I know I keep wanging on about this, but we are currently mid (actually, about three quarters of the way through) our extension.
The house is in complete upheaval. As I type this, the side windows and the kitchen doors are being removed creating temporary death traps for the children who might unwittingly spill into the floorless, tool-strewn rooms adjacent.
Part of me is very much ‘why the hell didn’t we just move?’.. I suppose, being honest for a moment it’s really not been that bad at all. This is the first time we’ve had anyone inside the house; the noise, dust and the general inconvenience has been kept to a minimum. Naps haven’t completely flown out of the window because the small one can apparently sleep through anything when properly motivated.
But even so…
With the prospect of painting a whole house on the horizon, moving somewhere bigger does seem like it would have been easier…
When it comes down to it though, I just can’t imagine living somewhere else, and not just because we’d have to win the lottery first.
When we first moved to this house back in 2008, we spent a long time looking at houses and it quite quickly went from really, really exciting to thoroughly depressing.
We saw tiny places, we saw places right on the railway line, we saw places that looked nothing like their pictures and more like the scene of a horror movie. We saw places with no garden, we saw places with no parking, we saw places with sofas strewn on the lawn. We saw places that were great, but that we couldn’t afford.
And then we saw this place.
And it had everything we wanted in a house; it had parking, it had a garage and outhouses to store things in and a lovely big garden. It had a conservatory. It needed a lick of paint here and there, but we didn’t have kids at the time so it wasn’t a problem. We could see past its faults; we had all the time in the world to make it our own.
I can still recall the nerves; we didn’t want to appear too eager so we left it a day before organising a second date…er, I mean viewing. I remember going back for the second time, hoping it was still as wonderful as we’d remembered it to be. Introducing the house to my parents. Putting in an offer and not sleeping until it was rejected; the panic, then making a second offer which was finally accepted.
It was a lot more stressful than meeting my husband and getting married, I’ll tell you that much.
So yes, occasionally the grass may seem greener on the other side, but all I have to do is remember why I loved it in the first place. I can’t wait for it to be finished and for our family to grow up in it.
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