Since I had Anna, one of the elements of the Christmas story which really resonates with me is Mary wandering around Bethlehem, knowing that she was about to give birth, but not knowing where, or having a place to keep her new baby safe afterwards. I can’t imagine many things worse. It wrings my heart to think of how many parents across the world are still in that situation today.
However, this blog is focussing on the positives, and the things I personally have to be grateful for.
My house, the warm, cosy, comfortable, secure home, where we can bring up our daughters safely is very high on the list.
This house has felt like home since the first moment I stepped over the threshold. We had been looking to move for a while, feeling that, with an almost three year old and the possibility that we might have another baby at some point, we were outgrowing our tiny two up, two down terrace. Anna and I came to view this house one cold, snowy February evening not long before her third birthday. She was grumpy because the only time I had been able to schedule the viewing clashed with her teatime. We both had cold wet feet from wading through the slush to get here. And yet, the second I walked in, these minor irritations vanished and I knew we had found our forever home.
As the estate agent showed me round I abandoned my little notebook with lists of all the things husband and I had considered ‘essential’ or ‘desirable’ in our new house and which I usually ticked off, as I looked round. Instead I was mentally decorating and arranging our furniture. At the end of the 20 minute viewing I made an offer of the full asking price, even though my husband had never seen it. Our marriage doesn’t normally operate like that; the opposite, we normally talk and discuss at length until we reach a consensus. This time though, rather like when I met husband himself, I just knew it was right.
This being the London property market there were quite a few ups and downs before we actually exchanged contracts (by which time husband had actually seen, and luckily loved, the house!). During the process we got to know the couple who were selling it quite well. They are artists, in their late fifties or early sixties, and were taking early retirement to go and live down on the Kent coast. At the moment our solicitor phoned to say we had completed, husband and I were standing in their (now our) dining room, drinking champagne with them. Having had that friendly relationship with them adds to the warm and positive vibes I always get from our house.
I love my home in all its guises. When it is being trashed by Anna and her friends playing ‘landslides’ (all the sofa cushions, pillows, blankets etc in the house piled up in the middle of the living room so they can throw themselves off the denuded sofa onto it), or when, as now it is calm and quiet because husband has taken Anna to her swimming lesson with Sophia in tow so that I can have a blogging break. And make macaroni cheese with pancetta, spinach and sweetcorn for tea when they get home. I love it when it is full of friends or family eating and laughing and enjoying themselves, and I love it when it is just me and my husband sharing a quiet dinner together or Anna and I having a hot chocolate after school, or Sophia determinedly learning to climb upstairs and down again with me shadowing her protectively. I love it in summer when the doors stand open and we can eat in the garden, and I love it at Christmas when it is full of fairy lights and holly from the tree in our front garden. I love that both my girls have their own room with their own soft warm bed and space for their own little treasures. But I also love that one of the rooms is big enough that, if they wanted to, they could share it when Sophia is older.
I love the feeling of peace and security which envelopes me here, even if things in other areas of my life are going wrong. I love that the house is a constantly evolving reflection of our changing lives. The spare bedroom became a nursery. Husband has had a lot of work to do at home lately, so a corner of our dining room has become a home office (aka totally disorganised pile of papers with a laptop teetering on top). Baskets of baby toys are now in the corner of most rooms, and are about to be joined by a bright yellow, plastic, ride-on duck. Ahem. Anna’s toys take up less room now, but her shelves of ‘chapter books’ are continually expanding. There is an ongoing tension between my need to at least attempt to keep things relatively clean and tidy, and my family’s need to leave as many of their possessions as possible scattered over the floor. Luckily, though, I am not a real neat freak (stop laughing, Mum), and so generally we have a slightly chaotic but cosy and comfortable home which makes us all happy.