This is our Master J last week.

He is Five years old.

This is his fifth town and fifth house he has lived in.

Sometimes I forget that, and everything it entails.

Tonight Mr Point Five and I are relaxing, watching The Americans with a beer and a glass of wine.

Master J was up and down like a frog in a sock from bedtime on.

“I cant sleep.

My foot is itchy.

I miss my dummy.

I need a glass of water.”

All of these were met with a sigh of exasperation and eventually, an hour and a half after we had initially tucked him in, the threat of no ipad tomorrow.

His bottom lip trembled.

“Mummy will you come and cuddle with me? I just want to cuddle with you in my bed.”

He has a beautiful, staunch heart, but even those have their limits.

Even though we now have a stunning setting and the potential of a beautiful life here for a few years, he too has history, baggage.

He is only five.

Flooding of guilt.

His world has been turned up-side-down in the past 6 months; being tossed out of his big two story home, living in a bare transit house for months with none of his comforts, hating his school, moving town, moving house, having so many visitors stay with us over the summer, starting a new school, and the most important thing, not knowing for sure how long we will stay.

We  tell him that we are here for a time, a good long time, but he constantly talks of our next town, next house, next school.

He is only five.

I press pause on the remote for the umpteenth time and take his small hand back to bed.

I climb in next to him and close his eyes. I stroke down his nose with my fingertips like I did when he was a baby. I blow gently in his flushed face.

Within 2 minutes he was snoring softly.

He is only five.

I hope we can stay here for a good while.

Or at least maximum tenure which is four years.

Our boys need this.

I need this.

We need this.