Change moments happen in mysterious ways, as a quirk of geopolitics opens up the door to a house where even the most Lionhearted member can feel happily at home. By Stacey Vee
My writing space in our new house. Now I can call it “home”. pic.twitter.com/UiOan0hCQY
— Snap: missstaceyvee (@MissStaceyVee) March 16, 2016
When I met my husband, he’d just gone halfies on a townhouse with his brother Phil. A sprawling bachelor pad with a case of Hansa and another case of Red Bull by the front door, and a kitchen counter that functioned solely as a place to put greasy takeaway boxes and the keys to their dirt bikes.
I quickly remedied this barbarian state of affairs. After a few months there was lavender-scented hand soap in the bathroom and that most feminine of touches – a murder of scatter cushions. I don’t actually know what the collective noun for scatter cushions is, but it should be “a murder”, or perhaps “a buzz kill”. A buzz kill of scatter cushions!
We had a baby. Poor Phil took my kettle and my couches and moved out. Then we had another baby. And another baby. And by this time the sprawling bachelor pad had transformed into a pokey council house – like the ones you see on British sitcoms – and everything smelled vaguely of poo and bin liners, all the time.
There were five of us packed into the townhouse, plus all the paraphernalia that comes with having three children aged between 2 and 8.
To add to the pressure, our eldest – Travis the Lionheart – has special needs. He’s as they say in Afrikaans, my hart se punt (the very point of my heart), but he’s impossible to live with, especially in such cramped quarters. After years of much anxiety, tears and guilt, we made the tough decision for him to live full-time in residential care at a facility about 30 minutes’ drive away.
And then something rather wonderful happened.
Friends of ours immigrated to Iran.
I’m picturing you reading that sentence and doing a double-take. But stick with me here.
Our friends Paul and Belinda have a beautiful little house in the suburbs. They have spent years building and painting and planting and renovating, and making it like baby bear’s porridge in the story of Goldilocks – just right.
Then the US lifted sanctions against Iran, and Belinda, who works for a large, international corporation, was offered the opportunity to help set up a new division in the capital, Tehran. Being the kind of strong, adventurous woman I can only aspire to be, she accepted (and then had to go shopping for head scarves).
This is how the Lionheart family came to move into our first house-house about a month ago.
What’s eerie is this: I stumbled across this post I wrote quite a while back, when we were still packed into our old townhouse like sardines and I barely had enough elbow room on the couch to type.
It’s a post about how desperately I wanted a proper house for my family with enough space for us to learn, love and grow. And it’s basically reads like a checklist of everything we’re enjoying now:
Stacey’s checklist for a perfect home (and I quote):
* “A big, sprawling English cottage with a tangled garden filled with purple hydrangeas and creepers wrapped around the gutters.” CHECK
* “I want each of my kids to have their own bedroom where they can read picture books in the sunshine streaming in from big windows.” CHECK
* “Enough space to build Scalextric tracks and Lego cities and houses of cards.” CHECK
* “Sophie the Labrador: a blonde streak in the back yard as she chases birds and bunnies.” CHECK
* “A home where the walls keep out the 40-hour work week. Where emails and tweets and likes bounce off a force field surrounding the property.” CHECK
* “Books piled to the ceiling. Books, books, books in every room, as many as I can hoard in a lifetime.” CHECK
* “The sound of swallows building their nests in the trees outside; and not an electric fence in sight.” CHECK
* “Thick, pastel-coloured pottery mugs with steaming hot chocolate and plates of Ouma’s soetkoekies baked by the dozen and stored in enormous Tupperware in my walk-in pantry.”
Okay, we didn’t get the walk-in pantry, but I can live with that because I have something even better: Travis is home.
I fetched our Lionheart from the care facility the week before we moved in and he’s been here with us in our big sprawling house ever since. You won’t believe the difference a bit of extra space has made when it comes to sharing a house with him. He can stim and squawk and twirl and hum and it doesn’t drive any of us bonkers.
It’s kind of an extended home visit, and we’re just enjoying having Travis with us for the time being.
I think it helps to visualise what you want for your future, and go into as much detail as possible. Paint your dreams in colour, scribble in the details, and watch it manifest.
It also helps to be on first name terms with Barack Obama. Thanks for lifting those sanctions, Barack. The Lionhearts owe you.
Leave a Reply