They’re underrated commodities…

Those of you who actually read my Yorkshire thoughts – and I hope that’s most of you – may remember that said tranquillity was rather dramatically invaded last year by one-year-old twins, a three-year-old, and their long-suffering parents.

All courtesy of a house sale and purchase derailed by the discovery of Japanese knotweed.

Well. I have news.

The second week of February will see the sale finally completed. After much botanical head-scratching, professional (and expensive) tutting, and probably several cups of strong tea, it has been decided that the property can be mortgaged – provided there’s an annual treatment plan in place.

And just like that, the end is in sight.

What surprises me is this: I’ll miss it.

I’ll miss the hustle and bustle when moving day comes. Even the Lego landmines – Lego and bare feet being a pain capable of bringing a grown adult to their knees in seconds – second only, I should add, to the used nappy landmine. Don’t ask.

I’ll miss the steadily expanding toy collection that has now completely overpowered Mrs Pardoe’s once-immaculate interior design standards. We did try. We really did. But at some point, resistance became futile.

And the broken sleep.

Oh boy, the broken sleep!

I even found myself writing a client proposal at 03:00 one morning after accepting that sleep was a lost cause, drowned out by a trio of cries and, somewhere in the distance, the TV replaying Paddington in Peru. I swear I know the script by heart.  No, scrap that, I know all the Paddington film scripts by heart!

When we first moved into the property, it had a local reputation for being haunted – folklore linked to its past life as a 1700s coaching inn.

I suspect the last few months have performed an exorcism worthy of a Hollywood blockbuster. Even the most determined ghostly spirit has admitted defeat in the face of synchronised human wails and the repeatedly played storylines of a bear from Peru with a liking for marmalade sandwiches…

But here’s the bit that stays between us… deal?

I’ll miss the morning shouts of “Gaga” – the twins’ earnest attempt at “Grandad” – no matter how early they chant my nickname in unison. I’ll miss the outstretched hands demanding a Gaga cuddle, and I’m quietly proud to say I’ve mastered the art of ignoring whatever might have been in those hands moments earlier.

I’ve also developed what can only be described as a highly advanced immune system, courtesy of three small walking petri dishes. Beats any vaccination known to medical science.

Above all, I’ll miss being able to see – and contribute to – three little people’s development in a way that goes far beyond the usual grandparent “popping in for a visit”. Shaping, positively, a child’s development has been an absolute privilege and a responsibility I’m immensely proud to hold.

It’s been one hell of a ride.

Exhausting. Chaotic. Unexpectedly wonderful.

And yes…

I’ll miss it.