The Gypsy in me

‘Hey, come and look at this one,’ the OH calls from the kitchen.

I push myself tentatively up from the sofa, pain coursing down my left calf. Feeling like an old granny I hobble into the kitchen, struggling with the sharp jab in my leg. I peer over Rob’s shoulder to see the pictures of an attractive three bedroom house on his iPad. ‘That looks nice,’ I comment.

‘There are plenty of rentals out there for the same as what we pay now.’

It has been six months since we moved into our new home, excited at the prospect of being the first people to live in it. As the trucks and diggers rumbled past, we were confident that within a couple of months we would be amidst a brand spanking new housing estate, with prime position opposite the new park area.

This morning, I lost my footing on the half tarmaced driveway of the building site we still live on. A rather undignified fall and a few pulled muscles later, I feel like it might be the final nail in the coffin. Frustrated at the constant stream of mud, work machinery and builders, home isn’t feeling all that homely!

I think me and the OH must have some Gypsy heritage running through our veins, unable to settle anywhere for too long. Six to twelve months is the norm. We did manage a whole two years in one place once. Then there was the time we moved into a caravan as a temporary measure for a couple of weeks – a good few months later, we were still living in our cosy little home.

It’s been six months now …. are our feet getting jittery again, all under the guise of frustration at living amongst the outside mess and chaos. I think some seeds have been planted, the first steps of keeping our options open. Another couple of years and we will be tied to the strings of a local school for our little boy. Perhaps we should pack up, buy a caravan and wear off some of the jittery feelings! Or maybe we should just move house again – one last time! 🙂

This post was written for the Yeah Write Moonshine Grid no. 150.

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