I can't believe it's now February and that we left London three weeks ago; it already seems as though we've been here forever. For the record, moving to the country in mid-January isn't to be recommended unless you're extremely hearty and just love the cold. I am neither. I spent my first week driving Music Man (MM) to distraction with my incessant whining about the cold, while he gallantly soldiered on, unpacking boxes and ignoring me. I soon was forced to accept that there is quite a lot to do when you've got two children and a house full of Pickfords boxes other than obsess about drafts (although it does still occupy my mind 90% of the time). I was close to tears (of joy) when MM started unpacking a box of clothes which contained a pair of viyella tartan pyjamas I used to wear at university; suddenly going to bed was a pleasure once again (maybe more so for me than for my husband). On a brighter note, I didn't realise what extraordinary pleasure I would gain from opening my bedroom curtains every morning (wrapped up in a dressing gown and uggs on of course) and watching the sun rise over the horizon, transforming the sky into indescribable shades of pink and yellow. And from shutting my curtains at night and bidding farewell to a sky full of stars. Pure unadulterated bliss.
Everyone told me that having children would be the perfect way to meet people and I was fairly cynical; I make friends easily but I am terribly opinionated and struggle massively not to make snap judgments about people. On day one of dropping DD1 at nursery, DD2 and I were almost manhandled by one of the teachers into the weekly playgroup next door. Every instinct said "run" but I forced myself to deposit £1.50 in the tin by the door, plaster a huge smile across my face and go and introduce myself to a group of mothers with similar-aged toddlers. I tried not to let it show how utterly terrified (horrified) I was to find myself in the midst of twenty mummies in a village hall in the middle of nowhere, but lo and behold, before long I found I was actually enjoying myself.
Did I mention that DD1 is due to start school in September? I don't think I did. For anyone who lives in Central London this is a BIG deal. We all put our children down for carefully selected private schools at birth (sadly the alternatives round us were not an option) and we obsessed about whether we had made the right decisions. Moving to the country has changed everything and I am no longer in control. Suddenly I am in the state system (hallelujah, I never actually wanted them to go to a snooty school for rich London kids) but I can't call the shots anymore. We are beholden to catchment areas and selection criteria and have no say in anything. However, that's not the case if it's a church school and therein lies a tale... But more on that next time, my tartan PJs are beckoning, I must hasten to bed!
