Hearth

It takes a long time to make a house feel like a home.

All the thought and care, the little touches: a light to fall on your book when you sit to read here; mugs and tea within easy reach of the kettle; a rug in just the right shade for your feet when you step out of bed; the sheen of a floorboard toning with the sheen of a cabinet; a painting just where it will catch the sunshine or catch your eye.

I'm good at this. Not tidy, not artistic, but I've taken a ruined, empty, partly-derelict building and made it into a family home for the girls to grow up in. Not for them, I thought, the moving around the country, the gradual climbs and falls of the property ladder. A firm, solid base; some roots from which to branch out.

It has not taken him long to make our home feel like a house. Just a house. The place where we happen to be living for the time being.  The girls are starting to wonder why on earth we would all stay here together if he is going to continue to be unhappy, grumpy, angry, dissatisfied with everything.  We looked at a few houses on the internet (priced at about 1/3 the likely offers for this one, just to be on the safe side). They got quite excited.

I expect when we come back from our holiday (oh joy) I will take some steps to get the house valued, and begin the process of unravelling all the threads I have so carefully and lovingly knitted together to make this nest, this home-against-the-world for my girls.