Absence without apology.

So I’m back.

It’s been a long time since I posted (gosh I really didn’t realise exactly how long) and there’s a variety of reasons for that – time, motivation and family all factor – but mainly I have to come clean and admit that mentally I wasn’t able.

These past months have been challenging and I have found myself feeling overwhelmed, inadequate, anxious and depressed. My rational brain tells me this is partly understandable, for who wouldn’t be overwhelmed with building a house, moving, and keeping school, work, therapy, marriage and afterschool activities on track?

But this has been deeper, crippling, continual and difficult to extract myself from.

In the end, despite weeks of trying to pack, cull and clean in preparation for the move to our new house, it was chaotic and frenetic - everything I had been trying to avoid. If not for the dogged insistence and hardwork from my parents, it would have been an unmitigated disaster. I will be ever-thankful to them. We just made it, but it left me exhausted at a time when I wanted to be energised.

We moved whilst in the persistent grip of winter. Heavy frosts dulled my excitement of finally giving up the renting treadmill. Bouts of heavy rain left our new house surrounded by un-traversable, oozy clay mud and washed our long driveway into the street, leaving deep ruts to be negotiated by four-wheel-drive only. One night my husband literally ended up sliding one of our cars down the driveway, all traction lost to the mud, slipped between the gateposts, to finish at the mailbox miraculously unscathed.

Despite the double-glazing, the first six weeks in our new house felt cold. Perhaps erroneously, we chose to delay window treatments, partly for financial reasons, partly to ‘live’ the house for a bit to get a good feel for what will work. Whilst the sunrises and morning views from our bedroom each morning have been nothing short of stunning every single day, it’s also left me feeling unable to retreat and hide, literally and figuratively, in those cold evenings when I was already feeling very alone in a vast world that I don’t always fit in.

Boxes of stuff abound in every space. Budget contributed to our choice to delay built-ins for our master wardrobe, for book storage, for garage storage, for everything so it seems. So the boxes for some weeks were only partly unpacked where storage or a make-do solution could be found. I found myself rootling through boxes in the garage several times, socked-feet on icy, dusty garage floor, looking for work appropriate footwear that hadn’t made it to the jumble in our wardrobe yet.

Our elderly dog Gus has noticeably also been affected. In July we were forced to make the awful decision to give peace to our dear Maisie, who we’d had since a pup, but at the age of 16 was facing severely deteriorated health and comfort. We buried her on the slope near our new house, under the gums, looking over us and the valley. I still can’t visit her without tears, so I avoid it.

So these are all, as they say, first-world problems. Big boohoo. They didn’t cause my illness. I believe my onset started as a result of sudden, life-threatening illness as a child which has impacted my life every day since. I recall being mentally paralysed by anxiety each weekend before I had to go to my part-time job as a teenager. It flared several times during my years at university. It became more serious in my late 30’s in the lead-up to my son having serious surgery and was diagnosed by my GP. Embarrassment and a feeling of not being supported led to me rejecting medication. The intervening years have been a battle I’ve valiantly tried to win but my physical health has declined, bringing fatigue and reignited feelings of helplessness. My new GP confronted me about it as I detailed every one of my physical ailments. She heard what I wouldn’t say and made a new diagnosis and helped me to realise that right now, it’s more important than any of my other health problems. So now I know it’s not going away and I need to own up to it. I need to stay on it.

So no, I haven’t posted updates about our house build for some time. We are living here now and it brings challenges but the feeling of permanence, which I was craving, is returning after not living anywhere permanently for over 6 years. It feels good to put pictures on the wall, to put plants in the ground and to make choices which will have a life of more than 12 months. The weather is getting warmer – perhaps more than is normal – but I occasionally steal 10 precious, quiet minutes of a morning, between my family leaving for the day and when I have to leave as well, to sip a steaming cup of tea in the cool morning air on my new verandah.

I quietly watch the sun rise and the birds, kangaroos and numerous wildlife continue their evolutionary journey, feeling privileged and joyful to have been a brief part of it, letting myself be open to whatever the day brings, and feeling gratitude that though I am not perfect, I am here and life goes on; in, and around me.

The bliss of Bath.

There are two types of people in the world: those who like baths, and those who don’t.

I suppose when it comes to children you might add a third category, being of the type who don’t like baths but are made to have one regardless, but for the sake of simplicity, I shall stick to those who are in control of their bathing choices.

I love a bath.

But I am picky.

I can’t take a relaxing bath in a bathroom which is crowded with kids toys. I can’t take a bath when there is kid-craziness and general hullaballoo going on in the house outside the bathroom door. In fact, I really can’t settle to a bath unless there is a reasonable degree of security that I will be uninterrupted by partner, child or cold water.

Bath is sanctuary.

“There is no problem on earth that can't be ameliorated by a hot bath and a cup of tea.” 

