Our House

It is a truth universally acknowledged that every home has a neglected room.  You know the kind. The sad little lonely spare room filled to the brim with a dusty treadmill and all those scrap booking projects you were going to get around to?

The double garage crowded with absolutely everything - except cars. The office that is so badly organised or poorly lit that you rarely, if ever, work in there. 

The gargantuan 'theatre room' where you never have the time to watch all those movies you envisioned. The gleaming bathroom resplendent with super-sized hot tub that you rarely indulge in because you're most likely just weird and only wanted the damn thing to just SHOW OFF in the first place. And no, I'm not jealous AT ALL! HMPH. 

You see, here's my confession: I don't have any of these rooms. Yes, none of the rooms in my house are neglected and unused.

The reason for this is simple. And here's the second part of my confession: our house only consists of a grand total of... wait for it:

Drum roll please...

Seven rooms!  

With five people living here. You do the math. This means that every room is used and thoroughly lived in. This also redefines the concept of togetherness.  

I must admit I have a bit of a  love/hate relationship with our humble abode. I do love the fact that we own it and not a bank. But I might be developing a tiny case of claustrophobia. 

It's also frightfully difficult to keep clean and tidy due to lack of space. This is pretty much the way I grew up back in the good old days of the 70s and 80s. Or the 'olden days' as my boys call them. In a simple, three bedroom Aussie Battler home in the 'burbs. Classy. 

Um I have no idea what 'recaulking' is but I do indeed have those nasty
energy vampires snapping at me. Maybe I should check my neglected Pinterest account?

Having said all of the above, our bathroom is a tad neglected at the moment and in need of some Gumption attention. Ahem. Did I mention that I hate cleaning bathrooms. Who wants a big McMansion with six bathrooms? Only if it comes with a cleaner, thanks. 

Thinking about it further, the entire house could do with a coat of paint. Or, you know, a bulldozer, to knock it down and start over again. Okay, this dilapidated old box quaint little cottage could do with a little bit of TLC. But we haven't been nominated for House Rules or won the lottery. We just seem to be in something resembling a box-shaped rut in regards to doing anything about moving. But I'm sure it will happen one day. That, or I'll die here. Which is fitting, because it's as big as a coffin. BOOM TISH. 

I jest. Actually, it's all good because there are amazing benefits to living in a small house.  

Without further ado I bring to you the top five benefits of claustrophobic living:

5. No mortgage.
4. No mortgage. 
3. No mortgage.
2. No mortgage.

Aaaaaaaaaaaand... bring back the drum roll... 

The Number 1 benefit to living in a small house is:

1. You guessed it - NO MORTGAGE!! 

If we really wanted to have a McMansion we could, but we'd get a mortgage instead of fries with that. One of these days Mickey Blue Eyes will be a millionaire and I'll be his smokin' hawt trophy wife and then I'm sure it will happen. I might need shit tonnes of plastic surgery to make the latter happen, but details. 

Anyway, home is where the wine is. Which reminds me, I don't have any wine. I have no space for a wine rack. How rude. 

The thing is, initially when we bought this charming dwelling we believed that we might never have children. It would have been fine for the two of us. It was still fine when Mr 14 made his momentous appearance 14 years ago, funnily enough. Then we had our second boy, now Mr 11 and it still seemed fine. They were only babies. Around this time Mickey Blue Eyes had Cancer and improving the house or moving took a back seat. Then a few years later, I was expecting another baby and suffered a late miscarriage. I suppose I could say life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. Except I stole that from John Lennon. Somehow we were always so busy dealing with emotional stuff that we never got around to thinking about practical stuff. 

Then one day we woke up and I was up the duffian yet again. Mr 6 made his appearance and here we were still in our cramped little quarters. Then Mickey Blue Eyes decided to take the plunge of working for himself at home and in order to do this we've had to put any ideas of moving on hold for a while. But at least we know the meaning of true togetherness and NO MORTGAGE. 

Sorry, I just need to keep saying that to remind myself that there is point to this sardine-like existence.

And now I suppose I had better go and crack open that tub of Gumption and clean my match-box sized bathroom while you go and watch movies in your theatre room or enjoy your hot-tub while your cleaner scrubs your five bathrooms. Sniff. 

Linking up for I Must Confess , Open Slather and Mummy Mondays.


What is the most neglected room in your house? 

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Ticking Off Lists Ticks Me Off: Another Post About Nothing

To be perfectly honest with you I know NOTHING. In fact, I know a whole lot of nothing about absolutely NOTHING.  I’m a nothing expert, if you will. Just what the World needs.  Especially with all these ProBlogger posts circulating the blogosphere about ‘useful’ content. 

Meh. 

Instead, I bring to you a completely useless post about, you guessed it: NOTHING! You’re welcome.

I know that I am frightfully hungry right now and uncertain whether to plunge ahead with that trusty meal we tend to call lunch. You see, my parents mentioned that they would be calling in and I fondly imagined that this might coincide with lunch as it has at other times. But they haven’t appeared as yet. Which is extremely rude, as I expected them to provide the lunch. HMPH.

