Wearing my big girl pants…..

I have had to wear my big girl pants this week.

It has been a long one, a stressful one, and a hugely fulfilling one.

For those not bothered about the bit in the middle, I started the week as a married woman living in a rented house in the  south, and finished as a divorcee living in my own property in the north.

Divorcee; in my head I see an image of me, looking entirely not like me, but with glamour and for some reason a cigarette protruding from a Hepburn style cigarette holder.

However, the reality is – I don’t do glamour, nor do I smoke (even after gin.)

But I am a divorcee, and a home owner, and so I am sat on the sofa feeling pretty proud of myself.

The divorce means I can finally draw a line under my marriage, I am free from the shackles of something that caused great unhappiness.  I can happily update all online dating profiles from separated to ‘my ring is on eBay.’

The journey getting here was tough, and I am not talking about the emotional road I have been on, I am talking about the actual journey from south to north.  Three kids, three cats, and a boot full of boxes meant the 200 mile journey was epic to say the least.  The cats mewed as if they were being taken to the slaughter chamber, then less than 30 miles into the trip, two of them decided to crap in their boxes, meaning the next 170 miles were spent trying to ignore the smell of shite and the whines of the children who held the offending animals in boxes on their lap.

Never have I been so pleased to see the North.

But so far….

Coming home has been amazing, terrifying, and filled with cardboard.

I arrived at my home (all mine), and found half of Yorkshire inside it, scrubbing out cupboards, straightening out the garden, and emptying boxes.  Friends of the family, and family itself turned out en mass to ensure the day went as smoothly as can be.  My first moments in my new home were spent wrapped in old friends arms, the house was christened with love.

The stinking cats were banned to a room and more boxes were hauled in, and more unpacking commenced.  Cousins popped by to say hello, brothers and nieces stopped by for a play.

I didn’t have a moment to question if I had made the right decision bringing the kids back to my childhood home, but it was so obvious this move was right.

School has begun, and the kids found friends in minutes, despite desperately missing the ones they left behind.

Me?  I have made a pact to speak to at least one person a day on the school run, to start to build some bonds. But I also have a whole host of friends who I am looking forward to reconnecting with.

I let the stinking cats out in the garden today.  Despite the official ruling being two weeks, we were all starting to get under each others feet, they have loved the garden, and one even proudly came back with his first kill.

He looked at me, with a gleam in his eye as he licked some entrails from his whiskers. If cats could talk, am sure he would have said…

I think I’m going to like it here….

I am tempted to agree.