But in the meantime, while I'm here, here's what's been happening.
We moved in and fell in love with the house all over again. We are so very happy here, it's almost impossible. It hasn't, however, been an entirely smooth journey. The list of things that have gone wrong is almost endless. Our brand new cooker hob didn't fit the granite cut-out, the fridge started leaking (and then mysteriously stopped), the oven only works when it fancies it, a new air conditioning unit worked for an hour and then stopped, our new water dispenser developed a leak while we were out (within two hours of it being installed) and flooded the kitchen - and there may be one or two things I'm missing.
And yet, we dealt with it all (mostly) with a smile on our face. That is how much we love being here.
Emily's and Adam's rooms are pretty much ready just waiting for final touches and then I will be taking photos and showing them off. I am incredibly pleased with how both rooms have turned out and both children visibly love them too.
Our bedroom and the living room still await furniture. You forget, after living in the UK and having everything in stock or available within a week, that waiting three months for a wardrobe or wall unit is normal here. And just like that, we become the numskulls who left it too late to order our furniture.
That is how long we have now been in Malta. It only occurred to me last night and came as something of a shock. We're adapting - and very well - but are coming to appreciate just how big a deal an international move is, even when it's back to the place you grew up. After seven years, it doesn't just come back naturally. We've been told it'll take a year and I'd have to agree. We're well on the way - there are no longer the daily comparisons and the pining for greener grass - but it's a long and sometimes bumpy road that needs to be travelled slowly.
I wish I didn't have to do this.
Shall I leave it at that? Says it all really, doesn't it? I hate it. It is the worst part of parenting there could possibly be. Worse than sleepless nights (ok maybe not that).
Then again, I say we're potty training but in reality I've done three (not consecutive) days of potty training, while living in denial and hoping it all magically happens on it's own to have me wake up one morning and find that Emily is comfortably in underpants and there is no need to have that bucket of water and Dettol handy.
We'll get there. Emily is a smart girl. So smart, she's bound to be picking up on my reluctance, so I need to get my act together and just do it.
I am only grateful to no longer have fitted carpets to deal with.
Like I said, I could no longer ignore it.
So I offered him a spoon dipped in baby porridge. He grabbed it and stuck it into his mouth and sucked off all the porridge and gave me the biggest grin I have ever seen on his little face. Later on, as I ate a banana, he reached out for it and pulled it towards his mouth and turned it into mush (which he then ate). Later there was a piece of potato. Today there was a baby biscuit and some pear puree. And every time it's like he's been handed the world. The boy likes food!
I thought to myself the other day, while watching Emily and Adam splash about in the pool, that this is exactly why we moved back. I remember last Summer, sitting on the sofa in the living room in Rochester during a heat wave, the point at which I knew we had to move back. This is Summer the way I know it. It's hot and sticky and on some days it's absolutely unbearable. But it's family and it's sun and water and bright colours and bathing costumes and wet hair almost every bedtime. It's so much raw happiness.
I had forgotten how much I love writing here. I guess maybe I am back after all.
PS: Don't forget to wear purple for Frannie tomorrow!