2nd September, 2006 (10:50 am)
The Day I Realised What’s Happening (6)
I’ve been meaning to blog more lately, not least because a zillion things have happened and I’ve failed to commit any of them to written memory. Work’s suddenly picked up - both the day job and designing - so I’ve been putting in long, tiring days and passing out the moment I walk over the threshold. The house isn’t sold, but I still don’t want it to be, and have been considering telling our crap Estate Agent to fuck off and instead stay put and do my loft conversion/extension. I’ve been so busy living my life, I hadn’t given myself the chance to sit down and consider - really consider - what’s happening next week, but then yesterday it hit me: Sam is starting school.
I was absolutely fine with this until twenty-four hours ago. My mind was full of new chances and possibilities for Sam, new adventures, new skills and, of course, our bank account being £500 ($1000) a month better off. I was thinking that I’d put some money away over the next few months to maybe fund a trip to Lapland this winter to meet Santa Claus. I was thinking of how cute he’ll look in his little school uniform and how nice it will be for him to mix with other kids and hopefully come out of his shell a little more, away from the shadow of the boisterous little gets in creche.
And all of a sudden it’s hit me. Leaving the creche for the very last time yesterday (and let’s face it, leaving that place isn’t a hardship - we know that I’ve problems there) completely rammed home how big this is. My little boy’s going to school. My. Little Boy - This. Little. Boy.
It’s stupid and cliched, but it leaves me feeling so sad and wondering where the hell the time is going.
V xx
Comments: (6)
27th July, 2006 (7:42 am)
The Day There Was Lots of Interest (9)
By the end of just the first day on the market, we’d had three viewings booked.
I’m going to disguise myself as an old hag (shouldn’t take long) and lurk in the garden when the prospective buyees visit the house. I’ll tell them that the house was built on an ancient indian burial ground and that the current owners are rabid lunatics who, possessed by malevolent spirits, smear excrement on the walls and eat small children.
It’s only partly untrue.
V xx
Comments: (9)
25th July, 2006 (7:25 pm)
The Day I Think I Made A Mistake (10)
I think I’ve made a mistake.
I don’t think I’ve discussed this on here in much detail (by accident rather than design or deliberate concealment), but yesterday morning our house went on the market. Today it appeared on the internet (HA! if you think I’m linking you) and, fuck me, we already have viewings booked. This has taken on the momentum of the roadrunner on speed and the further down this road I tred, the more desperate I am to turn and run all the way back.
I wish to Christ that I could be decisive and live my life with focus and consistency. While professionally I’m able to make and stick to decisions with surprising firmness, I’m the complete polar opposite when it comes to my personal life. Which has led me to selling my house when, truthfully, I’m not 100% sure that that’s exactly what I want to do . . .
My problem is this: I make deep, long-lasting and patently stupid attachments to inanimate objects. I cry when we change cars, furniture, plants and clothing. Everything and anything in my life reminds me fondly of times past, and as I can barely change change the toilet paper without reminiscing, I hope you can see the predictament I’m in; this isn’t a bed or a plant or, you know, a yoghurt pot. This is our first marital home - S’s first ever home. How in the hell can I possibly give this place up?
We’re considering moving because we want to be back ‘home’ - home being a fifteen minute drive east of here and within walking distance of parents (well, you know, if I could be arsed to walk anywhere at all), in the catchment area for two incredibly good schools and being a five minute drive for me to work and reducing M’s daily commute, too. The problem is, it’s a highly desirable area - probably because of aforementioned good schools etc. - and as such, houses are soooooo expensive. Due to my recent hike in salary, for the first time ever we’re actually in a position to move back and just about afford to buy a house . . . and therein lies the rub. The move into the city means we’re leaving the gentle confines of our current location (rural enough that we can see fields from windows, urban enough to be less than five minutes from our nearest Tesco) and we’re seriously compromising on space and attractiveness of property; it won’t be detached, it’s unlikely to have the space we have now (and by space, I mean land - our house now is pretty small) and will probably also really need some working doing to it. And the crux of it is, whilst I want to live in the area and be closer to our family and friends, I’m desperately sad at the thought of leaving our little house - even though I know moving would be ultimately better for us.
None of this is helped by the fact that the very first house that we went to view a few weeks ago - a house I fell desperately and ridiculously in love with - has gone, and nothing we’ve seen since has compared.
I’m such a fucking lameass.
A lameass with a house she’s not certain about selling on the market. Sigh.
V xx
Comments: (10)
