Over the past year or so I have slowly developed an obsession with owning a home. I suppose I am at that time in my life. I want stability. I want something that is undeniably mine. I want a place where I feel completely safe.
While I was at home, breastfeeding our little one every few hours and leaving the house only occasionally, looking for properties kept me sane. It gave me a break from both work and parenting and let me dream a little.
At that point, this was the dream:
A big house- enough space for guests. A large yard where I could plant a garden and watch it grow. A summer kitchen where I could bottle up my juicy tomatoes for winter storage. Fields that would be covered with snow for Peatuk to run around in. A little doghouse and a friendly dog to bark at intruders and wag its tail when Peatuk came home from school. A cute little shed to store our bikes, because we would only bike into town. Except on Sundays, when we would grocery shop. A large window that I could sit in and write and write deep into the winter nights. Or crochet. Or even <gasp> read a book.
In this dream, returning to work was a far-off thought. Sure, I will work full-time someday, I thought. But it wasn’t pressing. I had wrapped up in this bubble of motherhood and I had forgotten what an out-of-the-house job with co-workers and people depending on you and a company actually felt like. I thought I would maybe return to work when Peatuk started preschool or school, and I imagined still spending the time to bake fresh bread, sew various projects, and tend that huge, imaginary garden.
Then, things started changing. Peatuk went to daycare. First just in the morning, so I could have a little break and he could be exposed to Bulgarian language and other children. He loved it and seemed to thrive there, so his day expanded into the late afternoon and early evening. With him thoroughly engaged, I had time to start working.
Really working. Not just the part time writing that I had been doing between diaper changes for the past year and a half.
Now I think about having a house with a garden and I am overwhelmed. Where would I possibly find time to water and weed it? How could I do the cute little renovation projects I imagined? A dog or a cat? Absurd!
I guess it comes down to what kind of garden you want to grow. At the moment, my garden is made of computers and clients, not living greenery. My fruit is a happy husband and a somewhat delicate business.
My dream slowly morphs. The house no longer needs a huge yard or to be 5 km from the center of town. A small apartment in the center would do just fine.
Wait- that is what we currently have. I guess I am starting to reap those seeds.