A meaningful estate agent, who forgot to mention our unadopted road (ten years on).
A well meaning solicitor who didn't mention want to stress you with a seemingly insignificant issue to your buyer (quickly resolved with a red biro pen).
Emotions running high.
Moving experts who forget to mention it's your responsibility to empty the fridge, because this is clearly different to emptying your cupboards.
A dent in your fridge which now represents moving day.
Oddly, the bit about moving 9 month old twin sons and a 30 month old daughter is almost the painfree bit.
And the relocation of two cats and a dog would have been stress free had it not been for Mr J having to detour back to Leeds to sign one more bit of paper.
And, because of, and in spite of all that,
We are here.
Uncomprehending of why we'll ever move again (albeit a lottery win would be due motivation, but then, we'd have to start doing the lottery).
With an ever flourishing Welsh accent.
I think they still have mummy's accent.
But now, they are my walking, talking, independent boys.
Admittedly, the Welsh accent hasn't got him. Yet.
But I arrived home on Sunday evening,
And what did he offer me?
Seriously, he hasn't acknowledged it, but we are truly a Welsh family.