Aren’t open homes just wonderful?
Said nobody ever. Well, nobody whose house is the one with the door open and the sign out front. Open homes can be kind of fun to go to if it’s not your house.
Preparing for a viewing can be a lot of work. You have to make it look like nobody lives in your house, all the while you obviously do live there. At the same time, you must make sure that your house looks just a bit inhabited so that it doesn’t look unloved. Yet, hold it back enough so that there’s not enough livingness to look too real. It’s a pretty fine line and you just have to hope to get the balance right so that some stranger can imagine themselves living their best life in your home. You want them to picture themselves happily making a lasagna or something warm and carby, but without any evidence that you just made a lasagna last night and there might be a splotch of it lingering on the stovetop. You want them to see their clothes in your closet and their car in your driveway. You want them to imagine ripping down all parts they decide are ugly and replacing your family photos in the Pinterest wall gallery with theirs. This is getting creepy, but you get me right?
So yeah, it can be a bit of a mission making your house look lived in just enough, but at the same time spotless and devoid of real human activity. And then to throw some fuel in the fire, you add two small children to the mix and suddenly what’s already a mildly stressful situation becomes pretty interesting.
And by interesting I mean, ICan’tWaitToNeverDoThisAgain.
So I thought I’d give a bit of a run down on how we’ve handled open homes and viewings so far with two small kiddos. Please know this isn’t advice and that handle is a very strong word. This is more a list of our mishaps in case we ever need a future reminder to Never Move Again.
Our first call of duty for our open home last weekend was to remove the dead bird. Yes, you read that correctly. And to be honest, this actually had nothing to do with our kiddos, unless it was one of them that caught and killed it, but I highly doubt that. So, back to the dead bird. In short, a rotting dead bird mysteriously appeared outside, right by the kitchen window. For two days we pleaded with the neighborhood cats to please take it away, because it was a bit too much to ask a house of vegetarians to deal with. But they didn’t, we just saw them frolicking for geckos instead. It would take a very special someone to not run far, far away if they stumbled upon the bird while they were minding their own business, happily judging our house in their half an hour time slot (and no judgement from us on the judgement, that’s literally what open homes are designed for). And so the morning of, my dear, dear, very loved husband got out the spade and hurled the bird into the wilderness while holding his sweet breath. He didn’t have the stomach to carry it all the way to the bin and quite frankly I’m glad he didn’t because then it would have sat much closer to our house while waiting for bin day. I won’t go into the gory details, but let’s just say that my husband has now seen some things and we’re hoping the bird will just return itself to nature in the wilderness. And to be honest, it was already returning to nature when it was right next to our window, so let’s just hope that the process continues further into the garden.
The next crucial item on the agenda was to redo the green paint in the hallway for approximately the 17th time. It keeps getting scraped off because someone - not naming names - enjoys wrestling down the baby gate to reach either A) the banagrams or B) to escape to the stairs. Throughout the process of the baby gate being pulled down by 12kg of sheer determination, flecks of green paint scrape off the wall. This task is a frequent chore.
Another very important thing to do is vacuum, thoroughly, once again, because the five times you vacuumed in the past two days isn't quite enough. It’s best to do this literally mere seconds before you leave the house for the open home to start, otherwise you’ll be trapped in a vacuuming cycle forever.
Before you leave the house you also have to remember to pack for Everest. You aren’t actually going to Everest, bear that in mind, but rather to the park a few streets away. Nevertheless, with my level of insecurity about leaving the house with two tiny humans, it feels about as momentous as Everest. Remember nappies, snacks, spare clothes, the front pack, the pram, wipes and did I mention sunblock? And a drink bottle for sure. Then forget something (or three somethings) crucial because that’s just all part of rushing to leave before you have to reunite with the vacuum. Again.
So then everything else needs to get done. Put away 101 coloring pencils and all the Duplo and the entire contents of the kid's bookshelf. The banagrams (SMH), the half eaten snack, and the emptied t-shirt drawer. The puzzles, the stacking bowls from the kitchen, and the pegs. Dust, vacuum again, and wash the floors. Do what my husband did and decide that 10 minutes before we have to leave is the best time to panic-de-ice the refrigerator, “just in case someone opens it.” Apologize to your lovely small humans 100 times as you try to find mess-free things to keep them occupied, before you settle on Bluey for the oldest and recreating the womb for the youngest. Feel guilty about not being present with them. Worry that they’ll grow up to eat Weet-Bix sandwiches with avo and Marmite (this is honestly a thing, look at the back of the box), all because you relied on Bluey too heavily to speed clean the house. Remember that you enlisted the help of grandparents last weekend and wonder why you forgot to do that this time.
Preparing for a viewing can be a lot of work. You have to make it look like nobody lives in your house, all the while you obviously do live there. At the same time, you must make sure that your house looks just a bit inhabited so that it doesn’t look unloved. Yet, hold it back enough so that there’s not enough livingness to look too real. It’s a pretty fine line and you just have to hope to get the balance right so that some stranger can imagine themselves living their best life in your home. You want them to picture themselves happily making a lasagna or something warm and carby, but without any evidence that you just made a lasagna last night and there might be a splotch of it lingering on the stovetop. You want them to see their clothes in your closet and their car in your driveway. You want them to imagine ripping down all parts they decide are ugly and replacing your family photos in the Pinterest wall gallery with theirs. This is getting creepy, but you get me right?
