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.
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?
