The devil made me do it!

*Gasp* what came over me? WHAT?
Things are moving waaaaaaay too fast! Go to see mum, come home 'FOR SALE' sign in my garden. Ack! H takes boys out, must clean, MUST clean, school breaks mean crunchy carpets and yoghurt and cheerios stuck to everything, clean, must clean......as I was vacuuming the hallway, I saw a dark shadow by the door.... KNOCK KNOCK, it was Ian from the agency that are SELLING MY HOME.
"Hello. I've come to take measurements"
"Oh, hmmmm, didn't know, come in, look at the mess or not by LOOK am cleaning, I do that sometimes, not enough though"......rattle chatter waffle, anything to stop myself puking or weeping or BEGGING him not to sell my home.
So, Ian who has 3 little boys and understands mess and knows all about yoghurt, walked around my home taking measurements and talking into his dictaphone thingumy.
He left his briefcase on my front room floor, open. I was still cleaning, sweeping and polishing, oh HORRORS, when I swept the grooves of the coffee table to get all those crunchy bits of 'start' cereal and cookies and what the hell IS that???? out.....I think, somehow, not sure how...I wonder, the crumbs may have gone in his briefcase, perhaps, probably, definitely. Also as he was talking into his little recorder and saying " Front room , delightful sash windows....." ( Me ..that are painted shut inside and out")
" Shower room, walk in shower..." ( me " that leaks into the kitchen so the ceiling is falling down")
I think the devil made me do it because it was just happening and even though he told me that they are working hard to sell to another investor I have given up on living here. A new landlord means a whole new list of changes, rent increases blah blah and anyway, this house- it's spoiled for me now, it isn't my home, it belongs to someone else who has too much power over how we live. I won't feel this is my home anymore, I am packing and getting ready for a move. It's over for me here, so new investor or not, we're going.
I am preparing for the assault on the council, the laying before them of my life's every detail. I shall pout my heart and soul out to them , and hand my family to them with faith that THEY will house us and let us stay in that home as long as we live, pay rent and don't firebomb the neighbours.
The snob in me is balking at the idea of living in a council house again, I loved my previous council houses but I hadn't been living in THIS house then, hadn't been flinging this grand address about as if I was lady of some manor. Pride comes before a fall they say. Yep.
One thing I do hope that comes from moving is that we will live near other children close to our boys. Little boys should be able to play on the street with their friends. Dan and Jordan were outside in the dirt with buddies until bath time every night in the summer, building camps and playing football. I would call them in for a bath and Jordan would howl " OHHHHHH! NO! I'll be GOOD, I'm sorry!" as if having to have a bath and go to bed was a hideous punishment. Dinner was shovelled in so that games could continue, Seth and Isaac seem happy with H's company, Seth would love to play out with the boys, not sure about Isaac... but Eli? That kid was MADE to be a street urchin, his knees attract muck like pins to a magnet. He has the perfect face for a street playing wretch. I can see him, in my minds eye, playing marbles and football, tag and hide and seek, building tents and eating sandwiches outside 'til it's dark. The neighbours will know his name as it is yelled asunder near bedtime every dusky evening. We shall hand out cookies and juice to all the kids in the street and memories shall be made. I hope.
If they play in the street here they'd get run over. They ask if they can call for Mr Shrub. who lives in our street and goes to our church...he's our age but the youngest and most lively person they know in the neighbourhood, I think a move might be good for them after all.
So, have to go and rescue them from the gate, that they keep climbing over........I shall avert my eyes so I don't see that FOR SALE sign. Wish us luck.

Over to you, God.