- Jasper Fforde, Shades of Grey

Bathtime is solitude. Bubbles, oils or bathbombs, a robust book (book holder or skill required here), and beverage of choice is necessary. Assume the position hitherto known as ‘bliss’. (Side note: now I know wine or bubbly is generally regarded as the stereotypical ‘ladies’ bathtime beverage, but there’s a lot to be said for spirits, too. Tea is also a personal favourite, although one should take care to not simultaneously overheat internally and externally from hot liquids. Iced tea is safer. Passing out in the nick on the bathroom floor due to carelessly dehydrating from excessive indulgence does tend to dent one’s bliss).

To take a bath is to remove the trials of the day as you disrobe; to add some magic potions to soothe and soften, and to wash off the dust and stress. There is method and meaning to this ritual of Bath.

That act of slowly inching my scrawny, tired and neglected frame into the steaming water, adjusting to the heat and enjoying the tingle as the senses awaken and then subdue, is something I often think of when I’d rather be somewhere else. Somewhere, lying in a bath, nostrils poking above the waterline like a hippo, wallowing and enjoying the sensation of becoming as buoyant as the water depth will allow. Ah, my bliss.

“There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.” 

- Sylvia Plath

So one of the indulgences in our build is to add a bath to the ensuite. It was a conscious, selfish decision because, clearly, I don’t want to share. This bath is mine. No discussion will be entered into. You can take your rubber ducky and leave right now.

Despite that, we made a mistake in planning this bath. In the whirlwind of making decisions on all the bathroom fitouts, we managed to choose just the very basic bath for both the ensuite and main bathroom, which will be mostly used by our kids. Partly this came about due to budget but also because I didn’t realise how petite the bath would be.

When the baths arrived and were installed onsite, I blanched. A kid-sized bath in a kid’s bathroom I could live with, but a kid-sized bath in an adult bathroom was quite another thing. I’d blundered.

Thankfully, we negotiated for the builder to remove the ensuite bath while we quickly ordered another, still fairly budget, but much more adult-friendly. Sigh. Of. Relief.

Oh, there were thoughts of palatially-proportioned bath 'bowls' which would bath the whole family at once (although how could this ever be relaxing?). Or perhaps a spa bath big enough for two (definitely NOT relaxing and so irritating to have my book interrupted). A flick through the latest reno magazine or scroll through Pinterest gets the wishlist whirring.

But at it's core, remember this: a bath does not need to be any longer than your own body, and only deep enough that you can wriggle your shoulders down under the waterline. The rest is excess and a waste of good book money.

Had I  the money, then yes, perhaps I would have loved a more serious bath in both spaces, even extending to that spa. But here’s the reality for most people: there’s only a limited budget and something’s gotta give. The kids will have a kid-sized bath. Adults will have a (modest) adult-sized bath. And in the future we may add an outdoor spa.

I might even share the spa. But don’t bet on it.

Injecting the vintage into our build

Hello!

It’s an exciting milestone in our house build – we’re at lockup! That’s right, that time in the build which most people consider the ‘hump’, not least of all because it’s generally the biggest payment stage, which feels pretty humpy financially, but it’s when all the external doors and windows are in and it feels like a real house.

The plasterers have been working hard and we’ve complicated their task a little because they have to work around one of the features we included to inject a little vintage vibe, pine lining boards.

There’s a bit of a throwback to pine lining boards lately thanks to the recent ‘shiplap’ trend popularised by a few American house restoration TV programs, but of course the use of timber boards to line ceilings and walls in Australian housing goes back to the original European-style houses in Australia like the slab hut.

The invention of plasterboard and asbestos- and fibro-cement sheet post WWII led to lots of beautiful timber boards being removed and new construction opting for the cheaper manufactured alternatives. Today, timber lining boards tend only to be used as feature points in design for a point of difference in architectural focal points.

I’m sure you could have predicted just a ‘focal point’ of timber lining was never going to be enough for me. Nope.

So I pushed the friendship a little with our builder and made the call: timber lining on the ceiling throughout the entrance, main living area and hall. Also I opted for a few full walls, being a large wall in the central living area, two walls in the lounge and one in the master bedroom. I chose to have them installed horizontally in the fashion of early Australian architecture.

The trickiest bit, where I may have pushed the envelope little, is the ceiling of the al fresco area, because it’s vaulted and will need a bit of time to perfect the angles.

It’s going to look superb and I can’t wait to see it painted up.

If funds had allowed, I would have gone further. I perhaps would have liked to have included the hall walls and all the ceilings, but we had the draw the purse strings somewhere and I think the choices we made for where to put the timber lining will definite add a strong vintage feel without blowing the budget and avoids the feeling of the timber just being a ‘token’ addition.

I also chose to use the side of the board which many people think of as the reverse, which gives a feeling of a wider board and reveals the curved bead line which, for me, really gives it a more period feel. Combined with a modest cornice choice, nearly every room will have a vintage hit which will be un-missable.

Next week the next stage of fitout begins, with architraves, skirting boards and tiles being delivered for installation. The slow reveal continues!