we've been here for 7 weeks now
which is long enough for me to remember which cupboard the cornflakes are in, but not long enough to have made enough friends.
so that when hubby goes away with work I don't want to sit at home all weekend feeling isolated, and instead the children and I hop on the train and go "home", back to where we came from 7 weeks ago.
which they loved, train rides, and being spoilt by grandparents, and seeing some friends.
it was rather bittersweet for me, in my head were constantly the thoughts of "I liked it here, why did we move?"
strangest though was sleeping at my parents house. I last spent a night there when we moved back from Boston 11 years ago. Before then it was in the holidays as a student, or of course as a child.
which is what I felt like on Saturday night. we ate dinner, Miss K and E went to bed, and then I suddenly thought "I really feel like going and calling on F."
F and I were at primary school together from the age of 5. We are still in touch because she is really good at that kind of thing, and whilst we've both moved away/back several times in the last 3 1/2 decades she now lives back in her family home which she inherited a few years ago. the family home that is a 10 minute walk from my parents.
"mum, can I go round to F's house" and off I wandered through the village, just the same as it always has been, and we sat and chatted, and drank tea, and put the world to rights for hours.
until long past midnight when I glanced at the clock, and said "oh god, look at the time, I haven't got a key and my mum will be sitting up waiting for me"
and she was...........