After five years of living very happily and comfortably in our house, we have recently started to feel quite uncomfortable.
When we first moved in we had an 18-month-old and I was 6 months pregnant. Moving from an apartment, the house felt palatial. A traditional terrace at the front -- two reception rooms downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs -- and a large open plan kitchen and living space out the back was my husband's architectural fantasy. (Mine was a double-fronted Victorian weatherboard but we can talk about that later.)
We both fell in love with the house at first sight. While it wasn't the double-fronted cottage I had already envisaged us living in, it felt warm and welcoming. A real family home. Then, once we arrived in the back garden we were sold. Grass! We hadn't seen any grass in all the houses we'd viewed in this inner-western suburb of Sydney where the blocks of land are so tiny. It was all we could have asked for.
And for the last five years it has remained all we could have asked for. The family we bought it from were moving as they were expecting their third child. My husband laughed: our third child was not even a glimmer on the horizon. There was no way we'd outgrow this house he thought.
Best laid plans... a few years later the overwhelming feeling that someone was missing from our table took over and all practical thoughts went out the front door. Now, five of us sharing one bathroom is getting more challenging. The kids not having enough space to play in the rooms they share is getting more challenging. Moving at the moment is not an option. The house still charms us and none of us are ready to make home a different dwelling.
So here we are with our first DA going through Council. It's a scary process and we haven't even begun. I'm only just getting over the kitchen renovation we did a few years ago. I am obviously crazy thinking about renovating again.
Thanks to this blog I will continue to distract myself with the bigger picture.