I don't want to jinx it. I don't want to dare say it out loud but, perhaps, we could be almost there?
It's not the buying of houses in England that's particularly difficult, it's the selling. It's being at the mercy of buyers in an apparently buyers market who screw you down on the price then get a surveyor telling them about all the defects and then screw you down on the price again, knowing that you're at risk of losing your new life if you don't agree.
Surveyors are, I'm told by the estate agents, the bane of their lives at the moment. Taken at face value (and only the copied extracts we've been allowed sight of), my house is all but falling down. Which is why they can stand, hands on hips and stamping their feet, and demand further a reduction from the agreed price.
That and the nonsense we've had to resolve because the previous solicitors were not, as it happens, working in my best interest.
How do you know? How do you know that they didn't do their job properly, lied on official paperwork and faked signatures until, some five years later, you come to sell and it all comes out in the wash?
You don't. You suffer the delays, the stress, hassle and irritation of dealing with bureaucracy which has had all of the common sense sucked out of it and you're left with more delays, paperwork and, the best bit, cost.
There is, at least, some redress through the Legal Ombudsman but, to be honest, all they're going to be able to do is offer a slap on the wrist and maybe return my costs. What I should do is stamp my feet harder than the buyers, shout louder and demand what is reasonable. But then, in the real world, I just want out of the place, to be at least one firm, concrete step closer to our new life.
We live in hope.
Fingers crossed.
J
ust at the moment when success is thrown into the jaws of defeat and they've started to chew, perhaps a little light relief in the form of a little old lady who's very deaf and her more savvy son.
We'll see. Perhaps life will get back on track in the next few weeks and I can breathe again, run, find a way to see the future how it's supposed to be.
In the meantime, I'm trying to carry on and pretending that it didn't, at least momentarily, all fall crashing around my feet.
It's so exciting. You get so caught up in all the rush of adrenaline and new home potential that will be the final step in the chain of decisions.
And then reality bites hard and suddenly it's all very, very real.
I am now sporting a wonderful, beautiful ring on my appropriate finger on my left hand. We're not just moving home, moving together and moving on, we're getting married. Which whilst being incredibly wonderful also brings its own challenges, persuading the kids, in particular, that this doesn't change the relationships they have with their 'other' parents, that moving to another town isn't the end of their lives, that there is life outside of the small big of the world in which they currently reside.
And as of right now, today, immediately, my house is on the market, available for sale.
That brings its own interesting challenges, not least is persuading the kids that they really do have to put their dirty undies in the washing basket and not leave them in a heap on the floor, that they should rinse their spit out of the sink and put their dirty dishes IN the dishwasher and not just in the vague vicinity of it.
I (actually we all do but you know how that's going to work out) have to keep the house clean, tidy, neat and viewable. Which isn't necessarily a bad things because suddenly I have a minimalist home that is a pleasure to live in but unfortunately we can't find anything we need or want (that isn't already in every day use) because the garage is piled with boxes of things we thought were excess to requirements so the house could be presented as a buyers dream and not the place that we're all trying to leave behind.
And then the final nail in the enthusiasts coffin.
The paperwork. I have already scanned read in detail (of course) several pages of small print that allow me to ask the estate agent to market the house for me and now I am presented with pages of forms to complete, read and electronic missives and I'm about ready to give up.
All I want to do is sell the house that I own (along with the bank) but the only thing they haven't asked me yet is my inside leg measurement and the date of birth of my first grandchild.
But I'm sure that's coming.
Of course, all the best planning and patience in the world can be gone in the merest blink of an eye when kids and animals are involved. Who said you should never work with them? They were wise beyond their years, for sure.
We had a great weekend. The kids all but bedded down in some of the places we saw, fighting over whose room was this or whose view was that.
It felt like home. Oh how misguided we can be when the rose tinted spectacles are placed over our noses.
Perhaps I'm being over simplistic. The girls in particular are conflicted, struggling with the huge changes that are being asked of them. I sort of get it but we've been explaining all the reasons why change is good, why change is necessary and how good we can make it and there seemed (ney, WAS) a level of engagement and interest. But this week, at least, it isn't enough.
