Downsizing

Downsizing was supposed to refer to our living arrangements, not to the frequency of posts on this blog. Oh well, here I am, here I am, and how do you do? It’s a bit of deja vu to say we’re moving again as that’s exactly how the last blog post started, which was errm, about 14 months ago. Well it’s been a busy year, okay? But I’m very happy to be making this announcement as it was one we thought we’d never make. I shall begin with the overview of Five Men & a Lady Living in a Tiny Garden Flat, which could be a Discovery channel adventure show in itself.

Downsizing, consolidating and saving became our goal in November 2018, so we decided to try and find a cheaper rental, in order to reduce our expenses. Also, Heath was about to change jobs and I was doing the groundwork to start a (non-mom) job, so we needed to do all things wisely with regards to finances.We spent a good few months looking, and weeping over the prospects.  Everyone’s trying to make an extra buck, so anything that was relatively cheap was also literally falling apart, or on a farmland next to the nuclear waste power plant. It was HECTIC. Eventually I found a decent looking one online, and not getting our hopes up (because you learn that pictures are so deceptive), we called the agent. She gave us directions and met us at the house.

It had a huge garden/jungle, with a complete office setup in the garages at the bottom of the jungle/wasteland. The light fittings were from 1953 and had to be ducked under in every room, and the agent assured us with each step, “Yes, that’s going to be sorted out before anyone moves in. Yes, the mustard-coloured kitchen with no cupboards or counters will be re-done. Security? Oh, no, it’s a lovely neighbourhood, you don’t really need proper locks on the doors.” Then … when there was a fireplace in the lounge, Heath said to me, “I don’t remember there being a fireplace in the pictures?” Weird. Anyway, when we got back in the car, I grabbed my phone to see the pictures online again, and realised this was not the house we’d asked to see. You get so used to the pictures not being a true reflection of the home, that we continued wandering through this house without even realising it. I ran over to the agent’s car and showed her. Ohh, you wanted to see THAT one? Well, it’s a lot smaller. Okay… and we arranged for later that week. Duh.

So we were the first to see the littler home, which Heath had totally written off in his head, due to its size. But lo and behold, it had a whole kitchen counter…AND a pantry! A pantry!! Sold. Rented, whatever. Pantries are hard to find, people. And based on all we had already seen, I had sort of reconciled myself to the boys fetching cornflakes from a bathroom cabinet in order to have breakfast. And it had a double garage, rarer than a pantry. So we could store all the things we couldn’t fit inside the house. In our heads, this was a temporary arrangement (like, a year?) and we haven’t put up any pictures or anything, so as to make the transition out easier. Unfortunately we cannot stop the children putting their hands on everything as they walk through doorways, wrestle, throw things at each other, etc, so repaint is a given. Or straightjackets, but repaint is probably kinder.

We moved with the Stewart Moving Company of 5 men who demanded snacks all day and ignored all detailed labelling on the boxes, dumping them on each other in the garages which took 2 days of rearranging by one aggravated label-conscious Stewart woman.  Note to self: go to receiving end of boxes, not the sending end.

The house is in a sort-of complex of 26 units, not really a complex because there’s no single entrance, it’s just a close and a crescent all in a no-through-road arrangement. There’s no added security, unless you count the 70-something year old who rides and up and down the roads on his three-wheeled bicycle. Like, aaaalll day.  Oh, and Gandalf next door (he had white hair, so the boys named him) has a gat. A Glock 69, apparently, which we discovered in our third week here when somebody was trying to steal the tyres off Heath’s company truck parked outside. 3:00am-ish, the car alarm kept going off, and when Heath went outside, he was met by our sweet, gentle neighbour brandishing a gun, ready to fight to the death. Gandalf with a Glock is all the security you’ll need. But he, together with a very clandestine group of very particular, pedantic old people keep the place ship-shape. It feels a bit like a retirement home, but with free-wheeling tricycle riders and guns.

The house is small, but there are lovely communal gardens, it’s within walking distance to the school for Aiden and for Luke and Ethan’s sports, and the neighbourhood has been a great adventure of exploration for the boys, resulting in many lost or punctured rugby balls. One still sits atop a 10-storey high palm tree somewhere. In fact, another blog will follow this with a longer, more detailed story of another rugby ball in a tree. It’s stranger than fiction. Boys And Their Balls? Lol. Never ending.

Inside the house, you can see or hear one another at any given point and location within the structure, doors closed or not. I call it The Garden Shed. The boys call it The Shack. But it’s sweet. Just small. The ceilings are so low the boys could stretch through them, and the light is limited, because they’re semi-detached to the neighbour-on-the-left’s bedroom (Gandalf with the Glock) and the neighbour-on-the-right’s kitchen (not happily married, spent many a night listening to irate, sweary wife rage-wash the dishes near our heads.)

