So, as I’ve mentioned before, I bought our family home under the assumption I’d be living in it with one tiny dog until I was old enough to be classed as a “spinster”, at which point the 29 cats would be added to the mix. I have also mentioned that Daddio and Midi Silver (then aged 5) moved in within a year of this occurring. I may also have touched upon the fact that the house is not, what you would deem, “spacious”. However, in news just in, I’d like to report that today, this non spacious, over populated abode appears to have shrunk.
Myself and Daddio appear to have made a sort of sport out of rearranging furniture and other bulky items around the house. If it is not nailed down (and on occasion even if it is) we will try it elsewhere at some point in the hope that it somehow makes the caravan sized Silver Family HQ feel like a mansion of some sort. It sort of feels like a challenge from the Crystal Maze or Krypton Factor (feck it, I’m old), as if one day, when all the pieces have finally slotted into place, a secret area will open. To be honest, I’d be inclined to sod the crystal and use the extra space to add a dining table.
I have actually got to the stage where I am really keeping everything crossed that I will open the wardrobe one day to find a wonderful, Narnia like place, only mine would contain bookshelves and additional storage. And probably a second bathroom. Hell, I’d settle for a shed back there. Anything that would mean that the giant game of non successful Tetris could end.
And it doesn’t help that the smaller the child, the larger the equipment required. I swear, Midi Silver could be clothed, washed and entertained using the contents of a small suitcase. The Milk Monster, however, requires chairs on stilts, a portable bath that’s hardly any smaller than the actual bath, a special unit for changing his arse, a million sets of clothes and, obviously, a Jumper-sodding-roo. Because, really, lying on the floor is for 5 month olds, mam. I’m nearly 7 months now. Leaving me to lie on the floor will result in, at best, a tantrum. But more likely some sort of wriggling which will mean I end up under the couch, screaming the house down in approximately 27 seconds. Because that’s how I roll.
And highchairs? What’s that all about? Why, when I don’t even have room for a table for the members of the family who have table manners to sit at, do I fork out for a chair on stilts for the Tiny Tyrant so he can lob his food a more impressive distance? What was I thinking? Don’t get me wrong, I love the suspense of our games of “where will the meat land”, but I’m not sure I’ll love them when I actually find the missing rotten flesh… Yet another bonus of Baby Lead Weaning – even if you count how many bits of something you’ve given them, by the end of the (often soul destroying) meal, you have no idea how many were swallowed and how many are now decomposing down the back of the radiator. It’s just so exciting…
Today, after throwing away the rug that has only survived the first 3 weeks of Mini Milk’s adventures in Food Land, I attempted to make the stuff and things fit in the living room. Tonight I realised that it was probably no better than when I started. Today’s “Furniture Chess” had really made no difference, whatsoever to the spaciousness of the living quarters. And do you know what? It’s no bloody wonder. Because you cannot polish a turd. And no more should I expect a family of four to fit in this (previously) one bedroom house than I would expect to fit myself into Kate Moss’s skinny jeans. It’s just not possible.
I suppose the answer seems simple, as all things do when it’s someone else’s problem, buy a bigger house. But, if it were that simple we’d be out there picking one, not re-assembling furniture that had to be dissembled to get it moved between rooms. Unfortunately, nothing in my life is ever quite that straight forward. And without boring you with the details, suffice to say that we will, most likely be here for some time to come. And the boys will have to squish their friends into their tiny bedrooms when they come to visit, or go and play in the (rather ironically) giant garden.
And I will continue to spend my days trying to come up with new ways of fitting the same things in the same rooms in different orders, in the hope that one day I’ll move the chest of drawers and it will press a secret button on the floor, and cogs will turn…revealing a secret wing of the house. With real life dining chairs, a table and a second bathroom. And hopefully a wetroom for feeding the Sleep Thief.