So yeah, it can be a bit of a mission making your house look lived in just enough, but at the same time spotless and devoid of real human activity. And then to throw some fuel in the fire, you add two small children to the mix and suddenly what’s already a mildly stressful situation becomes pretty interesting.
And by interesting I mean, ICan’tWaitToNeverDoThisAgain.
So I thought I’d give a bit of a run down on how we’ve handled open homes and viewings so far with two small kiddos. Please know this isn’t advice and that handle is a very strong word. This is more a list of our mishaps in case we ever need a future reminder to Never Move Again.
Our first call of duty for our open home last weekend was to remove the dead bird. Yes, you read that correctly. And to be honest, this actually had nothing to do with our kiddos, unless it was one of them that caught and killed it, but I highly doubt that. So, back to the dead bird. In short, a rotting dead bird mysteriously appeared outside, right by the kitchen window. For two days we pleaded with the neighborhood cats to please take it away, because it was a bit too much to ask a house of vegetarians to deal with. But they didn’t, we just saw them frolicking for geckos instead. It would take a very special someone to not run far, far away if they stumbled upon the bird while they were minding their own business, happily judging our house in their half an hour time slot (and no judgement from us on the judgement, that’s literally what open homes are designed for). And so the morning of, my dear, dear, very loved husband got out the spade and hurled the bird into the wilderness while holding his sweet breath. He didn’t have the stomach to carry it all the way to the bin and quite frankly I’m glad he didn’t because then it would have sat much closer to our house while waiting for bin day. I won’t go into the gory details, but let’s just say that my husband has now seen some things and we’re hoping the bird will just return itself to nature in the wilderness. And to be honest, it was already returning to nature when it was right next to our window, so let’s just hope that the process continues further into the garden.
The next crucial item on the agenda was to redo the green paint in the hallway for approximately the 17th time. It keeps getting scraped off because someone - not naming names - enjoys wrestling down the baby gate to reach either A) the banagrams or B) to escape to the stairs. Throughout the process of the baby gate being pulled down by 12kg of sheer determination, flecks of green paint scrape off the wall. This task is a frequent chore.
Another very important thing to do is vacuum, thoroughly, once again, because the five times you vacuumed in the past two days isn't quite enough. It’s best to do this literally mere seconds before you leave the house for the open home to start, otherwise you’ll be trapped in a vacuuming cycle forever.
Before you leave the house you also have to remember to pack for Everest. You aren’t actually going to Everest, bear that in mind, but rather to the park a few streets away. Nevertheless, with my level of insecurity about leaving the house with two tiny humans, it feels about as momentous as Everest. Remember nappies, snacks, spare clothes, the front pack, the pram, wipes and did I mention sunblock? And a drink bottle for sure. Then forget something (or three somethings) crucial because that’s just all part of rushing to leave before you have to reunite with the vacuum. Again.
So then everything else needs to get done. Put away 101 coloring pencils and all the Duplo and the entire contents of the kid's bookshelf. The banagrams (SMH), the half eaten snack, and the emptied t-shirt drawer. The puzzles, the stacking bowls from the kitchen, and the pegs. Dust, vacuum again, and wash the floors. Do what my husband did and decide that 10 minutes before we have to leave is the best time to panic-de-ice the refrigerator, “just in case someone opens it.” Apologize to your lovely small humans 100 times as you try to find mess-free things to keep them occupied, before you settle on Bluey for the oldest and recreating the womb for the youngest. Feel guilty about not being present with them. Worry that they’ll grow up to eat Weet-Bix sandwiches with avo and Marmite (this is honestly a thing, look at the back of the box), all because you relied on Bluey too heavily to speed clean the house. Remember that you enlisted the help of grandparents last weekend and wonder why you forgot to do that this time.
And then you’re done.
Leave. Gap it and don’t look back because otherwise you’ll see everything you didn’t have time to do, and there’s no time to do it now, is there?
Question whether you actually dealt with the bird or if you just imagined being responsible and removed the carcass. Hope to the high heavens that no one goes near that window just in case.
Make it to the park. Avoid thinking about the bird. Try to make up for not letting your toddler make a good old, proper mess for the past week by chucking handfuls of bark onto the slide together. Console the baby, kiss better a bruised knee, and hope that someone just buys your house so you don't have to do it all again tomorrow.
Leave. Gap it and don’t look back because otherwise you’ll see everything you didn’t have time to do, and there’s no time to do it now, is there?
Question whether you actually dealt with the bird or if you just imagined being responsible and removed the carcass. Hope to the high heavens that no one goes near that window just in case.
Make it to the park. Avoid thinking about the bird. Try to make up for not letting your toddler make a good old, proper mess for the past week by chucking handfuls of bark onto the slide together. Console the baby, kiss better a bruised knee, and hope that someone just buys your house so you don't have to do it all again tomorrow.
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