We need to move.
I want to move for what I have to admit are pretty selfish reasons. I want my husband and I to have a room of our own again. I want to be able to go to bed if my husband is watching sports, put a lamp on, light a scented candle, and read.
I want to lay a table for our meals, have a filled book-case. I want a place to hang beloved pictures and tapestries. I want the twins to be in separate cots, in their own room, which has been decorated with them in mind.
I want a family home.
To get there, we need to sell the flat, but getting it in a fit state to sell seems like a huge task. Finding space to put things while sorting out what to throw away or donate, and what to keep is hard, especially with 2 inquisitive toddlers who can reach a little bit further, a little bit higher, everyday.
I've made a decent start, but with 2 demanding little people underfoot and tugging at my legs, it's slow and frustrating work.
The task seems huge, and the only way I can get through it, is a little bit at a time. I have to keep chipping through the clutter, and the frustration, and the doubt. I need to keep doggedly at it until I reach light, and space.
We need to head for a new space that's ours'. A space where we have room to think, to grow, to breathe.