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.
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?
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.
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.
