Having had this momentous landmark on the horizon over the past few months it's true to say that I may have gone a little mental. Days have been spent running up to old women in the street with a crazed look in my eye and grabbing their withering arm - 'is this it?' I would whisper desperately, white knuckles clinging on tightly. 'Is this IT...?' Nights meanwhile have consisted of looking at old photo albums and sobbing into my Pinot Grigio.
Or something like that.
It could of been Chablis.
Anyway, in the midst this madness the husband asked for the seventy hundredth time why didn't we move abroad for a few years.
We had always enjoyed travel pre-kids, indeed we met on the hippy shores of Byron Bay in Australia and spent the next few years zig zagging between there and London, Thailand, Bristol, New Zealand and Ireland.
Then the kids happened.
And so, in my mental, crisis-fueled little brain I agreed, and the wheels were set in motion. Right now I find myself surrounded by boxes and bags and I'm counting down in days not weeks to the date we take a handful of mismatched belongings to our new home in Spain.
Except that we haven't actually got a home yet.
Minor details and all that.
Minor details and all that.
So I might not be around much for awhile - but do get ready for Kate Takes 5 The Spanish Years (or possibly months..)
It could be a bumpy ride.
