Pie in the Ground

Early on in lockdown, on one of those warm, sunny spring days, we were all sitting together in the garden having lunch. 

I can't remember who first looked over to the tumbledown shed in the corner (I had earmarked the space for my shepherd's hut when we first viewed the house, but David Cameron got there first and he doesn't appear on the list of people who I would want to share dreams with) but someone remarked on it. 

The idea of a replacing a leaky building that even the cat shunned on a wet day was born.

'I could have a dance studio!' cried Gertie.

'No - it would have to be a gaming room with a PlayStation.'

'And a chumfy sofa.'

'It would definitely be a spare room for when guests come to stay,' I said firmly - not realising then that people would not be 'staying' anywhere but at home for the forseeable future.

'A bar!' said Hearth Father, with a resounding lip smack, eyes alight.

It seemed that we all had a plan. Except that none of us did. Not really. It was all pie in the sky. (An expression, the origin of which incidentally, I had to look up: From the lyrics of a song called The Preacher and the Slave by Joe Hill in 1911, itself parodying a hymn promising heavenly reward after death. Now used to refer to something pleasant to contemplate but unattainable or unrealistically Utopian.)

And there were so may things in the way of it ever happening. Actual, big things - like an enormous beech tree, a brick wall and the aforementioned dilapidated shed. 

Yet somehow, from those idle words, seven months later 'Saplings' has risen from the ground. It comes complete with dance floor, games console and sofa (that becomes a bed for guests, when at some still far distant point in the future we are able to have such things again).

Tree surgeons, diggers, accidents with ancient walls - all are now a distant memory. 

Hours of impressive work from Hearth Father - groundwork, carpentry, building, roofing, landscaping - with much-welcomed support from good friends have helped the project come to fruition in late Autumn.

He just forgot one thing - his bar.

Cheers!

Currently Reading: A Portrait of a Lady by Henry James

Homeless Half Term

When we moved in to our house nearly eight years ago, the bathroom was top of the list for things that needed to be done. It was an abomination; there was no way I was going to be able to live with it; and how many years ago was peach 'in' as a bathroom colour anyway?

Yet somehow those first few weeks went by and I managed to bath and shower in the room of hideousness, then, gradually, the urgency wore off and I stopped noticing that I didn't like it.

Until a hole formed in the kitchen ceiling as a result of the rotten floorboard exacerbated by three children regularly and merrily splashing their bathwater onto the floor. This rather forced our hand a little, and the bathroom is now in the 'destruction' stage of completion. i.e. it is entirely empty of all of the things that a bathroom should contain.

This is my current bathroom:

Which is quite far removed from the bathroom of my dreams (but, sadly, not my finances) that looks a little bit like this:

And, it is half term.  Brilliant timing. The drilling and general smashing about means that we need to be out of the house as much as possible. It's February so it's freezing and being in the garden is not an option for sustained periods of time. My capacity for doing free stuff (in places that have a toilet and somewhere to brush your teeth) has just about been stretched to its limits.

Still, it will all be worth it in the end, I tell myself through gritted (and not so minty-fresh) teeth.




Currently reading:

The Postmistress by Sarah Blake

Changing Rooms

Gertie's room is having a makeover.

The deal was that if she could keep her room tidy for the entire month of February, she could choose wallpaper, see Guerilla Littering, and if she continued the tidiness through Lent then she could have the whole room done.

Given her propensity to create mess, I didn't expect to be in the position that we are in now.  Hearth-father is busy with the sander; the wallpaper is up on two 'feature' walls; the remaining walls are painted in 'silver mist', and we are rid of three sacks of clothes and toys.

All good.  Except that the designs Gertie has chosen suggest that she has gone from a six-year-old to a teenager overnight.

Here's the old one:

Sweet, girly, pink (probably too much, but hey ho) innocent, doll-filled, pretty.

Here's the new one (unfinished):

It needs a rug to cover those pristine white floorboards (I'm wincing already as I imagine what they will look like in a few weeks time) But mostly screaming purple, grown-up, boudoir-ish.

Can someone tell me where my little girl went?


Currently reading: Heresy by SJ Parris

Guerilla Littering

No, it's not quite what it sounds like. Though perhaps, on reflection, it's worse.


Gertie finally moved into her own room after Christmas. Her younger brother's fear of the dark and general inability to sleep meant that although she had her own space (beautifully furnished and decorated in my opinion, but what does a mother know?) she had to spend night times sleeping in the top bunk of her brother's room so that Gilby didn't feel scared. I blogged at length about that sleepless period, and this was the happy solution we came up with: big sis to the rescue.


It works even better now, though, because since Christmas, Gilby has shared a bedroom with his baby brother; and he can be the older, protective one (even though it is he really who still wants company at night). And so, Gertie gets her room. She very much enjoys the peace and quiet, and we have gone back to me reading her a 'grown-up' book: Black Beauty, at the moment.


The trouble is that she doesn't seem to have inherited any sense of organisation or tidiness. This is probably a blessing, since I think for me it is a curse. But her bedroom is always, without exception, the messiest room in the house.


She wasn't happy with the decor and wanted wallpaper rather than the expensive shade of not-quite-white that we had chosen. The lightbulb moment: we do a deal. If she can keep her room tidy for a whole month - and we picked February because it is the shortest - then she can choose her wallpaper, and Daddy can hang it.


Ok, so in fairness to Daddy, I didn't mention that last part to him whilst I was sealing the deal. In fact, I just told him about it today. It is day 17 of the month, and her bedroom is spotless. Could feature in a beautiful homes magazine, in fact. And Daddy is panicking. He tells me it has been a while since he hung wallpaper. Knowing him as I do, I interpret this as a euphemism for, 'I have never hung wallpaper before and I am rather disturbed by the thought of it.' His answer: guerilla littering. He plans to go in there and mess it up for her, in an attempt to stave off the task. Initially I thought it was a little unfair, but hey, it's only what the little people do to us on a daily basis...





Currently reading: The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern