Sunday, March 27, 2011

a place to call my own

a discussion with one of my oldest and closest friends this weekend was inspiration for this weeks blog.

Many people comment how lucky i am to have my own house, and they're right. All that space! just for you! no other adult messing it up!
And yes, that's true too i suppose.
There's this common misnomer though, that the house is the womans domain, her space to do as she pleases. That as long as men have their shed/garage/cave, all will be well.

But in my house, and i suspect many other houses, the truth is that the house is not REALLY my space at all. it's a collective family space - let's face it, it's a rare day that i get to use the bathroom on my own, let alone have any place in the house that i can truly call my own. My wardrobe, possibly, but even then, No 1 Daughter has a fascination with what lies beyond it's doors (not a whole lot of excitement, just for the record). The TV is out of the lounge and is now poked in a corner in my bedroom, the only space it could go, so most days the children get a little time in front of that, sprawled on my bed or floor.
The kitchen - well that's carte blanche for hungry people, the lounge belongs to all of us.
They have their own rooms, and whilst i am welcome, of course, there is no doubt that this is 'their space' not mine. Ditto, the garden resplendent with jungle gym and tramp.
My office - well hardly the space i want to call my own, and it also doubles as a second living space.
So what is left?
Well, as i see it - the last vestige of privacy for women has to be...
their handbags!
my children have been brought up to believe that there is a crocodile living in the bottom of mine who will snap at their fingers if they so much as dip a hand in. (and, dear readers, there is no need to email me about telling lies to children...if you're a woman you'll be writing this idea down, if you're a man, you're just not gonna care about lies like this...)
So, the things i DONT want my children to touch (and there are few, but that's not the point), live in my handbag. The camera, my miniature folddown umbrella - which holds fascination for the kids - my purse and cellphone. A crossword book (why oh why do they insist on filling in the gaps if it's left lying about). hot hot hot peppermints. not much else really. but it's MY space, mine mine mine....

1 comment:

Under-the-Apple-Tree said...

Virginnia Woolf said What everywoman needs is a 'room of her own and five hundred pounds a year'. With this I agree; taking inflation into account!

From someone who has always kept their clothes in a suitcase this seems a good aspiration.

Houses are a lot of work inside and out. A crocodile handbang is much more desirable to call ones own!