Oh Gods

Otherwise entitled:

How our Monday has gone*


*told through the medium of emoji and emoticons
๐Ÿ˜ฉ๐Ÿ˜ญ๐Ÿ˜ฑ๐Ÿ˜ค๐Ÿ˜ซ๐Ÿ‘€๐Ÿ‘€๐Ÿ˜ฌ๐Ÿ˜ช๐Ÿ˜”๐Ÿ˜ฃ๐Ÿ˜ถ๐Ÿ˜ง๐Ÿ˜ฎ๐Ÿ˜ตโ˜ ๏ธ๐Ÿ™‡๐Ÿผโ€โ™€๏ธ๐Ÿ™‡๐Ÿผโ€โ™€๏ธ๐Ÿคฆ๐Ÿผโ€โ™€๏ธ๐Ÿคฆ๐Ÿปโ€โ™‚๏ธ๐Ÿ™‡๐Ÿป๐Ÿ™‡๐Ÿป๐Ÿ™Ž๐Ÿผ๐Ÿ™Ž๐Ÿปโ€โ™‚๏ธ๐Ÿ”๐Ÿ”๐Ÿ”๐Ÿ”
We are shattered. Exhausted. No words. 
#1 Son is safely in his own bed in his own room
Tiny Tyrant is in the travel cot in her own room. She didn’t even flinch. This, for now, bodes well. 
We’ve unpacked around 20 boxes out of 83 confirmed boxes. 

Items include things like paintings, big ticket furniture items etc. For example #1 Son’s bed counts as roughly 6 items.  

160 boxes/items left to sort out. 

Plus the vast amount of stuff from eight weeks in temporary accommodation. 

Don’t make me do this again. PLEASE!!!!!!
Blinds are not up in all the rooms. Door handles are all in place… more or less…

Casualties of war so far include:

  • The tv. 
  • The legs of our laundry basket – this will be a $20 replacement part from IKEA
  • My kettle – the hus-creature smashed it this morning in the move from Cambridge. This was a $35 replacement that is not made of glass. 
  • The ice cream – I left it in the freezer ๐Ÿ™€๐Ÿ™€๐Ÿ™€๐Ÿ™€๐Ÿ™€

I have now met the downstairs neighbour (who for now will be referred to as H). She has twin 6-year old boys. One of them shares #1 Son’s name. 

They are also on the spectrum, but apparently even more severely. She has been warm and welcoming and given me some basic help and advice already. I have suggested that she comes up for a coffee and she agreed once we are settled. 
Dear H thank you so much because right now I’m totally overwhelmed and shell shocked and I don’t know who I am, what my name is or which way is up


๐Ÿ™ƒ๐Ÿ™ƒ๐Ÿ™ƒ๐Ÿ™ƒ๐Ÿ™ƒ 


And this is a taste of it:


Author: Fliss

Wife, mum (of two), yarn-obsessed cat-slave

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