When we moved to this little corner of Devon at the beginning of the school holidays it all felt very exciting. The sun was shining hot heat over the pretty hills and the sandals and strappy tops on the high street made it feel like a holiday.

Two weeks passed and the holiday vibe was replaced with something else.

My (teacher) husband was off work and my three year old’s pre-school was closed for the holidays. We had days out and trips away, but I still had to work, albeit from home. Life was still exciting, but I craved a bit of stability and routine. I think that craving was partly due to the fact we are only temporarily renting our house, so it felt even more like a holiday home. 

This time last week I was sad that summer was over. I already missed the long days on the beach and rambles over the moor. I dreaded the pre-school dash in the morning and cramming the extra work hours into my shorter working day. But, at the same time, I was eager to return to a sense of normality. I was ready for it to feel less like a holiday and more like our life.

So, summer is now officially over. But you know what? That’s OK. The last week has been brilliant. We are starting to feel settled. We have a new routine.

Frog LOVES pre-school. We get to wander down the hill together in the morning when I drop her off and I feel like part of a club, as I smile at the other mums at the gates. This is simple stuff, but they are things I missed when I was working on a breakfast radio show alongside my freelance writing work, pulling 80 hour working weeks and being out of the door at 4.30am. The work was fun, but so is walking down the road listening to the chatter of my story-telling three year old.

People are friendly here. There is a slower pace of life, I feel less stressed and frantic. I get no Internet signal outside of the house, so I can’t surreptitiously check my phone for emails. I like that. My three year old likes that. People know when they can get hold of me so I don’t worry about being available 24/7.

We have a little routine going on. Afternoons are spent doing stuff. Eating cake in a cafe, meandering down to the library or the park, going to swimming lessons or playing at home.

For the first time since becoming a mum I have a regular two evenings a week to myself doing non-work, non-mum stuff, at a Yoga and a Zumba class. I even enjoy the walk there (although not so much when it’s raining). I’m starting to wonder if this is what “normal” feels like.

Of course there are bouts of stress or anxiety, as I fret about hitting deadlines and keeping on top of work. But, mostly, I am managing the juggle. I enjoy my mornings working, even. It adds balance to the mum stuff.

Summer’s over, but that’s OK. I’m looking forward to seeing what autumn brings.

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Do you ever feel like you need to turn down the noise?

Yesterday was one of those days. As my To Do list reverberated around my head, pestering me with taunts of jobs and tasks that I barely had time to complete, I managed to forget about it all for a while as I visited a pretty special place.

Nestled down a narrow country lane near Dartmouth, The Fast Rabbit Farm Gardens lie waiting to be discovered.

With 30 acres of secluded land in the Strawberry Valley, it’s so peaceful you can (quite literally) only hear the bees hum. Of course my three old changed that with her usual loud chatter, but still.

I’m no gardening expert, but I can appreciate a pretty flower when I see one. The Fast Rabbit is full of them. But it’s not like your usual garden centre. In fact, this place is so quiet that we were the only ones there, wandering through the beautiful lines of flowers and watching the bees at work.

Once we’d taken in the pretty specimens, we strolled out into the woodland, down windy paths shaded by huge canopies of trees.

We found a lake, complete with picture-perfect lily pads and lazy fish gulping at flies. It was the perfect spot for a picnic.

Sometimes turning the noise off for a while is the only thing to do. I highly recommend it.

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A few days ago I had a wobble.

I worried that we’d uprooted our three year old from everything she knew and that she wasn’t happy. I over-thought everything and, rather than just cracking on with the business in hand of settling in, I panicked.

Tantrums are exhausting, but tantrums every ten minutes are MIND BLOWINGLY exhausting. I was tired, unsettled, still living amongst boxes and not entirely sure we’d done the right thing by moving 200 miles from Berkshire to South Devon. 

Turns out I was wrong to worry.

The house is unpacked. The tantrums have abated (mostly) and the area is starting to feel familiar. Funny how quickly we become normalised to things once we wake up to them every day.

We have made the most of the NLM’s school holiday no-working hours and my flexible working hours, to get out and explore where we live. I have a post coming up about the brilliant day we had today near Dartmouth.

We had another trip to the beach yesterday and then a few hours in Totnes along with a picnic by the river on Tuesday.

It’s starting to feel like home.

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Things don’t always make sense. You sort of understand, but there are murky bits that don’t fit together. You think you know everything and you want to do it all by yourself, but you can’t. Not yet.

Frog is going through what I believe parenting experts call a “challenging phase”. Relocating to an entirely new area (even if it is one she loves), coupled with her already strong sense of independence and “switched on” attitude, is proving a little tricky. 

It would be easy to write this blog and articles elsewhere, offering a rosy view of life. I could stick to talking about the wonderful family days out, funny things my child says and nice products I want to buy. But that wouldn’t paint a true picture of our life.

As my little diva grows, I’m aware of the need to strike a sense of balance between protecting my three year old’s privacy and not just showing the good stuff.

So. We have moved to a beautiful part of the world. We wake in the morning to views of fields and sunlit valleys. It’s all very picturesque and peaceful. There are a million and one places to explore and days out to be had. Yet, the last couple of days have been difficult.

Of course they have; moving is never easy. Even though we have moved somewhere that my child loves, her behaviour is proof that she is still getting used to the idea that this is her home. Tantrums are part and parcel of being three, I suspect. But, as vocal as Frog is, tantrums every ten minutes are extreme even for her.

I have never heard the word, “NO!” shouted so frequently and so loudly as I have the past few days. A slight hint of things not going her way results in screams of frustration, a red face, tears and sometimes lashing out at the nearest toy or – a couple of times – me.

