day pinching him. He hasn't yet realised that I watch him happily playing every day before announcing my presence). I'm back into the routine of being in work, which usually consists of spending three days a week embracing the fact that there is somewhere in the world where I know what I'm doing, unlike the four days at home where Dom changes the rules every 5 minutes and I'm expected to pre-empt his every whim. Daddy Cool has successfully given up smoking without feeling the need to make everyone around him want to take it up. All very calm and relaxed.
So, like a pair of masochistic lunatics, we decided to move house.
We're moving from number 56 to number 10 in the same street, which I'm glad about - I love my area and I enjoy seeing the same people on the school run every morning. My day wouldn't feel off to a proper start without seeing the old lady with the dog, the very pretty Armenian girl with the little boy, and the American dad who always seems a bit stressed (though this could be because he has the longest legs ever so is always walking at 100 miles an hour).
I still find it hard to believe that I'm not going to live in my little house-that-Jack-built. I've moved a hell of a lot of times in my life (this will be move number 26 into house number 22, which is a lot when you consider I've only been alive for 30 years). But this house is special. It's awkward and falling apart and messy and has far too much stuff and too many people in, but I love it.