It has been an odd week. It feels like we have been cleaning forever. We leave on Thursday for London, then travel from Paris to the Loire Valley to “pick-up” the canal boat on Friday. Then on the 14th when we are back from France, we will be bringing my parents home. To my home. From my home. It’s surreal.
Every now and then I’ll stop what I am doing and marvel at the fact that very soon, my parents will be in my house. Staying in my bed. When I am cleaning the kitchen I try to picture making my parents a cup of tea in it. I try to imagine my father on our new sofa, watching TV. I try to see us all in our garden having dinner together and I just can’t.
My parents have visited my apartments before and been for dinner and been in my kitchens, but they have never stayed with me, because they have never visited me while I have lived overseas. After 4 years of living here and “making a home”, it’s the first time I would have played the host and looked after them and I love it yet I am a bit nervous for some reason. It is perhaps the switch around in roles – I am host, the boss, the knowledge-keeper, the driver, the cook, the towel-provider. Our tiny place will hold, sleep, feed, house 4 people for a week and while we will be out a lot, I worry that it will feel so very small and they won’t like it and they will worry about us and the weather will suck and they’ll tell me to come home.
I’ve been cleaning to try and make things perfect, but things just won’t be perfect. I know they won’t judge, but there is some part of me that feels if my place looks clean and in order and my life looks great and they see how happy we are then they will feel so much happier about me living here for longer. For so so much longer than planned. And I can’t change silly things like the weather, but I really hope it holds out for us.
I am so excited to see them and to have adventures with them. It’ll be so nice to have my home as their home, even for a week.