So, this moving thing? The whole new house, deal? It's freaking me out. My head hurts, my heart is pounding and the tears? Shut up!
I can tell myself ALL the positives, I know there are many, I understand that these things almost always happen for a reason. I know that if this hadn't happened, chances are I would be prepared to keep muddling along with all the things that aren't good for us, simply because I love this house.
I have lived, in my adult years in 3 countries, 18 houses/ homes. In all that I have NEVER been sad about moving, not once. I have been apprehensive and nervous and stressed with details but never sad, newness is exciting to me, new beginnings hold great promise. this time though, it is with the most incredible sadness.
My sensible head tells me that this is ridiculous, I can make a home anywhere. I know that wherever we end up it will be fine and I will make it lovely. But I REALLY love this house, I love where it is, I love the wonky doors, the lumpy walls, the creaks and sticking doors. I walk in the door and it is home. I am still not tired of saying this address, I still love walking in the front door, I love the smell of this house.
Walking out of the door and being right in town, walking to dance class, to the shops, to the park. The train and bus stations are 3 minutes away. I'm pretty sure that wherever we move will mean back to driving everywhere again. I hate that.
I hate to say that the whole thing has made me crash. I am sick.
I hope that it will be a fleeting relapse but whatever, right now I am fighting the need to shut off and shut down.
I do know that there is only so much I can do. Forms I will do, I hate them, I am convinced that the world and it's auntie know too much about me and mine as it is. I have a mountain of paperwork to fill in, all of it intrusive, all of it repetitive. I will do it.
I will make phone calls and plead and nag and state my case.
What I can 't do, can't even think about is look.
I can't trail internet agencies, drive around neighbourhoods, read property papers and look, see, build hopes, look forward and be told NO. Sorry, already let. No children. No benefits.
I am handing this one over to the Lord, kit and caboodle. With every ounce of faith I own I say to Him "Here we are, point me in the right direction"
I am doing my part and packing, clearing, dumping, crying, preparing and praying. I am listening and waiting for some guidance. I am completely at ease with this, I have done this with all the huge decisions in my life. It has always worked.
I am convinced that whatever the answer is .. it will come to me.
At some stage ( please let it be soon) I will find myself in front of a house or I will be told about a house, I will say the right thing to the right person or somehow that housing association will find our details at the top of their pile.
I am cautiously optimistic about the girl child. She wept, a lot. She was incredulous and afraid and then she was MAD! But now...she is, dare I say, almost excited. I think she might have a teeny glimmer of a vision of how being independent could be. She is job hunting, with real intent. YIPPEE AYE AY!
Jordan is fine, he has it in hand. He is ready.
H is perfect for me. This is not a time to pander to my fears. He is calm and gentle and just quietly says things like " this will be a good thing" and " Hmmmmm. Uh huh. Right. Yeah. Good. Really?" He also says things like " you sure you couldn't stay in bed longer?" and " I thought I would take the boys out for a few hours" He is glorious. Yes he is. Thankyou Lord for a man that may not say a lot but does much.

Oh good news .... my blood tests came back, all normal apart from my cholesterol levels which I tell you are EXCELLENT. There, fat I may be, cloggy I am not. Apparently, a normal level is 5. Mine is 3.2. I take a bow. No problems there then. I have a doctor's appointment on monday anyway just to discuss test results and chest pains etc, it would seem that all that breathing difficulty and tight chest etc must be panic attacks, that means I just have to learn to breathe through them and I am pretty good at that when I know that I won't drop dead.

