An Englishman's home is his castle.

I wonder what that means? Many sayings we trot out and probably don't give too much thought to their meanings...this one, however, is dear to my heart.
I am a home bird, I love being at home, everything that interests me is connected to home, my husband, my children, arty farty crafty stuff that beautifies and restores the home. You'll perhpas notice that I say home, not house. I don't think I have a particular house in mind, I am sure that, should I see it, I would know my perfect house but I think that it is possible to make a home almost anywhere you find yourself, if, that is, that wherever you find yourself, belongs to you.

I have lived ( in my adult life) in no less than 16 homes, ranging from student nurse accomodation to rented flats, houses, condo's, in-laws homes..you name it, I've done it. As long as my name is on the rent book I have made it a home and even when the house was my father in law's I did try and make it feel like my home.
In planning my future at the grand age of 16 or so I knew that wherever I lived it would have to be clean, pleasant to look at and safe. The rest I barely imagined. My overwhelming memory of growing up was that there was a tangible feeling of security when I walked in through the front door, through bullying nightmares at school to heart break from boys it never mattered what the cause of my woe may be, it was minimised when I got home ( although I will admit that the heartbreak ones had to have their fair share of door slamming and wailing or they wouldn't have been worth the time ).
I wanted that for my children, I needed that for my children....I wanted them to be able to come home from school, throw the back pack on the floor ( funny how I forget that was part of the picture now it IS part of my life!!) and exhale. I don't think we've got that.
I am unsettled, I feel I have been picked up, flung around and dropped in the past 5 years. Before I met H and we got married I pretty much had what I had wished for. I had a home that was a happy place to be, was admired for it's appearance and comfort, it was safe and we loved it. I had worked hard to build it up and make it the way it was. I walked away from all of it and went to the states to marry H and I will never regret that for a moment but I am sad that somewhere along the way, with my furniture and 'stuff' I lost the 'feeling' that we had. We have a home now, which in itself is a blessing, having stumbled from pillar to post and felt wretched along the way whilst in America,we are now pretty settled in a pleasant bungalow.
Why then do I feel so dissatisfied? Why do I feel as though any moment we could be uprooted and shoved on again? Why, I wonder, for the first time in my life do I positively crave a home of my own, really my own that is so firmly rooted in my heart that no-one and nothing can shift me? I say me but you know that I mean we. My family.
I still have no dillusions of grandeur, in fact that object of my near obsession is right next door, a relatively humble house with a converted loft, 4 bedrooms and TWO bathrooms...... oh sweet joy. It's empty you know, has been for 8 months and in my heart I know that it's because it's waiting for us. It NEEDS us as much as we need it. It needs us to fill it and love it and is longing for me to stroke it's kitchen work tops and stare out of it's windows with a feeling of gratification and serenity.
I find myself ( perhaps inadmirably) resenting people who have workstops to stroke, who have a garage and driveway and the abosolute freedom to hang pictures without worrying about whether the landlord will snatch money from their deposit when they have to leave. I am weary of looking after other peoples' houses. I am sick of wondering if one day we will have to up and move again and scrub and clean and wipe all traces of ourselves from someone elses' house.
I take care of these houses and I feel physically ill when inspection time comes around ...I also feel justifiable ( I think) indignation that it is ok for these people to walk into our home ( yes, I know, their house) and look it up and down and judge us on how we are living. I understand it, but I hate it.
I long for a door that I can close and open only to those I CHOOSE. A door that my children will know is ALWAYS open to them, I want to live in a home for 30 years and make memories, put down roots, make it smell like mine....funny how smells just make a memory, mark my babies heights on the doorframe and look lovingly at the marks when they are grown. I want my children to know the smell of their home and when they are adults will walk in when they visit and take the deepest breath and know they are home.
My sadness is that I don't know how or if this will ever be mine, am I destined to move from someone else's house to someone else's house and end my days in an unfamiliar home of a different kind? When I feel envy that others have what I crave I do manage to stop myself and remind me that these people have worked for what they have......and me? Well, my focus has been family, single parenthood for 10 years and now more babies that need me here with them. There is not one ounce of resentment toward me children, I wanted them, I longed for them and I am beyond grateful for having them. I have never thought too hard or deeply about material possessions, never minded until now, about this house deal.
I think I am beginning to feel old age isn't something that happens only to other people and in realising this I have been smacked in the face with the realisation that the fairies aren't going to make it all just 'happen' and it is harder and harder to accept that this is my 'lot'.
DO you think I can change how things are? Is there a magical answer out there that will make my dream a reality? Just a safe house, with enough room that I can live in for 30 years ( or more) that my children can picture when they are grown and in the thick of their own lives and dreams and especially when they are experiencing pangs of longing themselves. A garden that I can plant things in knowing that I will see them grown and established, that I will enjoy in a year, maybe 5 and remember the day I planted them.
I ache for memories that can take the place of the sad ones I have. I am ridding my heart of the pain and I am fortifying it for the work it has ahead of it with my little men and their eccentricities, my Isaac, who I'm told will need security and routine a bit more than the rest of us...what greater gift could I give him than a home that he can feel is his no matter how old he is?
I am an English woman dreaming of her Castle, with it's draw bridge and moat to keep out the baddies that seek to enter where they are not welcome.