The stresses of moving house with kids

I was surprised at how calm I was. There I was standing in a small orange-lit estate agent’s office being handed the keys to my first house by a guy named Aaron, and it was, as Bjork might say, ‘Oh so quiet’. No cameramen, no brass band, no ghosts of descendants patting me on the back.
It only hit me when I walked out the agent’s door and a little bell went ding-a-ling. We had a house.