1

The couch is furry.

It’s also purple and velvet, but today, the dominant theme is furry. The fur is evidence of Bumblebee’s disobedience. The giant furball is laying demurely on the bare parquet floor, eschewing the small (real) sheepskin rug on which she’s permitted to lounge. Her eyes are guileless. “Hair?” they whisper. “What hair? I know not of what you speak, I’ve been lying here on the cold, hard floor like a good dog.”

Liar, liar, liar.

I ponder vacuuming the couch before lounging on it, but I’m wearing pants in which I’ve walked the dog three times today — there is no point. I sigh, and cover the dog hair with my legs.

On the floor, the beast heaves a sigh of relief.

It’s my fault, really. I shoo her off the couch most of the time, but not all of the time. When Ender lures her to cuddle with him on the couch, I don’t have the heart to separate them.

Yes, I’m a sucker.

2

The floor is crunchy. And also hairy. Two solutions: Vacuum/mop or wear slippers. I do both and engage again in some mental math. When might I be able to afford a housecleaner to come, say once a month, and do a really, really deep clean of the kitchen and the bathrooms, and also get into all the corners where the hairballs hide?

In five or six years, after I finish putting the third child through university.

It’s good to have goals.

3

The fridge is empty. This, I can fix easily. I pull out my phone, click on the PC App and start shopping. I look for Canadian products but also the cheaper products. And I’m a little resentful. I’m making amazingly good money right now — more than I’ve ever made in my life.

And it all goes to housing and food. 

I have a list of things I’m lusting after right now. New pillows, a new set of cotton bedsheets. A dedicated spice grinder. A Kitchen Aid mixer. 

Bigger dreams: New tiles for my bathroom. A more fur-resistant couch.

Make it bigger: A trip to Trinidad, Cuba. Another trip to Egypt. A trip to Italy with all three kids.

I buy some semi-fancy coffee instead, and a club size pack of ground beef that will provide my enormous sons with the protein they crave.

Here’s a somewhat depressing stat: Based on recent Canadian income stats, I’m in the top 10% percentile of Canadian households, just with my salary. I should be filthy rich, really. Right?

I’m clearly doing something wrong.

4

The living room is cozy. It really is just about perfect. I dream of a Roche Bobois Mahjong couch, but I’ve achieved the same effect with my purple velvet chaise lounge, acquired second-hand from a friend who was downsizing, four low and fat armchairs, $40 each at the Restore, and blankets and pillow covers from Khan el-Khalili in Cairo.

I’m so fucking privileged. Really. 

I’m clearly doing a lot of things right.

5

The bedroom is perfect. Yes, I’d like new pillows and sheets, but what I have is functional and cute. The bed is pretty amazing, a solid cherrywood four poster I inherited when my parents downsized. I painted the walls purple and the closet alcove yellow. Then I tore out the closet rail and shelf and replaced it with a bookshelf, on which I’m storing 10+ years of journals, and a desk.

I haven’t written at the desk yet — I write mostly on the purple couch or at the kitchen table.

But I like having the desk in my bedroom. 

It’s reminds me of what will be.

6

The desk is tiny — it’s meant for a child’s bedroom. Solid wood, I’ve painted it blue with splotches of pink. It used to be my friend’s mother’s sewing table. It was one of the pieces of furniture that he had a hard time passing on. He didn’t want it to just disappear. He wanted it to be loved.

It’s loved.

It’s filled a few different roles in my life: for a while, it was my daughter’s. Next, my youngest son’s. Then, it was the coffee station in my new kitchen.

Now, it’s… what is it? It’s a placeholder, I suppose.

But placeholders are very important.

7

The standing mirror in the bathroom is… flattering. It’s relatively small, with a gorgeous ornate white frame. I bought it new on a sale at Jysk back when I was living in the crack house. 

(The crack house was a good place to hang my hat for a couple of years while I sorted myself out and while I don’t miss it — it was drafty, smelly and mouse-infested and, yes, when I moved in, the kids and I found crack pipes in the bathroom — still, it was a good place and I’m grateful for my time in it.)

My love puts sticky notes on the mirror for me every once in a while. “I love you so much.” “You’re brilliant and beautiful.”

And did I mention, yes I did, it’s very flattering.

And how lucky am I that my bathroom is big enough to house a full length standing mirror. And a chair. And a table. And a shelf for plants, bath bombs, hair dryer, odds and ends.

One day, I’ll redo the tiles and maybe get a new, deeper bathtub. But even as is, the bathroom is amazing.

I’m so lucky.

8

The stairs are pink.

Enough said.

9

The house is mine. 

It’s not perfect, and I have a truly terrible neighbour next door. But I’m at the Coop where my youngest lives in six minutes by car. He can walk to mine in 20-30 minutes, less from his school. I can walk to work, and to most of the places I love. The neighbourhood is walkable, and there are three off-leash areas within easy distance. Countless coffee shops. 

A cigar shop for when I miss Cuba.

I have a balcony on which I can soak up the sun and a wood-burning fireplace for cold winter nights. Enough room to sleep all the kids when they need it.

I’m so lucky.

10

My heart is full.

Sometimes I forget — we all forget, no? — how lucky I am. The dog needs another walk tonight, and I’ll take her out soon for a walk in the crisp winter air. The cat will watch us leave in disgust — why would anyone venture out in that, she’ll say in her catty way. The dog and I will shrug, and be on our way.

When we come back, the house will be warm. I’ll go upstairs to my perfect bedroom and leave the dog on the living room floor. We both know she’ll relocate to the purple couch as soon as I’m tucked into bed.

Each of us will have a good night.

xoxo

“Jane”