LAST WORD

EARTHMOTHER

Claire Ashbourne sorts out the kitchen junk drawer to prepare for her family's next move

IN THREE WEEKS WE MOVE HOUSE. I’ve done not one bit of packing yet. Just can’t. Too busy with ordinary life. Plus I always have this putting off strategy which doesn’t necessarily serve me well. Homework? Was always night before. Same with exam revision. And birth preparation: Like really – could there possibly be an actual baby in there? I’ll hold off if that’s ok, wait and see at the end of labour.... Getting in shape for the summer? Well, May still seems a bit too early.

So three weeks seems an endless time to dawdle through. I still need to order packing boxes. I did sort out the kitchen junk draw (one of them). And the shoe cupboard. So I feel like I’m pretty much halfway there. I’ve got this! I tell myself. And relieved, go back to snipping up old catalogues with the girls. Am I glad to be moving? Kinda. Yes. Relieved mostly. Our landlord is selling up and so we sort of have to move. We looked at 21 houses before finding this new one. 21! That makes me sound fussy. Like I wandered around, all picky, inspecting for dust or not wide enough skirting. But really three fell through and it turned out that some didn’t want pets. Or kids. Or pets and kids. I understand. If I had a house of my own and was going to entrust it to some stranger I’d hope they had neither. And worked long hours. So my house could be returned all nice again. Without unidentifiable carpet stains, a punched through cat flap or permanent marker pen scribbles on 165 year old wooden sash window frames (I didn’t make that one up and I’m still weeping a bit about that poor wood).

With all of this under my belt I’m feeling confident we can move on and wreck another house. I mean, love it. We currently live in a town house and before that deep in the country. Windy lanes, no street lights, no neighbours etc etc. This time we are moving to a village. Just outside of the city. Midway between both of our previous and current. Like we ran at breakneck speed into the city all peasant like and now are backing up a bit. Dazzled and coughing with exhaust fumes. I am interested to see if this works for us. I hope so. It will be

''WE STILL HAVE A COUPLE OF BOXES IN THE CELLAR. UNPACKED. I DARE NOT LOOK. SHOULD I SIT FOR TWO HOURS SIFTING THROUGH OLD JUNK?"

another experiment in family living. Mainly if it works for my eldest son who is vastly independent and gets about his daily life on his bike; soon his daily life will involve a bus journey too. He might be a bit apprehensive about this. Because his previous experiences with school buses were horrid (un-policed bullying madness all concentrated in a small vehicle you couldn’t escape from). At least this will be a regular ordinary bus, ferrying ordinary sedate people to the city for work. I hope he can relax and listen to music. Rest before his busy day kicks in. I always love the feeling of taking public transport alone (retrospectively it seems like even more of an unimagined luxury - time to sit and think! All alone.... bliss!).

The other kids are quite a bit excited. Because they crave less traffic and a woods just behind our house to run about in. Did I mention less traffic? It’s bothered us a lot living here. Despite being set back from the road this old house actually shakes and rattles when lorries go by. I want to pat and soothe it. Don’t worry. Soon we will run out of petrol! All will be good again for you!

After brief spurts of excitement, like me, the kids get on with the day and forget all about moving. It won’t feel real until perhaps I pack a box. Then

I shall be unable to stop. Like a crazed hyper mad woman. Everything will be willy-nilly thrown in and taped up and labelled and stacked. And on and on.

That’s how I get stuff done. Right at the end. Deadline a minute or two away. It’s how I always function best. Or maybe not exactly best.

Perhaps I am just my best version of efficient. When I had a job in a wine bar as a late teen, the busier the bar became, the more drinks I had to serve, the more of a whirlwind I had to be; the happier and calmer I felt. The more competent. It’s a good feeling. Right now I am still in roll the eyes, get out the sewing machine and sew a quilt instead mode. That’s also good. My husband doesn’t see it in quite the same light, but whatever. It works for me. Reorganising and redistributing and refining your worldly goods, that’s a goody. You can get rid of so much stuff! Exciting. And at last minute you can be so much more ruthless. Chop chop gone. Admittedly I sort of end up doing a lot at the other end when unpacking. I’m all wtf? Why did I bring that? That happened a lot when we moved here two years ago. We still have a couple of boxes in the cellar. Unpacked. I dare not look. What to do with these boxes is a mystery. Donate unopened to a charity shop? Throw into a skip? Open and sit for two hours sifting through old junk? Probably the last option. Which is why I still can’t bear to look. I’d rather turn my back and get on with that quilt... and relax.

Claire is a home maker, home educator, sometimes even home birther. Urban dwelling mother of four seeks sanity by writing about daily life. Beauty, mud and dog hair included

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AUGUST/SEPTEMBER 2015 www.thegreenparent.co.uk