About two months ago my daughter and her two little fellas (3yrs and 8 months) moved in with me after a violent and threatening incident in the apartment block where she was living (read: drug-addled junkie wielding knife in corridor). It was the final straw in a series of such ‘incidents’, so she packed her car after filing a police report and high-tailed it to my place.
(It was only six months ago that I FINALLY moved into a place of my own. After living at home in my yewth, I shared houses for a while, got married, had kids, the kids moved out, met another bloke, moved in with him, moved out six months ago and was absolutely relishing my new-found freedom. I LOVED living by myself: I don’t have to talk to anybody if I don’t want to, I can eat when I feel like it and only need to wash the dishes every few days! Life was heaven I tell ya!)
But of course my door is always open to my kids when they need sanctuary, so I tizzied up the spare room and the kid and the kidlets moved in.
The house was trashed within 2 hours. There was shit EVERYWHERE I turned, every spare corner was filled with ‘stuff’. The bathroom was constantly wet from kids splashing in the bath, and I reckon my power bills went up by at least 200% for the duration. Oh, and the 3 yr old insisted on sleeping with Nana every night, so not even my bed was sacrosanct.
My daughter was extremely pro-active in finding a new place to live, and inspected many properties but they all fell short of what she needed. Finally, she found a fabulous house only ten minutes from mine, cheaper rent than what she was paying, and it has a garden to boot. The previous apartment was shoe-box size with a balcony that looked out over one of the busiest roads in Melbourne…not exactly appropriate for little kids to be breathing in the carbon-monoxide wot. And in the new place she has views over Port Phillip Bay: sweet.
So on Friday they moved.
My house is clean and tidy again. The toys have been relegated to their home (off the floor), the bathroom is dry (and devoid of piles of washing). There are no stacks of dishes in the sink to be washed either. W00TzERs!!!
But y’know, I miss them already. Being an early-waker, one of my treats was to hear the little fella (Jacko*, 8 months) do the 6 a.m. gurgle and coo, and swoop in for a bit of early Nana-bonding before his Mum woke up. I’d often get an HOUR before having to go to work, just Jacko* and me time, and it was tres special.
Of course just spending play-time with Jimbo* (3yrs old) was incredible too. Reading him his night-time story, followed up by a request for a Nana-Backrub was something that I am very blessed to have received. Yes, they were fucking annoying at times, but the joy won out by heaps. I miss having to step over shit to get to my chair, and the Christmas Tree now looks awfully lonely without little guys to admire it. But I’m glad they were here for that time.
Anyways, my house is mine again, I’m enjoying THAT too, and I hope the next long-stay is a looooooong time away.
Hope is a wonderful thing, innit?? 
