braindribbles

Thanks to Filomena Scalese for allowing me to use her photo.

You will gather correctly from the title that we are finally intending to move house after the many, many abortive attempts over the last nine years.  We’ve wanted to for some time, but my man’s job has always geographically prevented us from doing so.  But now said job is in a different direction, nearer the beloved in-laws, which means our long-term ambition is a possibility now.  So I am once again beginning the process I have only done once before, nearly ten years ago.

I vowed then that the next house move would be the last; that wherever we moved next we would stay put till we became old and wrinkly.  And that’s the plan  this year.  Indeed it has been the plan for many years – and at long last this year looks like the year it might finally happen.

However, I am reminded now why I never want to move house again after this.  I’ll update you over the course of the year of the planned move – this is, after all, not a speedy process.

The first point I want to make is something some of you hard-core workers may not relate to so easily, since I was one not all that long ago…however, today I will try and explain about roots, and how I seem to have grown some.

In my pre-parenthood years, I had literally no roots.  I thought of myself as a nomadic spirit.  Having been a boarder through my teenage years, then spent time at university, roots seemed like a slightly backward thing that only simple people needed.

How wrong was I?

As a mum who spends most of her time at home, I can tell you it can be very lonely.  You crave adult company, and when you find it, through toddler groups, the school playground and the like, you make some very good friends.

All those years in the past you have managed to keep those roots to yourself with ease, and you don’t care where you live because you never see it in daylight anyway…you know you’ll move within a couple of years, and you won’t miss anyone or anything.  In years to come you’ll have a fond, hazy recollection of the good times, and put the bad times to the back of your mind.

But once you give up your job to look after the children, you really can’t help yourself.  Unless you deliberately set out to become a hermit, you’re pulled into the vortex of chaos and delight that is the life surrounding your children.  And your life is full again – you are no longer lonely.

So, even though we have wanted to do this for literally years, the idea of moving house is still a wrench.

Don’t get me started on how the children feel about the possibility of leaving all their friends and their lovely school life.

I’d better stop before I start sobbing into the keyboard…