Sunlight spilled through the window, creating a lumescent halo of light around my children. They were munching contently on snacks, sprawled out on a picnic rug which was acting as a makeshift dining table in the new home we’d taken possession of the day before. And as I looked across as them, with the sunshine splayed across their faces, a feeling of déjà vu filled me. I knew this scene, I knew this feeling of serenity that had previously been missing in my life. It was back, because I was finally at “home.”
It’s been a big, busy month settling into our new abode. Yet, despite juggling a sick baby with our relocation and the fact we are still not completely unpacked, this place already feels like it is where we are meant to be. It did so the minute we walked in the door the first time to view it. I was hit with an undeniable urge that it had to be ours. It was reminiscent of the lovely home we’d left behind on the Central Coast, and everything about it just felt right. All along The Husband’s only protocol had been “I need to feel like I am living at the Gold Coast”. And just when I thought we might never find that particular item on the wishlist, we found a home (in our price range!) which had this view stretching all across the eastern side of the house, there to welcome us as we awoke, when we relaxed in the lounge room or verandah, busied ourselves in the kitchen or living room. It was also the shadow in which the kids could play outside and the twinkling backdrop that never sleeps.
Thankfully the Real Estate Gods smiled down on us and eventually it was ours. But it was a long 7 months getting to this point. Renting was a very unpleasant experience, complete with agents who treated us like second class citizens and made the end of the tenancy very stressful indeed. How happy I am that it is OVER! I realised that after 10 years being a home owner I am not a very good renter. I never quite felt secure, in a way I do being here in a place we can call our own.
House hunting was no walk in the park either though. Every time we’d fall in love with a place it would either be sold from under us, go for way over asking price, or there’d be an issue with the bank getting the finance finalised in time for us to bid at auction. It was half a year of anxiety I would not like to repeat. However in hindsight I know we missed out on the purchase of properties because there was a higher power who knew where we were most meant to be. And it is here. None of the others we might just have called home really compare.
The feeling of peace that has returned to my world is both welcome, and long overdue. They say moving house is one of the most stressful events in your life. So to not only have done an interstate one mere months after having a baby, and then repeated the packing process all over again 7 months on really did take its toll both emotionally and physically. But also we are very thankful for the help our family and friends bestowed on us in making each transition smooth. And the big picture, the reason why we put ourselves and our children through this makes it more than worthwhile.
I feel a weight lifted from my sunken shoulders, and I move about with more of a spring in my step. I look around me and feel so grateful for this house, the feelings it’s helped resurface and those its helped wash away. I want to push down deep into the soil and plant seeds that will take root and unfurl over the goodness of time. I want my kids future to take shape under this roof and I want family memories to bloom both inside and outside these 4 walls.
Most of all though, I damn well do not want to EVER move house again.