Just when you think things aren’t going your way, you run into a bit of luck and it puts a whole new shiny perspective on what was formerly a weary worldview.
Take our new digs for instance. There we were, glumly on display 24/7 through our all-window house, dodging nasty looks from Ms. Putu, dealing with Yoga Lady and her mad construction project, and trying to keep the monsters from snapping anymore orchids or whipping anymore objects into the pool. We felt hounded, exposed, and summarily pissed off at the way we’d been unceremoniously made homeless.
So when we fortuitously happened upon an ad on a notice board outside a popular café, who was to know that it would signal an about face in our recent bad luck stakes…? For soon afterwards, we found ourselves being ‘interviewed’ (I kid you not) by an older gay man, an artiste, who spent an hour or so mentally measuring us on the damage limitation scale in order to ascertain just how detrimental it would be to allow us to sublet his beloved home for the next few months.
So dazzled must he have been by the husbands good looks and personable charm (my man, a gay-magnet if ever there was one) that he must have mentally blocked out the fact that we come complete with two monsters, of the male variety, ages 3 and 6.
So no one was more surprised than we, to be sent a text message a few days later, informing us that we’d been successful in beating out the competition to secure a new, drop dead gorgeous home. And now two days in, here we are, swanning about the place, still not entirely sure that it all – at least for the next while – belongs to us.
It’s a gorgeous, sprawling property set riverside, with loads of trees, the soothing sound of running water, and lots of grass and places for the boys to run and play. Huge stone steps wind down on opposite sides toward the house, making one feel a bit like they’re in a remake of ‘Gone With The Wind’.
There’s a large kitchen, two outside dining areas, a fish pond, a separate artists studio with paints, easels and an extra daybed, and of course the main house with its spacious double-level ‘jungle penthouse’ vibe.
Our bed is honeymoon-esque, has a fabulous mattress and is make from antique wood. We have satellite television, a huge wooden desk, tons of original artwork and a gigantic indoor/outdoor bathroom. There’s even four giant stone columns with overhanging greenery and wrought iron chairs for when you feel a bit of the poet thing coming on and want an exquisite setting from which to write love sonnets or whatever.
This place is so achingly pretty, private and serene, that the husband and I are already hatching plans to stay here as long as we possibly can. Why would we leave? This is easily the nicest place we’ve ever lived in, and did I mention it comes complete with a gardener, full-time cook and cleaner?
This morning as I sat perched upstairs on a huge sofa looking out through the treetops and having a Mary Poppins moment as the birds chirped and sang sweetly around me, I marvelled at how one minute you can be totally nonplussed about life, and then the next, be feeling utterly blessed and grateful.
Then of course Dumpie started wailing and came running upstairs naked, having undressed himself because he didn’t like his outfit and wanted me to choose a new one.
And Egg came upstairs whining that he didn’t like chocolate wafers anymore and insisted I remake him a better snack for school or he’d refuse to eat it.
So I sighed, got up and headed downstairs, happily cushioned from the cacophony of disgruntled little people.
I am in heaven…and here I’m going to stay…for at least a little while – or until we get kicked out again.