People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw rocks.
This piece of age-old wisdom came to mind last week while I was contemplating the fingerprints, crumbs, and sticky things smeared on our glass-topped kitchen table. As I wiped, dried and buffed the tabletop for something like the 443rd time this week, I thought, “People who live in glass houses probably shouldn’t give their children crumpets with jam for breakfast, either.” (Unless they are lucky enough to have live-in window cleaners… which, come to think of it, probably should come included if one is building or buying a glass house).
And really, is there anything people who live in glass houses should throw? Certainly not tomatoes or water balloons. Maybe pillows? Or used tissues, or paper wads (not spit wads!)? Having wandered down that line of thought, I thought better of taking the next turning. Just think of all the things people who live in glass houses shouldn’t do!
I’ve been a little preoccupied with houses– mostly not glass ones– since we recently woke up in the middle of an episode of Househunters International. (Minus the whining about how we really need a 3-car garage, a “bonus” room, and a pool…) Our landlord is moving back into this flat, which he designed and renovated several years back. Despite any complaints I may have had in the past year about that slight problem with our flat being a float… there’s nothing like being told you will have to move out to make you think that you’ve been living in the perfect situation. I will miss my beautiful kitchen and our luxurious bathroom, if not the perennially reappearing water spots and occasional dripping walls in Quinn and Chloe’s rooms.
Chloe’s room. I’m having a hard time with that aspect of the move: with breaking up the last household one of the big kids actually lived in full-time. Packing up our home in Marblehead and moving overseas right when Will graduated made the end of a family era that much more undeniable. Packing up this place we’ve worked so hard to make our new home means that our next abode will hold no shared memories with Will or Chloe living there. It doesn’t help that when you go to college orientation they say, “You should keep your child’s room as it is for a while, so they feel like they still have a place.” OK. Thanks for that advice, but apparently we live in a different universe from most parents dropping their kids at university. Clearly I haven’t yet acquired that famous British “stiff upper lip.”
A couple of things I have acquired over the last two weeks are squinting, red eyes and hunched shoulders, from huddling over every real estate website and database in the city. A person could spend days, 24/7, looking at all the listings, exploring the floor plans and following the google street views to see what the neighborhoods look like… What? No, don’t be silly! I said “a person could“… of course that’s not what I’ve been doing all week! The piles of laundry downstairs? The dishes in the sink? That neglected, hungry look in my children’s eyes? Nothing to do with rightmove.co.uk. Just because I have now memorized the north London streets almost well enough to take the taxi drivers’ exam? Nothing to do with Foxton’s real estate website…
When we moved to London for the first time, we hired a relocation firm to assist in the housing search. It just made sense, as we weren’t on the ground in the city, and we needed to find something in the short window we had carved out for a house-finding trip. They had a driver and an agent ready for us, as well as a list of about 20 properties that more or less matched what we had described to them. We went out and saw them all in one day– which was like a dream come true if you like that sort of thing (which I emphatically do) and probably a nightmare if you don’t. After the last viewing our guide and new best friend, Ryan, took us to a pub and the three of us huddled over beverages and talked through our options. He got on the phone and made offers and we negotiated in real time. By the time we parted for the night we were pretty sure we had secured our place.
Our initial choice was a townhouse with a newly redone, beautiful, modern interior– in fact, it had glass railings on all the three floors of staircases… so practically a glass house! It also had black wooden flooring, a sundeck cut into the middle of the master bedroom suite, and it was about 40 steps from Primrose Hill park. But the two bedrooms the younger children would have been in were on the ground floor near the entrance, while we were two floors up from there. And there were no shops or restaurants within a 5-10 minute walk. The aesthetics appealed to us so much that we made the offer, negotiated a bit, and then went back to the hotel for the night thinking that was probably going to be the one. But the next morning, Clay and I both woke up feeling like it was the wrong choice. Luckily for us, the owners had not agreed to our offer, so we were able to walk away from the deal. Literally. Will and I took the half-mile walk up to the neighborhood of our second choice flat while Clay went to his office for a few hours.
Our second choice flat was further from the school, and we needed to see if I could live with the neighborhood and the commute. The flat hadn’t shown very well, as it was overfilled to stuffed with a French family, their nanny, and enough furniture for at least an 8-bedroom chateau. One of the little girls in the family followed us around while we toured and fed us with bits of information like, “Daddy likes to sleep in the bathtub!” (I found it very amusing, but I bet the parents would have thought otherwise.) But I had seen this property online with pictures from less cluttered days, and I knew the floorplan would work for our family. What Will and I also discovered when we walked up to the neighborhood that fateful June morning, was that it was in a great street (see photo), with the Tube, great shops and family restaurants, groceries, bakeries, and even a movie theater all within two blocks of our front door. Second choice quickly flip-flopped to first choice! (And ultimately, knowing that the bathtub would work as an extra bed in a pinch may have been the factor that swayed us…)
That was our Househunters International, Round 1 experience. This time around we really can’t justify a relocation firm. We live here now. We know what neighborhoods we like. We know basically what we should be able to get with our budget. It’s really just a matter of vigilance, patience, and nerves. All we have to do is spot the perfect place when it comes on the market, sometime in the next 4-6 weeks, and then hope that we can swoop in and be the first and/or best offer. How hard can it be? (That’s for any Top Gear fans out there… “How hard can it be?” ALWAYS means there’s trouble ahead!)
I promise to be back very soon with an update. In the meantime, no spoilers in the comments, please!