It’s a physically exhausting business at the best of times, let alone when you’re living amongst boxes and still striving to meet work deadlines. All my instincts tell me this is a phase, an inevitable result of turning my three year old’s life upside down, something we will ride out together. But, in the heat of tantrum battle, that reasoning isn’t always easy to remember.

For the first time ever, we have had to sit down and discuss a proper “approach” to the issue. The (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine and I have never had an “approach” type of attitude to parenting. Indeed, we both flinch at the term “parenting”, preferring to think of the act of being parents as part of life. Basically, we live life, we muddle along through, we don’t read any “manuals” and prefer to act on instinct.

This time, however, we have had to agree that our instinct needs to be channelled into a “plan”. So we have a reward chart, lots of praise at the ready, some lovely things planned for family days, along with the readiness to take toys away for behaviour that just won’t do. Plus, the dreaded naughty step in times of crisis.

I’m all for listening to my child and being patient. I try to see things from her point of view as much as possible. But I also know that my little girl thrives with clear boundaries and consistency. I’m no parenting guru. I don’t always have the answers to how to deal with difficult situations, but I still think that, in this case, my instinct is right.

In fact, this is a strange post to find myself writing, because I rarely write about “approaches” and techniques etc. To be honest, I find it all a bit boring and introspective.

Easy to dismiss it all though, when you don’t need it. Today, I need all the approaches and techniques that I can get.

What would you do?

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It’s not been the easiest of weeks. Down to Devon, back to Berkshire, back to one side of Devon (parents), then over to the other. But we are here. We made it.

South Devon. Our new home. 

The last couple of days has involved boxes, more boxes, and more boxes still. It’s been a week of no Internet connection, so in many ways a kind of peaceful calm has presided, as I haven’t had the work / unpacking / child entertainment juggle.

It’s also been a time of exploring the area, discovering tiny ponies, a beach, taking in views and eating icecream.

Our first week, wow.

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It turns out moving house is quite a different experience when you throw kids and work into the mix. In my overly optimistic mind I thought it might be as easy as chucking a few clothes into a suitcase and bunging them into a van. I wish.

After going through the hell that is moving with a family, I thought I’d bring you some tips for what not to do, if you ever find yourself in a similar situation.

1. Do your own packing

Packing everything yourself is really fun. No really, it is. You get to rediscover things you thought you never had. Plus, the process takes absolutely ages, so you end up living amongst boxes for at least a week.

It means your house turns into a cross between an assault course and a campsite – fun! Also, you get to spend all that money you’ve saved by doing the packing yourself, on takeaways and pub meals. So, by the end of the moving period, you not only look haggard from exhaustion, but you’re at least a stone heavier too. Result!

2. Do not prepare food for moving day

Sensible people prepare things like sandwiches and salads the day before a big move, realising that their fridge will be out of action. But we’re not sensible, we’re fun, live-on-the-edge type people. Plus, we’ve been too busy packing to think about food.

To do moving the fun way, forget about food until everyone gets really grumpy and you have a big family row, then dash to the nearest supermarket and spend £20 on three pre-packed (unhealthy) sandwiches and some crisps. While you’re there, forget to buy food for when you eventually arrive at your destination, offering your family the delight of yet more sandwiches and crisps for their tea.

3. Move house on the hottest day of the year

Moving house is fun, but a little too easy. To make it more challenging, plan your move for the hottest day of the year. Then pack all of your summer clothes so you are forced to complete the move in thick jeans and a long-sleeved T’shirt. More fun still, move to a house 200 miles away and make sure your car’s air con is broken. Driving in a hot car, wearing thick jeans, with a grumpy, hungry family makes for lively and spirited conversation en-route!

4. Ignore all the good things about your new home

Ignore the beautiful views and the stunning location. Do not even think about discussing all the other benefits, like cheaper house prices, proximity to family and lower living costs. Instead, focus only on the negatives, like the smaller front room and unsightly carpet. This will lead to yet more lively conversation, as above.

5. Continue to work

Do not take any time off work for moving. Instead, cram the entire move into one weekend, dismissing any unpacking period as for “wimps”. It leads to increased blood pressure and a week on a friend’s floor as you complete your last week of work before the school holidays. My husband tells me that this is good for stamina and a test of the endurance of a relationship.

If you have any other tips for how not to move house, please do share!

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The past two days seem to have gripped me in a fever of procrastination. As I attempt to do anything but pack yet more boxes, I’ve become a master in the art of Delaying Tactics.

As a fully fledged expert, I can now share my top tips with you, as I strive to get at least some benefits from my less than useful state of mind.

Tip Number 1: Paint some chairs…

Tip Number 2: Paint some nails…

Tip Number 3: Blog about it…

Pending my work deadlines, I’ve now run out of procrastination inspiration. My shabby nails are painted, my shabby chairs are painted – I’ve even waved a duster in the direction of the bathroom.

There is nothing more I can do to put off packing the rest of the contents of my house before the removal men come on Saturday and move us 200 miles west to Devon.

Wish me luck, I’m going in.

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Our last weekend has been spent eating ice cream in the boiling heat, berating the lack of a paddling pool (and using an oven cleaning tray instead), packing, packing and more packing, stacking, catching glimpses of the historic Andy Murray Wimbledon victory as we lugged boxes past the living room, shouting the score to whoever was at the top of the ladder, attempting to stop an inquisitive three year old from unpacking everything…

And then giving up the lot and heading to the pub for tea.

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