Moving

Flurries of activity; sweeping through the house like a dervish, decluttering, cleaning, tying loose ends together with the help of the plumber and builder I’d procrastinated about hiring for a full year. Finally a working shower, a new back door. Countless trips to the charity shop, to the tip – sorry, recycling centre – with sacks of garden waste, broken electronics, two no-longer-working lawn mowers. Lily refused to give up the ancient armchair that she had utterly destroyed by squatting on during her “L from Deathnote” phase. She sat in it defiantly strumming her guitar while I asked her repeatedly to drag the bag of garden waste round to the front of the house ready to go to the tip. We were moving in a couple of days, everything had to be ready for the packers – because yes, I went all out and hired a removals firm to pack our belongings as well as shift them. It was well worth the price of my sanity, plus the house was so small that there was nowhere to put the boxes in the meantime! Ivy insisted on packing up her own room in advance, using up all the boxes we had. Lily tried to insist on doing the same, but 3 days before the packers arrive we discovered her room was a maelstrom of belongings, clothes, papers, rubbish, piled high and strewn across every surface.Thankfully she grudgingly accepted Ivy’s help in getting her room cleared (I was not allowed in her room, and too tired to argue with her), the wheelie bin crammed full of junk after a couple of hours of Ivy’s Marie Kondo style intervention. I could hear their voices through the bedroom door, Ivy patiently asking Lily to focus on whether she wanted to keep a particular book, while Lily hit distraction after distraction as she re-encountered childhood favourites; “Oh wow, look at this Corvette!”

Miraculously, the house sold within 4 weeks – after the first wave of potential buyers came through and dismissed it as “needing updating,” a young woman fell in love with the quirks of our tiny Victorian terrace. We had an offer accepted on a house near to Ivy’s new school, only for the seller to pull out the week after I’d spent £500 having a survey done. Although it was brutally frustrating, the survey then showed up major problems with the roof, and the vendor pulling out made the decision for me rather than having to agonise over whether to continue with the purchase. Moving 150 miles away meant that house viewings had to be arranged with military precision – a Folder of Organisation accompanied us at all times, potential viewings pencilled into half hour slots, my phone buzzing with return calls from estate agents. We stayed at my parents’ house, about an hour away from the town we were hoping to move to, spending several weekends endlessly driving around while Ivy clutched the Folder of Organisation and we debated the overall scores we were awarding to each house. I tried to keep it as fun as possible, and Krispy Kremes were purchased at frequent intervals, but Stress sat on my shoulders throughout, the stress of having to navigate unknown streets on a tight timescale, the stress of having to find us a suitable new home that we could move to before term started in September. When our purchase fell through, it looked as if we were going to have to put our belongings into storage and move in with my parents – thankfully my buyer decided to delay Completion by a month, and we were able to find a new home in that time. The major sticking point throughout was the third bedroom issue; the poor design of most postwar UK homes leads to 2 decent size bedrooms and one tiny boxroom – perhaps navigable with small children, but an impossible situation with teenagers, neither of whom was willing to accept such a small bedroom. In the worst cases it was hard to see how a full-sized single bed would even fit – the estate agent described one such room as a “cot” room, while I pointed out that I’d have to cut Lily’s legs off to have any chance of her fitting into it.

During the same timescale, I’ve also been navigating an EHCP application for Lily to try and set up the support she needs for college, and her PIP application, plus trying to support her through the GCSEs she steadfastly refused to study for. We had to tour the schools in the new town, then apply and appeal for a place for Ivy – an appeal which the panel refused to hear due to a technicality, even though they knew we’d driven 150 miles specifically for it, and would now have to immediately drive back again. We trialled a reduction in Lily’s epilepsy medication, only to discover that sadly, she’s not grown out of the condition and still required the full dose (thankfully she only experienced minor “absence” seizures in this time, rather than a full blown tonic-clonic seizure.) It’s been a ridiculously stressful time. I’m hoping that Autumn will be a time of settling, of being able to take time to set up our new home while we all adjust to our new life. Hoping that we can brush off some of the stress, like dust, as we settle into our new life, new town, new way of life.

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