The Monkey, the Bodyman and I have all moved to our new apartment.
It's smallish, it's bareish, but it's sweet- and it's comfortable. It's got a lovely kitchen and we have pots and pans and dishes, and forks and knives, and as of this evening, curtains. Mostly.
And the bedroom is one- but we have two beds, and they fit. Wonderful.
It's been a very stressful two days, really. Lack of planning on my part means that I was moving mattresses and adjusting the toddler and going all day AS I was detoxing and dealing with Candida-die-offs... not the most fun. Basically, I've felt like crap. Still not back to normal, but I'm working on it.
Tonight's the first night I've had time alone- baby in bed early, hubby off watching the big game at my family's house- and I've spent it in front of the computer, researching, reading, and typing. Just like any other night in any other house, really.
And it's gotten me thinking. About new starts, really- for the longest time we've looked forward to this, to this freedom and fresh-slate-ness, for this seperation.
And now we have it.
I think of all the crafty things, all the decorations, all the games and projects and writing and books and beautiful ways of living that I thought of, or saw, or talked about or read about but "couldn't" do because we didn't have our own easel on which to create them- and now we have it.
I know if I'm not careful, I'll let this blessing slip away, unnoticed. It's time to act.
First, I should probably sleep. And then think, and plan. But oh, boy, there's some action coming this way. This darling little burrow won't know what hit it.