We're moving out of my parents' house

Here's how the past seven months of multigenerational living has been.

It all happened quite suddenly.

I had one child who had was finding school progressively difficult and another who would be applying for secondary school the following year.

There was a secondary school that I was sure my daughter would love to go to but it was in north London and we were in Frome, in Somerset.

We’d uprooted just two years previously, so we couldn’t relocate again. Also, my youngest had just started reception and while he wasn’t loving it, he was doing ok.

But the child who wasn’t coping at school wanted a new start and liked the idea of returning to London. I hoped that a neuroaffirming school might be better for him.

My daughter was also open to moving back to London: nearer to my family and to a secondary school that might suit her (creative, laidback, no uniform).

Plus, I wanted to be nearer to my family. I often leave this part out because it’s ok to make a big change for your children but not for yourself, as the mother.

However, over time, I’ve been reminded of the importance of keeping your own needs and your children’s needs managed and aligned, as the two are interwoven.

If the mother feels supported, she can better support her children.

I say ‘mother’ rather than ‘parent’, because the childcare duties remain - statistically - weighted much more heavily towards the mother.

After lots of deep and heated discussions, the decision was made: we’d return to London to try and get the education we wanted for each of our children.

I applied for a primary school near to my parents, where my brothers’ kids go, and assumed it would be a year before we got a place. But in a few weeks, we were in.

I couldn’t believe it. All three children had a space at the same school. It felt like a miracle. A door opening. But also, a big door was closing - and quite quickly.

We wouldn’t be able to sell our house in Frome, as it wasn’t yet finished (we’d bought a wreck to renovate and my husband was still working on it).

So, we asked my parents if the kids and I could move in with them, while my husband stayed behind to finish the work.

Luckily, they said yes and a month later, we’d packed our bags and quite a few toys and landed in London, to set up home in my parents’ house.

I felt excited. Also scared. Another house move, another school. But I was surrounded by family and support and that is what got me through those difficult first weeks.

It was interesting remembering how to live with other people. My parents have their rituals and customs, and they are different to mine.

They set up for breakfast the night before; plan meals a week in advance; fold away the laundry as soon as it’s dry; take clothes straight to the charity shop.

I get out breakfast bowls or plates at breakfast time; plan meals 20 minutes before I make them; let laundry pile up; keep charity clothes in the hall for months.

I mean, we can see who is living more efficiently.

But it’s just not how my husband and I do things, and I’ve learned that that’s ok.

We let our kids paint directly onto the kitchen table; we’re relaxed about screen-time; our garden is a mess of mud kitchens and filthy tractors.

We are not so efficient with our processes but we have a pretty laidback approach to how the house and garden are used, and this encourages creativity.

My parents like their way; we like our way. I’ve done my best to follow their (pretty relaxed) rules while we’ve been staying with them. And they have been very flexible and accommodating with us.

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My parents and I have spent the past seven months having breakfast together every morning and diving into some of the deepest conversations I’ve ever had.

About parenting, the children - each of their needs - and what we think will work.

One of my children was hopeful about the new school but it became hard again. I suspected it might but wanted to try one last mainstream state school (his third).

When we could see it wasn’t working, we tried to find other solutions - temporary, permanent - and to put them in place.

We have made plans, strategised, taken it in turns to soothe upset children. They have watched two kids so that I can have time with the third.

My parents have helped us more than I can ever thank them for. In return, we have probably aged them by about a decade.

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Over the past few weeks, as our time together has been drawing to a close, my mum and I have asked each other, several times: will you miss living here/having us living here?

To which the answer is always: not. at. all.

And then laughter.

But I have told my mum, in more honest moments, that I will never regret having had this time with them. They are getting older - not that old, but who knows how much longer we have.

It’s been really hard, at times, this past seven months. The move, motherhood, being apart from my husband, wondering if I made the right decision.

However, my parents are optimists. They never sit and dwell on the negative. They get up, make changes, try new approaches and work their arses off until there’s a fix.

And I like to think I’ve picked this up from them.

I see life as an adventure and motherhood as an on-going job. I love it when I get a holiday from ‘fixing’; when there’s a moment of calm. But it rarely lasts long.

So we keep going: identifying what’s hard, talking it through, looking for different options and solutions, enjoying the bits that are working well.

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Yesterday, my daughter told me she was sad that it was soon the summer holidays, because she loves school. My youngest boy agreed. It warmed my insides.

I feel gutted for my boy who can’t make it into school right now, and who may not be able to return, but we will find what works for him.

In the meantime, knowing that the other two are pleased we made this move - they have made new friends, they are enjoying London, they like school - means so much.

The limbo space we’ve been living in for the past half a year will be shifting to something more permanent, come September.

We’ll be renting, temporarily, but our family will be back together, we will be trying a new option for our middle boy and our other two will remain in the school routine.

For me, that feels less like limbo. Though my daughter has aired her frustrations at yet another home. The fifth, in two years. After that, number six.

But then, we’ll properly settle.

First, though: the summer holidays.

We’re going to Frome for our final few weeks in the house before it (hopefully) sells. And then onto The Narrowboat for a rather cosy adventure.

It has been the fullest, most intense seven months of my life, I think. I suspect it’s been one of the more intense periods for my parents, too.

But we’ve all done our best.

And now: time to splat some paint across the table, get frustrated by how much laundry there is to put away and make some last-minute meals.

Annie x