My youngest turned three recently. She had good day by all accounts. Just a day at home with a few presents and cake after dinner with her siblings, myself and her Dad. We do most of our celebrations with no pressure. No massive parties, not even a quiet gathering of nearest and dearest. Just us. Well usually just us. It is just simpler, less stress. I don't feel particularly confident organising parties or events, and putting myself through unnecessary stress and bullshit, it is just not worth it. Occasionally the two oldest teenagers have had gatherings for their birthdays with a few friends over, and it always causes my stress levels to work overtime. I guess a great deal of it comes from not feeling confident with the logistics of said gathering, but another aspect is our house and how much I feel it is inadequate for any such gathering. And not just that it is a bit old and rundown and small, but that it is also cluttered and untidy and for the most part smells like a zoo. We have 5 cats, 4 guinea pigs, 2 goldfish and 1 free range rabbit who is somewhat litter trained. But the cats are somewhat litter trained too, i.e. sometimes they "go" in places they shouldn't.
For the most part they are good animals, but like kids accidents happen and that's life. So I am always battling the "where's that smell coming from?" syndrome and buying never ending supplies of air fresheners, atomiser oils, carpet smelly foam and powder, and urine neutraliser spray. The house still stinks. And don't get me started with the boys room, what is it about teenage boys and stink? It's like a dungeon and the smell creeps out and whacks you in the face anytime anyone opens their bedroom door. The house is old and damp and like a sponge, soaks up smells and spills and has become a never-ending canvas of child cave drawings. Lived in is one thing, my family have spewed life all over this house and it shows. And it has become a big contributer to my stress and anxiety. We love the location of our house, but it just doesn't really work for us anymore, there is just too many of us and too little house. Plus renting and relying on a haphazard landlord to fix things is frustrating. We still don't have a fully functional bathroom floor after four years. Our kitchen sink cupboard is full of mould and stinks after a water pipe leak. The pipe got fixed, but the kitchen cupboards never replaced. We have given up asking for little fixes, only when something big goes wrong do we ask anymore. We just deal with it. And be grateful for cheap rent and a roof over our heads. We figure our landlord puts up with our animals and the cave drawings on the walls, and we put up with not getting much repaired. We are saving for a deposit to buy a house. But anytime I think of extracting our family from this house and moving to another, my anxiety almost turns to panic. It is like my brain can't compute the necessary information required to construct the whole process. Or maybe it can and does, and it is just information overload. We are not even in a position to move at the moment, still working on that house deposit, but of course my mind is already doing the logistical gymnastics when I don't need to. Thanks brain, I need to stress about extra things that aren't currently relevant.
I think one of the biggest vulnerabilities I face when I ponder moving house, is grieving this house. This house is our home and has been for almost 16 years, that's a long time in the same house. I have spent almost as much time in this house, as I did my childhood home. It has watched our family of four grow to a family of eight. It has witnessed tragedy and small triumphs, joy of new babies and sadness of saying goodbye to much loved pets. Plenty of laughs and tears. And so so many chicken nuggets. My partner and I have always had dreams about winning lotto, buying this house and making it actually our house and renovating it to make it work for us. We love the location, all our kids are settled in their schools. I love laying on the trampoline and looking up at the Jacaranda tree that hangs over our yard from our neighbours yard. I love our backyard and front yard and I don't do near as much gardening as I like. My niece once told me she loved our backyard because it was kind of cathedral like, and she is right it is. The trees from my neighbours yards give a height and perspective that you don't get in every backyard. It is like being in a beautiful cathedral looking up at these magnificent trees towering into the sky. I find my most peaceful moments staring up into those trees. My feelings relate to Edward O.Wilson's biophilia hypothesis in which he suggests that humans possess an innate tendency to seek connections with nature and other forms of life or "the urge to affiliate with other forms of life". I became aware of his hypothesis while reading Johann Hari's book Lost Connections. In Hari's book he suggests that our lost connection to nature is one of the many reasons we are in an epidemic of depression and anxiety. I get that. I recognise needing that connection. And I find it in my backyard quite a lot. A sense of peace. So when I ponder leaving that for a more adequate house, I feel torn. It's not the only thing that keeps me tethered to this place, just one of many. Home is where the heart is. Home is where you lay your hat. Home is where ever you're at. Home is where your family is. Pondering home and what it means, may help us eventually pull up stumps and leave this place. And it is going to be brutal and may break my heart. But I still have to try to be brave, find the courage to say goodbye to an old, falling apart house that we have called home for a long while. Despite all the frustrations and complaints, I will still miss it very much. Connections to places are just as significant as our connection to people.
