Is home really where the heart is?
So over the weekend myself and TB moved out of our cosy flat in Worcester and back to our homes. Saturday saw arrival of the parents who beared cleaning products, hoovers and tool kits ready to fight the battle of dust and flat pack furniture... they won.
Highlights included finding a chocolate coin under the sofa (white chocolate- boo), 8p in change and removing the furniture in our bedroom to find a hairy aftermath - think the death of Chewbaca crime scene!
What struck me when the furniture was out, the carpets hoovered and the loo bleached to an inch of it's life that this chapter of our lives were closed. For nine months we had lived there, had good and bad times and adapted and learned and most importantly liked living with each other.
The decision to move out was a hard one, neither of us particularly wanted to. Yet the head won over the heart on the matter, this is an opportunity to save money without signing another flat contract while the dreaded job search continues.
With heavy heart and many, many, many bags I drove back over the border and arrived back at the house I did most of my growing up in. Not that I don't like home, because I do... it's got central heating and food in the fridge :) yet when you move out of your home you develop independence.
Just being able to come in and out as you please, cook what you want for your tea, have long lies in on the weekend without the inevitable shout up the stairs and just enjoy being independent.. or like me until when the massive electricity bill came in and I grovelled, begged and did puppy eyes.
I miss TB already, his kiss before he goes to work, his hugs when I get home and being allowed in the nook for a cwtch are all things I have got used to. So although the head won over the heart in the moving home debate, I think a little part of my heart will always be in that flat with the sky light, mezzanine floor and ridiculous heating system.
Til' the next move....
Love, SGS xoxo