It's Sunday. I'm sitting in the kitchen writing on my very old computer (or rather proof-reading to be exact, but one does not always have to be exact), has been since I got up this morning. The boys are having lunch and watching football, the rest of the household is working (or, in the case of Sofie, is one vacation). Should eat myself in a while but I'm actually not that hungry yet so there's no hurry. I'm actually very pleased just sitting here. Just being.

 

And that is it. The reason I laugh so much, that I don't like but still don't mind getting up at five twenty in the morning, and that I always always feel like I'm coming home when I get back to Oslo after having been in Sweden. Because I feel at peace here, like I am where I'm suppose to be. I've made few choices in life that can be called spontaneous in life, but they have turned out very well. The first was moving to France, which was life changing and empowering in more ways than I can count, the second was moving to Oslo. It feels like coming home because it is home, in every way I want it to be.

 

This is the reason I don't mind Sundays anymore of course, because just hanging out at home is a nice, peaceful thing. I'm not actually sure I can put into words how tankful I am to my Norwegian family (otherwise known as the madhouse), at least not without it being strange and overly sentimental. I suppose I hope that they know anyway, and that they understand that everything I do I do because I love them. It's going to be an amazing  fall, simply because I am where I am. Yeah...and that is my cue to leave I think. We'll talk later.