For the most part they are good animals, but like kids accidents happen and that's life. So I am always battling the "where's that smell coming from?" syndrome and buying never ending supplies of air fresheners, atomiser oils, carpet smelly foam and powder, and urine neutraliser spray. The house still stinks. And don't get me started with the boys room, what is it about teenage boys and stink? It's like a dungeon and the smell creeps out and whacks you in the face anytime anyone opens their bedroom door. The house is old and damp and like a sponge, soaks up smells and spills and has become a never-ending canvas of child cave drawings. Lived in is one thing, my family have spewed life all over this house and it shows. And it has become a big contributer to my stress and anxiety. We love the location of our house, but it just doesn't really work for us anymore, there is just too many of us and too little house. Plus renting and relying on a haphazard landlord to fix things is frustrating. We still don't have a fully functional bathroom floor after four years. Our kitchen sink cupboard is full of mould and stinks after a water pipe leak. The pipe got fixed, but the kitchen cupboards never replaced. We have given up asking for little fixes, only when something big goes wrong do we ask anymore. We just deal with it. And be grateful for cheap rent and a roof over our heads. We figure our landlord puts up with our animals and the cave drawings on the walls, and we put up with not getting much repaired. We are saving for a deposit to buy a house. But anytime I think of extracting our family from this house and moving to another, my anxiety almost turns to panic. It is like my brain can't compute the necessary information required to construct the whole process. Or maybe it can and does, and it is just information overload. We are not even in a position to move at the moment, still working on that house deposit, but of course my mind is already doing the logistical gymnastics when I don't need to. Thanks brain, I need to stress about extra things that aren't currently relevant.
I think one of the biggest vulnerabilities I face when I ponder moving house, is grieving this house. This house is our home and has been for almost 16 years, that's a long time in the same house. I have spent almost as much time in this house, as I did my childhood home. It has watched our family of four grow to a family of eight. It has witnessed tragedy and small triumphs, joy of new babies and sadness of saying goodbye to much loved pets. Plenty of laughs and tears. And so so many chicken nuggets. My partner and I have always had dreams about winning lotto, buying this house and making it actually our house and renovating it to make it work for us. We love the location, all our kids are settled in their schools. I love laying on the trampoline and looking up at the Jacaranda tree that hangs over our yard from our neighbours yard. I love our backyard and front yard and I don't do near as much gardening as I like. My niece once told me she loved our backyard because it was kind of cathedral like, and she is right it is. The trees from my neighbours yards give a height and perspective that you don't get in every backyard. It is like being in a beautiful cathedral looking up at these magnificent trees towering into the sky. I find my most peaceful moments staring up into those trees. My feelings relate to Edward O.Wilson's biophilia hypothesis in which he suggests that humans possess an innate tendency to seek connections with nature and other forms of life or "the urge to affiliate with other forms of life". I became aware of his hypothesis while reading Johann Hari's book Lost Connections. In Hari's book he suggests that our lost connection to nature is one of the many reasons we are in an epidemic of depression and anxiety. I get that. I recognise needing that connection. And I find it in my backyard quite a lot. A sense of peace. So when I ponder leaving that for a more adequate house, I feel torn. It's not the only thing that keeps me tethered to this place, just one of many. Home is where the heart is. Home is where you lay your hat. Home is where ever you're at. Home is where your family is. Pondering home and what it means, may help us eventually pull up stumps and leave this place. And it is going to be brutal and may break my heart. But I still have to try to be brave, find the courage to say goodbye to an old, falling apart house that we have called home for a long while. Despite all the frustrations and complaints, I will still miss it very much. Connections to places are just as significant as our connection to people.
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