On to the final instalment then!
In January of 2013 our floors were poured, and it quickly became apparent that they were never going to dry in time for our moving deadline of the end of March. I, perhaps unrealistically, had this notion of moving in when everything was done. Having a finished home, after all the upheaval, rather than one still full of workmen, with us manoeuvreing around them. Three children in the midst of a building site, just didn’t appeal and so we sat it out in our rented house, and watched it all slowly take shape.
Upstairs moved on quickly – bathrooms were plumbed and fitted and then tiled, the decorator started on bedrooms and we picked carpet and paint colours. I remember spending a whole afternoon just looking at paint brochures. To this day friends ask me how I could even get my head around choosing colours, why I didn’t just go for ‘Magnolia everywhere’. To be honest, that would have been so much easier, but I figured if we were paying to get it done, then I may as well have the colours I wanted to begin with. Thankfully, everything turned out just as I hoped – we had no paint emergencies – and I even chose bedroom and hall wallpaper too.
Downstairs, our hall fireplace went in, and the kitchen was tiled ready for being fitted. I remember the day the kitchen people arrived clearly, sending Mr M over to take photographs of the first pieces in place. When you put so much thought and time into planning something, to see it come to fruition is kind’ve amazing and a tiny bit surreal. It was a day I thought I’d never see.
Our reclaimed hall floor and radiators were fitted just days before we moved in, and the decorating was ongoing. In fact, the day before we moved, on 26th April, there were ten vans parked in our driveway. It was all hands on deck – everyone pulled together in the end.
Moving day was nuts. The painter was still in the process of painting skirting and doors, and around this we had family cleaning and moving our belongings. It was exhausting but also elating. The atmosphere was good, and the adrenaline pushed us on.
Our first night in Little Wood, as rough and unfinished as she was, is one I’ll always remember. We put the kiddies to bed, ordered takeaway, opened some Champagne, and collapsed in a heap on our new sofa – the same little spot we still spend all our evenings on now.
There were doors still not painted, places with no skirting board, no granite work top or kitchen taps, but we were in. It would take weeks before everything was done – we still did have to manoeuvre round workmen – and to this day there are a million jobs still unfinished.
But from the day and hour we closed our front door, and it was just the five of us.
In fact, from the moment Mr M drew those first pencil sketches and we walked the field and imagined our little family there.
Little Wood was our home.
If you have enjoyed reading this story, and want to see more of our home, you can take the Little Wood tour! Just click on ‘our little wood’ under the archive in my sidebar, and then on the photograph of the room you’d like to visit. I’d love to show you round!