(Mum, I’m joking if you’re reading this!) Oh who am I kidding? Of course she's reading this! Nobody else does. Sniff. 

I know that I’m in a rather wistful, dreamy, reflective mood today. You know, as opposed to all the other days when I’m alert, efficient and organised. Not to mention delusional. Shut up. We weren’t supposed to mention that!

I know that I have at least attempted to become alert, efficient and organised. In the last few months I have started developing a habit of writing down a to-do list and ticking it off. I know! Ground breaking! I’ve always been cutting edge. 

Anyway, despite my forays into list-making, there is no discernible evidence of this unique endeavour. My house still resembles a war-zone with no end of things to-do in sight. This is most disheartening. What I would like to know is: how do people receive pay-offs from house-keeping and organising? I suppose they are just better at it than me. Bloody show-offs.

  

This ticking off lists is starting to tick me off. I want pay-offs! After all, if I’ve gone to the astonishing effort of doing and completing five million things in a day, I expect fan-fare: crowds cheering, balloons and celebratory champagne.  Plus, a million dollars in cold hard cash, thanks very much. 

If Kim Kardashian can demand buckets of cash just for turning up to an event with her large arse and even larger attitude, I don’t see why I, a modest house wife, shouldn’t be able to demand the same. 

I consistently turn up in my own ramshackle home, with my large arse, and make a lacklustre attempt at maintaining some semblance of disorder. I mean, where is the justice? 

On a side note, isn't ‘ramshackle’ a most delightful word? It’s almost worth having a ramshackle home, just so that I can confidently use the word ‘ramshackle’.  Dilapidated and dishevelled would also work here. 

Who wants to have a home that could only be described as ‘perfect’when you can have one that is ramshackle, dilapidated and dishevelled?  Everybody?  Oh. As you were, then.

I still stand by the above words.  And live with them. In them? Whatever.

You know how I mentioned that I was frightfully hungry a few paragraphs ago. It would appear that I am now ravenous. I may have to go to all the effort of making my own lunch. Shocking. 

Related: when Micky Blue Eyes asks me ‘What are you having for lunch?’ what he really means is ‘Make me lunch’. As I typed that he did make his own toast. But none for me. Grounds for divorce really, if you ask me.

In other astounding news, it’s raining! Why not? Just for something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT.

Oh well, I guess I had better go and have lunch and tick it off my list.  Of course it’s on my to-do list! Breakfast, lunch AND dinner! That way, at least I know I’ll definitely tick three things off my list of five million. Winning! 

Linking up with Ann at Help!! I'm Stuck!! for Things I Know. 

What's ticking you off? What things do you know? 

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The Box

Home is a charming, quaint, little cottage. ie. an old, tiny fibro in Boganville, obviously. We desperately need to upgrade or renovate. 

"It has potential." Micky Blue Eyes commented when we originally bought the home.  Yes, it certainly did have potential. In the following ways:

• Potential to grow mould on the roof and ceilings of the front bedrooms.
• Potential for the roof to leak (tragically our boys will never be able to thank us during their wedding speech for bringing them up 'under a roof that didn't leak'. This is how Mick thanked his parents during his speech at our wedding).
• Potential to cause all five of us to suffer from lifelong paralysing claustrophobia.
• Potential to cause chills in winter as it so cold. Brrrrrrrrr.
• Potential to feel like a sauna during summer as it is so hot. Phew.
• Potential to become a gigantic, cluttered mess- FAST, due to lack of space.
• Potential to look rather pitiful among some of the other renovated or knock down/rebuilt  homes popping up on our street.

Still, it is our house. We own it, not a bank. Aren't we lucky?  So we try to make the best of it.  Mick started painting. I helped.  (Making him cups of coffee is helping, isn't it?)

  It is half done.  Hopefully the half done look is in, as it may not be finished for another ten years.  The other day we noticed that Master 3 has already helpfully scribbled on the fresh paint. A very cutting edge look indeed, so we might just go with it.

We also have a lovely combination of mismatched, dodgy furniture, including a sofa bed that doesn't match the two dilapidated recliners.  A kitchen sideboard cupboard with the glass missing out of the doors.  And a wardrobe in the boys bedroom which can't be shut. All so very classy and in keeping with our true bogan status.

I'm sure our home could be a candidate for a Home Beautiful shoot.  If there was a Home Beautiful for Feral Bogans issue that is.  Unfortunately, Micky Blue Eyes and I are of the stressy types who would not be able to sleep at night with the worry of a massive debt/mortgage over our heads. Others wouldn't be able to sleep at night in Boganville, ironically.  Me, I'm a born and bred bogan, so I don't know any different. So here we stay, debt free and bogans.

Meanwhile, we can always keep dreaming of the day we become Cashed Up Bogans and finally get that McMansion in Boganville Heights. It's always better to dream big, I find.

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