When I imagine my perfect home, I picture a big garden with flat, green, grass big enough for a budding footballer, a kitchen with an island for the teenager to sit and do homework while I cook, a little room for the X-Box and Play Station and, a bigger room for the adults to relax. A bathroom with a huge tub filled with sumptuous bubbles, and shelves filled with fluffy towels.
Space. My ideal home has space.
Wherever we live it will be, of course, filled with noise. Laughing, shouting, music, the bouncing of a ball (somewhere in the house or garden), the sound of Face Time ringing from the teenagers room, YouTube videos over and over again, all of those things will follow us, wherever we end up, because they *are* us.
Coming home to your own little family never gets old, it’s a feeling that you can’t quite describe, no matter how much they get on your last nerve, or drive you to utter distraction (I almost spread yogurt on the sandwiches last week, due to breaking up an argument between the teen and the boy at 6.50am) but, no matter what, it’s love.
I have always had ‘the’ home pictured in my mind. The forever house, the one that we’re always aiming towards, slowly but surely.
The destination may change, where it’s situated, but the house itself? Always the same. Red brick. Bay windows. Huge hallway, where there is room for coats, and scooters, bags and shoes. Light everywhere, I hate dark houses, I need the sunlight to shine through, even if it does highlight the dust, open spaces, room for everyone to have their time alone, but room for everyone to come together as well.
Where we are is perfect for now, it has a roof, and warm, comfy beds. A garden (albeit small and dark) and a driveway. We’re by no means living in a hovel. We are lucky. Very, very lucky. But it doesn’t hurt to dream does it?
Scrolling is a habit that’s hard for my generation to break. Whether it’s Instagram, Facebook, Righmove in Brighton or Featherstone Leigh Twickenham, that scrolling finger is always in use. Everything is so easy to get these days, with very little effort. Hungry for a McD’s at 2am? UberEats is your friend. Fancy finding a new love interest on a Sunday afternoon? Plenty of apps around to kill some time.
But you still have to work for the big stuff. You still need to keep building those dreams, stacking the bricks, reaching the end goal, and then creating new ones, because otherwise, what’s the point?
I often worry that, by the time we have the dream house, the kids will be too big to enjoy it. The garden will be perfect for a kick around after school, but the 8 year old will soon be the 14 year old, and will he even want to leave his room then? The teenager never used to leave my side, now she would live in her bedroom if she had a fridge in there. Soon enough, she’ll be out, out, will we even see her, if not for a lift home?
But then, I realise, no matter how old they are, they’ll always be our babies. And if there is room for them, in this big old perfect house, then they will always have a bedroom, whether they’re 8, 14, or 24. They might not want to play football (I can’t imagine that time will come!) but their kids might.
There will always be kids and noise, laughter, and music in our home. No matter how long it takes to find the forever one.
in collaboration with Featherstone Leigh.