Since my last, rather heated, post about the nastiness of some recent events, when I was trying not to let the blood-curdling anger bubble over and into the words of the blog (I’m not sure that I succeeded entirely, but it was at least readable and not a total rant), we have experienced some more good news. We spent the weekend in our soon-to-be home town, and found ourselves a house. Not just any house, either, a crooked little early-19th century house (the estate agent called it ‘quirky’). If you’re not that keen on history, that will have meant nothing. History geeks, I understand your envy.
It took me a while after receiving that letter last week to calm down and recognise it for the red herring that it was (although there may be some questions for my solicitors to answer). After consulting my lovely SIL, who has some legal knowledge relating to what I mentioned, Frank and I realised that that is all it was: a vision from a nightmare and no more. Life has given me enough waking nightmares that pretend ones don’t wash any more.
I have just over two weeks to pack up our whole house, while maintaining normality like the school run and gymnastics classes. HRH has decided he doesn’t like his current school, so is delighted to move. If it had been the other way around we would have had some terrible battles in the coming weeks. I thank God for small mercies! I have my suspicions the new school will be just the same and what he really doesn’t like is a) having autism and b) teachers telling him what to do… but time will tell. It works in my favour for now, at least!
Squidge is becoming more and more Asperger’s-like, which is becoming more of a difficulty, so we will be finding out how to go about getting a diagnosis in the new area. And Tinkerbell has graciously said she doesn’t mind moving to a new school, and is looking forward to it.
It’s all a rather big adventure, as Enid Blyton might say. We’ve been reading Blyton at bedtime. It’s starting to rub off. Jolly hockey sticks, eh what? Tally ho!