Wobble

And no - I'm not referring to my belly.

Although....


Anyway. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

It was the latest house move that did it. We had spent the last few weeks living in the lap of luxury at my in-law's gorgeous villa, so our introduction to life in Spain was one of utter indulgence.

Having not found a permanent place to stay yet, on Monday we moved to our temporary accommodation - a small 3-bed villa apartment, with pool and view. But, as we settled in we realised - gasp, shock, horror - there was no working wifi.

Since we both now work from home this was a major spanner on the works.

Cue stress, panic, depression, doubt and any other emotional emotion you care to throw into the equation.

Previous to this I had noticed that since being here the kids would throw all their toys out of the pram as soon as something didn't go to plan for them (not literally - they're much too old for prams, besides we ditched all their toys before the move).

Most of the time they are far happier than they would be at home however when problems occur we get episodes such as:

'Mummy it's not fair! All my friends in Ireland have our favourite teacher again and I'm not even going to know my teacher here. Why did we have to come to stupid Spain'

'Mummy I'm too hot. I hate stupid Spain'

'Mummy I hurt my toe. Stupid Spain. I want to go home'

The reasons Spain is so stupid range from the understandable to the ridiculous - but it seems that every little hurdle or hiccup results in the same reaction.

And I fell into the same trap myself.

But 48 hours later - with internet restored - all is well again.

And with a view like this it really is hard to stay stressed for very long.........

(And thanks to the lovely ladies who held my hand during the wobble - you know who you are. x)

A rather big move

As some of you may already know I hit the big forty TO-FECKING-MORROW *gulp*

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.

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.