I must say that I am so enjoying my boys lately. Each one of them is going through a fabulous phase right now, Eli is chatty and funny and dancing always. It must be in his blood, he hasn't had classes for a couple of weeks but he dances on. If music comes on he dances, he'll jump and say " Hey, diss music should go like DISS and he's off, he is a bit OTT, maybe there's a spot on a Barney DVD waiting for him ( he has never seen Barney, ever...but he has heard some Barney songs, he loves 'em)
Seth told us this week that he is addicted to sports. I believe him and crikey, he's good too, stuns me as he is such a nerd and a book worm but he shoots hoops and I bought them a tennis racket each today, the ball is attached to elastic so hooray, no belting that thing over the wall.
Isaac is just Isaac, delicious and perfect and touching and gorgeous.
I just want security for them, that elusive home that is part of every memory when they are grown. It will come and even if, heaven forbid, it doesn't..... I'm pretty sure that won't be too traumatic for them. Just for me.
I had a very therapeutic day today, I went into the store room and cleared it, took 2 van loads of stuff to the tip, using that 'haven't used it for 6 months......out it goes' rule. Chairs, cases, books, toys, clothes, boxes, curtains.....ahhhhhhhh gone. I am the very opposite of a pack rat, very often I wish I had kept something but the feeling is over fast enough, it's all stuff. I wish I had kept some memories I got rid of, but again...the greatest memories are where they can always be with me, in my heart. I get a huge buzz from throwing things out....actually it all goes to the reclamation yard to be resold or recycled. I don't throw too much away at all.
Ack, its nealy 1 am, I have to sleeeeeeeeeep. Sunday is not a day of rest in this house, the afternoons are but the mornings are insane. Night night.

P.S I just clicked on my world map thingamijig.....I LOVE it that people are still leaving messages. Thankyou. I found some new blogs to read and will be by your blogs soon!

Watching day.

It was watching day at dance class today, a mother's chance to sit in and see how her precious darling is doing in Mrs dance teachers class. Hopeless is how my darling is doing.
He is, of course divine. He adores the whole thing, and if enthusiasm and cuteness were factors, my boy would be the star of the class. He brought joy and smiles and I heard how edible he is, his dear legs just don't quite want to let him toe heel, tap and clap.
I cannot imagine what state I would be in should he ever be in any kind of production because, honestly I just have to look at those skinny legs in leggings, that little spider monkey face split in the biggest grin, watch those dear feet trying to get some kind of co-ordination going on and I am hopelessly lost to emotion.
He is quite good at the modern dance because it actually isn't really dancing, more running and skipping, rolling on the floor, wiggling toes and clapping. 3 year olds are good at that stuff.
I take my hat off to this teacher who saw her class falling into complete chaos because little people don't do well when mummy is in the room, at one stage it almost totally fell apart, circle time, yeay! everyone hold hands! Everyone did, Elijah held his right hand with a little girl, his left hand? Half of it up his nose...digging for victory, no half hearted attempt to clear his nasal passages, he meant business and in between digging he would hold out the hand and say "come on then!" as little girls took one look and scurried over to the child on the other end, therefore making a line, not a circle. The audience, small as it was, was pretty much in hysterics, I feigned indignation and said " What?? I can't imagine why no-one wants to hold my babies hand! What?! He's divine.......even his bogies are divine!"
Brave Mrs Teacher bridged the gap and held his bogie covered hand, she knows treasure when she sees it.
So, my dreams of a teeny tiny star of the stage took a bashing today but my heart took flight to see such unadulterated joy wearing tap shoes.
I wonder what makes people feel the urge to teach these little people to 'dance' what gives them so much patience to do it week after week and have to say over and over again
" sweetheart....shall we get off the windowsill and get in a line?"
" No....let's not hang off the rail..look it will fall off and hurt you"
" Quiet feet please"
All I know is, I am happy that there are people out there that choose to do it, so that mummies like me can sit and rub the goosepimples on their arms, wipe the tears from their eyes and thank their lucky stars that they can scrape together the fees every term to enable their babies to tap and stamp their way to glory.
2 weeks without dancing class, as the school is closed for the Easter holidays. I shall be sad when his legs go in the right direction ....another sign that the baby is leaving and he is growing up way too fast. So sweet to see him suck his thumb in between clapping and wiggling his fingers. These little baby things stop unnoticed, we just realise one day that they haven't done them for a while. I dread the day he doesn't want to play with our ears when he snuggles, can't stand to think of the day when he is embarrassed about wearing leggings and stops smiling at himself in the mirror as he skips and turns.
I'm glad for watching days, it reminds me to do just that. Stop and watch for those things that end too quickly.