a place to call my own

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I live with my grandmother, and have done so for a little over a year now. The boy and I lived on our own for pretty much six years before she invited us to keep her company. Things have been pretty good, apart from a few stressful situations. But I feel it is time to move on and find a little place to call my own.


Plans change. The original 'Plan A' was to live with Grandma until we built our dream home on our average-sized, suburban block of land. Now, after much deliberating and discussion, I think we have decided to sell our little piece of land and buy an older house. One that isn't all sparkly and new. One that needs work, needs love. One that we can work on - the boy being very handy and me being good at interior design - and turn into our own little home.

Why the change of heart? After a few comments were thrown about, we decided what we really want, long term, is a few acres...not necessarily in isolation, but just a big, spacious property where kids can climb trees and my hyperactive kelpie/staffy can run around to his heart's content. Where I can plant orange trees and apple trees and lemon trees...have an expansive veggie garden overflowing with fresh produce. Maybe even a few chooks. Where we can build a cubby house for the kids, have the typical Aussie 'tyre swing' from a big gumtree, maybe even a little dam.
I can't afford that dream property at the moment, so buying an older house for now feels like a stepping stone towards this. I'm also keen to start a family in the next 24 months, and I can't do that until I have my own place and everything is settled.

Actually, I think that is what this whole restlessness is about: I just don't feel settled in my life.