Next steps

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 mice and women

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.

The good the bad and the unpleasant

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.

Two steps forward

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.

Avoidance tactics

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? 

Baby Steps

What do you do when you've run out of excuses to talk about something?  You start doing.

This coming weekend our gaggle of children will all be otherwise engaged in activities that involve different responsible adults and we are going to explore.  We're going to drive past houses, along roads, discuss the pros (and cons) of this village vs that town, the amenities as highlighted by estate agents.  And we're going bricks and mortar kicking.

The equivalent of wasting time over a weekend looking at cars you probably won't ever buy but on a significantly larger budget.

What can we afford?  What can't we afford?  I suppose, more to the point, what the hell do we want to afford.  And where.  So a merest selection of the some 1500 homes that are currently available in our chosen location are to be inspected and viewed.

Now, it's starting to feel real.  And also everso slightly unreal.  Isn't this the sort of thing you do when you're a grown up?

Home and away

I've been away for a holiday, out of the country and enjoying some summer that the UK now seems unable to deliver.  Most of the people we met were expats; used-to-be residents of this chilly island we call home who decided that enough was enough, packed up their goods and chattels and headed waaaay south.

Talking with them has helped me to accept that that moving away, even just a little way east where the family grows, is easily possible and achievable.  But then I consider the tales of the parents who haven't seen their families for weeks, months, years and, even though the view from their windows is truely something we'll probably never experience for more than the odd few weeks, is it enough to justify the life they're now living?  For some of them, when the sun is high, the sea is cool and the beer is cheap, probably. 

But perhaps for one or two others they know that their offspring may never truly thank or forgive them for making the move (because we all know how grateful offspring can be when the mood takes them).

I've been seeding the idea with the boys; what about if we loaded everything we own into a container and moved here to this warm and sunny island?  Noooo was the plaintiff cry.  For my youngest, the prospect of even moving to the next village is a thought too far, so how we're going to persuade him that 100 miles is a good plan, well, that's for another day.

Until them, I have the photos to remind me that even the impossible can become reality, one day.

The nearer we are, the further away we seem to be

It should be so incredibly exciting.  It should be the culmination of who knows how many thoughts, dreams and sleepless nights.  And yet it is utterly terrifying!

My mum once told me the answer to one of life's great questions:  How do you eat an elephant?  It is, as it happens, much easier than you think to eat an elephant.  A little bit a time.

The trouble with that as a concept is knowing where to start and how much you can chew on and swallow to qualify as a 'little bit'.

It should be easy, no?  Decide to move.  Find a house to move to.  Confirm that the local schools are good enough.  Make sure there's a suitable way of getting from the house to the schools.  And somewhere to buy bread and milk, get to a station, an airport, a main road, a cycle route, somewhere to walk the dog, somewhere the cats won't get run over the first time they stick a whisker out the front door.  Find out if there's a cinema closer than a week away.  Where will the kids ride their bikes/play in the park, meet up with their friends.  More importantly, sleep!

I can already feel the arguments brewing, the shouting matches about 'my room', 'your room', yes, no, no way, not a snowball in hell's chance.....

Today is not a positive 'up' day.  Today is a huge, insurmountable challenges day.  They will come and go in turn.  Hopefully when there's a big intrusive 'For Sale' board stuck outside our houses it will start to seem real and not a million more miles away than it already does.

Near The Beginning

It makes sense to start at the beginning although, if I'm being honest, this is probably nearer the middle, or at least the end of the start.  So perhaps I should just start and see where the meanderings and wanderings of the mind and the adventure take us?

I moved away from home about 20 years ago, starting on a quest to grow up, move on and head west.  I was swept along by boyfriend, husband, kids, houses and, more importantly of late, employment.

But I'm no spring chicken any more.  In the words and thoughts of some I'm a middle aged, over the hill aging lady.  And even if that's half true, I'm homesick like a child on their first sleep over or school trip from home.

I'm 100 miles or two hours (at best) from home and I feel the draw to be closer to my roots, to the place where I was born and raised.  That my parents are both still there, most of the time at least when they're not travelling hither and yon, helps.  They're not getting any younger faster than I'm not and have my feelings of parental responsibility turning on their head; as my own children grow into their own independence my parents seem to move into my realm of responsibility.

'Home' is the place I remember most fondly.  It's the safe place, the warm childhood memories place.  It's probably not any safer or cleaner or better equipped than where we live now but it feels like it and it's a place, an environment and an experience I want my own children to be able to enjoy (or endure as they're starting to think of it), a little classic Enid Blyton freedom that sub-urban conurbations just don't offer or allow.

The husband has been switched, over time, for a boyfriend who has his own charges of responsibiltiy and, despite them all calling this place 'home' is sold on the rural(ish - I'm not sure about making the full, middle of no-where move) idyl, even if it isn't always as idyllic as we'd like to imagine it might be.

So, with my own parents more than fully supportive, nay, force-feeding new properties to be admired and studied, it looks like we may be making the move to a rural commitment.  Two parents, four children, two cats, one dog and two households to be melded and moulded into one, in as fluid a movement as possible.

What do you reckon are the chances?