Listen. Can you hear the silence? No people, no noisy TV, no annoying playstation. I took this picture when Heath took the boys out for a few hours, to prove there is moments of quiet. There was even a rare leftover biscuit. Aaahhhh.

So it’s been a year. We’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned to design a life-changing roster for kitchen duties, so that we don’t kill each other when we’re all trying to get something done in the kitchen. You see, if you’re standing in the kitchen, and someone else needs access to the fridge, you’re liable to get clotheslined by the fridge door. And if I open the oven whilst someone else is there, I will inflict shin damage on said victim.  If the dishwasher door is open, the back door is blocked, so you have to springbok-leap over it to get in/out.  The microwave door opens into a corner so you have to contortion bend to get your coffee/food in or out. And the pantry door blocks half the walkway so if you leave it open, and also open a cabinet door on the other side, you have a head-width of space to manoever through. It’s lethal. And teenagers are not great at closing doors, but are great at standing for prolonged time staring into the depths of fridge and/or pantry waiting for divine inspiration, or for a ready-made meal to jump into their arms.

Yes, we broke a window already. One of the huge ones. Luke and Ethan wrestled, they got over-eager, and Luke ended up being lucky to be alive with just a one inch slice in his left buttock as the 2 metre window in our bedroom crashed down around them. This was 3 seconds post me leaving the room saying, “And don’t throw that rugby ball in my room.” So that was my obvious assumption of the cause of the heart-stopping shattering. Aiden was using our bathroom at the time (this is a whole ‘nother subject about Once Upon a Time there was an OCD child who couldn’t bear to share a bathroom with his two messy younger siblings, and so inflicted his bathroom routine upon his parents) and he was just shaking his head at them when we arrived at the bedroom after the crash. He was relieved about a well-timed poo that resulted in him being nowhere near the incident, and thus free from payback obligations.

Joshua comes home from his part of the world every three weeks or so. He sleeps on the couch. The dining room table is his cupboard, desk and toiletry stand. Added to that, he’s not a naturally tidy person. Yes, it’s my worst nightmare, and I have thus come to peace with living messy. He sleeps until +10am, so I have to wake him and move him to another bed so I can get some work done at my desk in the lounge. He usually doesn’t remember anything about being relocated, as he’s a notoriously heavy sleeper, with random bouts of sleeptalking, and according to brotherly sources, he’s smelly too. (I think it’s rich for any of them to think any of the others are stinky.) Which is why he’s on a couch and not bedding down with a brother.

So much stuff

Add to this less-than-ideal sleeping arrangement the synced bowel movements of the male members of this family, you’ll understand it’s been a challenge. Plus, whatever odours are released in the bathroom soon filter through to each bedroom and the living space two steps away, so there is much drama and outcry periodically. Private voice notes or phone calls have to be done outside or in the actual car in the garage, as invariably there will be hooligan background noise, loud song lyrics or farting at some stage during the call. I use headphones to do transcript jobs from time to time, but no headphones are a match for this lot in a confined space and I end up screaming at everyone. But not too loud, because of the neighbours. And my desk is next to the TV so they’re used to watching sport on mute, lol! Poor guys.

Then winter came. Naturally, we closed the windows to prevent freezing to death. However, it turns out that this home has not one breeze block in its structure, so there was no ventilation whatsoever. What resulted was the ceilings all were covered with a thick mould. I cleaned them myself the first three times using a variety of vinegar, tea tree oil, baking soda solutions and the pee of a unicorn that flies over Table Mountain. Seriously, ridiculous. Farting against a thunderstorm, as my mother would say. Eventually I broke out the commercial die-if-you-touch-it stuff and that did the trick. Ruined two shirts in the process. Thankfully by then, we were close to summer and could leave windows open all day.

The boys thought it was hilarious that I looked like a nun. It was not hilarious.

We had believed and hoped that we’d only be here temporarily, but there was seemingly no buy-your-own-house light at the end of the tunnel. However, in August we decided to chat to Heath’s folks to see if they would consider helping us with a deposit to secure a bond. Which they agreed to, and more than that, they have gone the route of uprooting themselves from the southern suburbs so that we can all take advantage of the support system that we are to each other, and they will live on the property with us, in a self-contained cottage. The finding of the home was not without its challenges (see weeping above) and we feel like we have seen every corner of the suburbs here now with all the different viewings we had. There is some renovating to be done before the folks move in, but we get to move in a month before and oversee everything. We are beyond excited.

So here I am packing again. But it is with a sense of wonder and thankfulness at this new beginning, one we never thought we would realise after such great financial loss. One thing’s for sure though, we have grown through this experience and will not take space, room or a home lightly.  Nor to hold onto it with a grip that detracts from what is important, and that is family and togetherness. And a kitchen roster, of course.

I hope that 2020 is a year of family and togetherness for you, and unexpected blessings. And may the lessons learned in the chaos or the quiet lead you closer to Him.

Lots of love,

Lea.

May he grant your heart’s desires and make all your plans succeed.

Psalms 20:4