22.5.16

Their Childhood Home

Recently I have become a bit obsessed with home interiors magazines. I spend hours perusing beautiful kitchens with those island things, or living rooms with chevron wallpaper and fancy cushions. Wishing I had the time and the crafty nature to make my house super beautiful. Sometimes with small children your home can feel a tiny bit like a prison. I recall lonely hours watching YouTube alone whilst they napped. Or that horrific month both of them had chicken pox and we were stuck in all day watching CBeebies. Them irritable and me slowly losing my mind.

Your house can feel like a never ending chore machine. You get to the bottom of the washing basket only to find that it has been automically filled (more than likely with your husband's giant pants and work clothes) within 15 minutes. The dryer is always on. There are piles of crap everywhere and you can despair. If you are instagramming your tea you pick the one part of the kitchen table that isn't smeared in yoghurt and raisins.

Do you remember when Mum used to cover the floor in blankets and give us fruit pastilles?
(And said "don't tell your Dad")

But last night when I got in from a day away from the kids (and granted I had had a bit of gin) I got into bed and just thought "thank God I'm home". As this is home. This is their home. This is the place of their childhood memories. Think back to when you were little and those memories you have of your own home. It could be something stupid like a sweatshirt my Mum used to wear ALL the time in the early 90's that we laughed about. Or that happy summer where we had a sprinkler (it was in the shape of a Wuzzle. Big up the Bumblelion massive!) in the front garden and screamed till our throats were raw.

Something you do in your home in front of your kids will be come their urban legends. Will become that funny tale they tell at uni (I imagine me losing my sh*t in the garden when the guinea pig died being a popular one). It really doesn't matter if the vacuum hasn't been put around in the while. Or the fact that there is one photo frame that always hangs wonky. As they don't care. It's their childhood home. It will forever be imprinted on them.

Do you remember when Mum used to make us pose in front of the front door EVERY DAY

And homes can change. You can move. But there will always be other stories. Like when you are a teenager and you had to call your parents to come and pick you up from a friends house to bring you home and then you vomited all the way home in a Spice Girls bin (that may have been my sister). We are their childhood home. Wherever we are. And no amount of shabby chic kitchen displays, or amazing rugs is going to change the fact that sometimes I put MTV on. Sit my children down and do a full dance routine to them. I imagine that getting a few laughs in the university halls of residence.
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