It seems that the brakes have, temporarily at least I'm hoping, been firmly slammed on, minds closed down and excitement reversed.
I'm not changing my mind. I've made an offer on a house we can't really afford but am hoping (fingers crossed) that a market reasonable (though hugely below asking price) offer will be accepted.
And then we'll worry about what comes next.
So, the kids took it well. In fact, they took it very, very well. They seemed excited at the prospect of planning and discussing and investigating. We shared brochures and web searches and chatted and talked and finally booked some viewings.
Of course, as with all the best laid plans, there's a fly in the ointment that buzzes and flits around causing disruption and as much mental anguish as possible, but we seemed to manage it well enough and kept the conversation flowing and the kids engaged.
We drove around, we saw, we found one or two almost unpleasant in their state of preparedness for viewing, but I guess some people have different standards to us. Or maybe I should learn to hold my breath and close my eyes to the cobwebs, dust and flotsom and jetsom that some people call home?
We talked more, they ran around properties choosing 'their' bedroom, 'their' bathroom, 'our' bedroom, where the pets will sleep, eat and where we'd put our furniture. It was good.
Of course, finding one that we love (or like enough), that works for our gaggle of kids and animals, is in the right location and meets at least most of our fundamental criteria and that we can afford, is a challenge for another day.
That, and making sure that the girls get to enjoy it all with us.
We kicked tyres, or bricks in our case. We tested waters, we felt our way in the dark. We weren't wrong. It's a good fit. It's comfortable and safe and, for me at least, it's home.
We are in agreement. This isn't a huge error of judgement or a mistake or something we're wavering about. We are going to do this. We're going to make the move.
So, what do we do next?
We have to plan schools, estate agents, find properties to view that meet requirements (it's amazing how, "we don't have any specific requirements except enough bedrooms for one each" becomes a longer list of "well, we need this, and that, and oh, yes, this thing here, and some extra bells and whistles and, while we're at it, I really need this thing" without you even realising that you have this longer list of not just wants but in some cases, needs).
And then we have to speak with the kids. We have to explain, listen, talk, explain, explain and reassure them to the ends of the earth that, making this move is not going to ruin their lives, change the way we feel about them (nor them us, although I'm not so sure on this point), how 'different' doesn't mean 'bad/evil/mean/nasty/scary (although it does mean that a little bit)' and is, in fact a huge opportunity that we can't wait to share with them.
I've spoken with my boys. I talk to them about pretty much everything, as I always have. But that's probably what it's like for boys with their mum. Girls with their dad have a different communication set and that's a challenge that we are both going to face.
There have been hints, discussions and mentions of possibilities, but as yet no definite discussion around 'this is what is happening'.
It's (probably) happening this weekend. We've already taken two huge steps forward. Now let's see how many we take back the way we've come.
If only it were nearly as simple as looking at pretty pictures of houses, finding the one that meets all our requirements (the easiest part of all, of course....), having our offer accepted and then moving.
More to the point, why isn't it even close to being that simple?
Between us we have four close to or actually teenage kids, a gaggle of emotions, hormones and blunt honesty to battle with alongside our own angst and concerns. Seriously, who would ever put themselves in that position?
Us, it seems.
Maybe it was easier or just different when we were younger when dads earned the income, mothers ruled roost and kids did as they were damn well told instead of answering back at every opportunity?
Perhaps we're underestimating their ability to accept, cope or live with our decisions, but we're putting off the final moment when we say, he kids, want some sweets/chocolate/can of fizzy pop/we're moving 100 miles away and you're all changing schools?
I'd like to think that the deck of estate agent details we have is persuasive enough; what we can afford 'there' vs what we have or could possibly afford 'here' is glossy and impressive enough to bring round even the biggest cynic, I hope.
But perhaps I'm the one who's failing to face the inevitable battles and shouting matches that are heading our way like a raging torrent.
Alongside their hormones and angst we have to be concerned with rebelling (I'm trying to not even think how far they could go with that), running away (a possibility I guess at any age but they are beyond the foot stamping age), moods that could fell god himself on a bad (or even a good) day and how all of that will impact on their siblings (of one sort or another) or, quite possibly more importantly, us.
When did we an age when 'because I said so' just wasn't enough?
