My mum says I have gypsy blood. 
And I'd say she's right. 
She says she doesn't think I'd cope with a standard, one house, stay put life.
And I'd say she's definitely right. 
So having a husband from the other side of the world made sure that would not be an option. 


So moving should be a breeze right?!
Pure joy in the unknown. Right?!
Especially since we have a super great house to move in and everything has been fairly straight forward. Right?!
Wrong.
This weekend was tough. Real tough.
Emotionally and physically. 

Lately I've been asking Amaya a lot to be greatful. She would go out for the day get treats, a play at the park, fun with cousins. And still after all this on the way home she will say every time  'what are we going to do today?' Gosh it hurts, when you try to make days fun, and still with all that it's not enough?! Come on girl!

As I unpacked the new kitchen, exhausted, I cracked it. Like proper four year old cracking it. It wasn't the first time that day. Feeling bad and grumpy for making my children move again, for having to pack and unpack again, for all the stinking cleaning. 

Just because I was tired [probably slightly hangry]. Acting spoilt. Being so ungreatful. Worse than a child. 
I expected more from a four year old than myself.
Even after I have had all this placed in front of me. 

It was time to regroup. Realise what I have been given, and Who gave it to me.

Realise.
Regroup. 
Refresh. 

And enjoy.




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