Back home again. Wonder where is home for me? My son summed it up today as we were having lunch at a turkish restaurant at Szekesfehervar. He asked:” Mum, are we going home after we went home?”
Sounds stupid, right?

But actually he was right. We went down to our lakeside apartment, and after lunch we were going back there (hence home ) to pick up our stuff and drive back to Budapest , to our home.

Our true home however is the mountain house, yet I feel equally at home in Madeira, and soon with God’s willing in Sitges, in Spain.

But for now we are here, still in the process of acquiring that land we fell in love with.
A. fell in love with it.

For the past few days apart from taking our son to school and back, shopping, doing our usual chores , I’ve been reading up on buying a land in Spain. The more I red about it, the more scared I got, so many things could go wrong, so many things we don’t even know about.

Must be absolutely sure that that is a building plot, with all the right facilities. Must be sure that the house we want can be built on it.
Thinking back and looking at the pics we took earlier made us realise that the plot is steeper then we thought, we will need retaining walls to be able to utilise it to the max.

Told A. that maybe I should give it another go, we might still find a house we love. He stubbornly refused it in a heartbeat. He already had his heart sat on that land.

Have never seen him this enthusiastic about property before. Could it be because it was always me who wanted the land, the apartment and he just went along with it to make me happy?

With the exception of his house in Madeira. That was his first house.
This one is going to be his second one. His real home, where he might actually live. He is really considering living there. Told me so.

So I will do my best to help him, try not to be too pushy and turn it into my project. Try, I promise, that is all I can do, promise.
Am I a control freak? Who knows? Got used to being on my own, deciding on everything without having to consult with anyone, so find it hard when someone is trying to tell me what to do, even if he means well. Take it personal immediately and turn it into an argument.

Maybe that is why that the men in my life tend to become quieter over time. Much quieter, almost silent.

Like A. , who is sitting right across the table at our terrace, happily spacing out.

Conversation is so hard with him. Like he is in a different world, not ours. Tend to repeat things 3-4 times by the time it registers with him. So I just go along with my things without telling him, plan everything and he will happily tag along.

Be it a restaurant, shopping for a baseball cap for M. , sitting at tennis practise, preparing dinner, telling our son off for being disrespectful …he is there. Always.

And to be honest, I think I like it. I am not alone.

No plans for today. He is leaving tomorrow, flying to Barcelona to sign the contract.

So I open a bottle of Gorogszo from Duzsi Tamas and talk to him about the conditions of the contract. Again.

And he lets me. With a smile around the corner of his mouth, he listens to me, or so it seems.