Thursday, 19 August 2010
The stairs are thick with dust, the tiles crunch underfoot, and upstairs, floors are slashed open, their innards gaping gruesomely.
In the hallway, walls that I once skimmed and painted are about to be torn apart and holes are appearing in the ceilings overhead.
Chaos spirals through the house like the cables that snake up the stairs; doors slam in the wind, plates are piled on the sideboard, boxes block the bedroom, boot-marks cover the floors, inane noise blasts from the radio, John screams from his cot, and when a delivery of plasterboard arrives I have to enlist the help of the electrician to push the car (and canoe) up the driveway because James has disappeared with the keys.
Watching my home being simultaneously created and destroyed is a constant challenge for me, and on days like today I can no longer play home in one little corner of the house whilst pretending that the chaos doesn't exist.
Because upstairs, the wall has been brought down and the extension is fast becoming the house.
So instead of railing against the chaos, I'm going to try to put aside my ideal of homeliness for a short while, to forget about cleaning altogether, and to focus wholeheartedly on what we're creating for the future.
And in the meantime, I think I'll get out of the house as much as I possibly can.