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Two Boys, a Husband and a Man Cave

1
Does anyone ever get to that stage of moaning only to wonder if there is an actual reason to moan? Well, I am there and then some. I’m caught in a place of worrying whether I am complaining about something that warrants a bit of a whinge or whether it’s a case of major first world problems. The reason that is aching my whirring mind: a man cave. Can I caveat that none of this content is a boast about what we are building? It is more a cathartic exhalation of the pent-up aggression that only building work can conjure in me. The utterings from the
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builders that it would take three months maximum, which has almost doubled, has taken its toll.

What man cave?

For  some time my husband and I have discussed building a man cave in the garden. Oh, how very Surrey. Last year, the discussions became more regular and when my Mum came back from the Ideal Home Exhibition with a brochure on summer houses, the die was cast. The yearnings for an outdoor bolthole moved from speculative discussions to definite plans. Thus, the man cave/ summer-house/ cabin project was born.

It’s use?

I know when

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it’s complete it will be a little den of loveliness. The plan is a television (think the size of a cinema screen, double it and stick it on the wall) and it will be a place for the boys to go as they get older to take their friends, watch films, generally stay out-of-the-way and do things that boys do (no smut intended). We are also adding a bar because it will be amazing and warrants no other information to sell that cheeky little addition.

The whinge

It may sound trivial, but even though the builders are physically working in the garden, I am

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so over having people around. They have a habit of blocking my car in, which may not sound like a huge ordeal, but try managing that when you’re about to embark on the school run. Many a time I have rushed the boys to leg it out to the car, only to find a van blocking my way. Cue crazy woman decked out in the nearest easily accessible shoes (Crocs, which let a lot of mud in), skating down the mud-laden garden, waving frantically to anyone who will dare to notice me to:

MOVE. THE. VAN.

To them, it may seem like a total over the top response to

SelfishMother.com
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casual parking, but to me, who is on a tight school run schedule, it’s torture. I haven’t got time to factor in something else when I’m a frazzled wreck.

Working from home

To add some positivity to the blighter joining our home, it will also be somewhere for me to work. Currently, I use the kitchen table to write. During the day I can spread out, but when it’s time for the boys to eat it’s also time to clear everything away. I constantly forget to unplug my laptop which means we are all prone to tripping over the lead. It’s very usual

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for me to place my elbow in a dollop of split yoghurt, or tread on a rice crispy whilst trying to dodge the hot wheels hidden under the table, just to knuckle down to some work in my current ‘office’.

Going to work

When the man cave is finished, the plan is to stroll down to it to go to work. I’m hoping it will feel like my office and place of work rather than currently feeling like I am imposing on the boy’s domain. I think that anyone who has had building work done at home when they are at home, working on not, will agree that it can be

SelfishMother.com
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quite an intrusion. Whether it’s making endless cups of tea for builders, continuously asking them to move their van or trying to negotiate shimmying out the house when bags of sand are being passed over your head, it can be stressful.

I know it will be fantastic and I’m looking forward to a new office and a onsite bar (seriously, who wouldn’t?). I just want it finished and life to resume some normality.

Pronto, please.

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- 7 Mar 19

Does anyone ever get to that stage of moaning only to wonder if there is an actual reason to moan? Well, I am there and then some. I’m caught in a place of worrying whether I am complaining about something that warrants a bit of a whinge or whether it’s a case of major first world problems. The reason that is aching my whirring mind: a man cave. Can I caveat that none of this content is a boast about what we are building? It is more a cathartic exhalation of the pent-up aggression that only building work can conjure in me. The utterings from the builders that it would take three months maximum, which has almost doubled, has taken its toll.

What man cave?

For  some time my husband and I have discussed building a man cave in the garden. Oh, how very Surrey. Last year, the discussions became more regular and when my Mum came back from the Ideal Home Exhibition with a brochure on summer houses, the die was cast. The yearnings for an outdoor bolthole moved from speculative discussions to definite plans. Thus, the man cave/ summer-house/ cabin project was born.

It’s use?

I know when it’s complete it will be a little den of loveliness. The plan is a television (think the size of a cinema screen, double it and stick it on the wall) and it will be a place for the boys to go as they get older to take their friends, watch films, generally stay out-of-the-way and do things that boys do (no smut intended). We are also adding a bar because it will be amazing and warrants no other information to sell that cheeky little addition.

The whinge

It may sound trivial, but even though the builders are physically working in the garden, I am so over having people around. They have a habit of blocking my car in, which may not sound like a huge ordeal, but try managing that when you’re about to embark on the school run. Many a time I have rushed the boys to leg it out to the car, only to find a van blocking my way. Cue crazy woman decked out in the nearest easily accessible shoes (Crocs, which let a lot of mud in), skating down the mud-laden garden, waving frantically to anyone who will dare to notice me to:

MOVE. THE. VAN.

To them, it may seem like a total over the top response to casual parking, but to me, who is on a tight school run schedule, it’s torture. I haven’t got time to factor in something else when I’m a frazzled wreck.

Working from home

To add some positivity to the blighter joining our home, it will also be somewhere for me to work. Currently, I use the kitchen table to write. During the day I can spread out, but when it’s time for the boys to eat it’s also time to clear everything away. I constantly forget to unplug my laptop which means we are all prone to tripping over the lead. It’s very usual for me to place my elbow in a dollop of split yoghurt, or tread on a rice crispy whilst trying to dodge the hot wheels hidden under the table, just to knuckle down to some work in my current ‘office’.

Going to work

When the man cave is finished, the plan is to stroll down to it to go to work. I’m hoping it will feel like my office and place of work rather than currently feeling like I am imposing on the boy’s domain. I think that anyone who has had building work done at home when they are at home, working on not, will agree that it can be quite an intrusion. Whether it’s making endless cups of tea for builders, continuously asking them to move their van or trying to negotiate shimmying out the house when bags of sand are being passed over your head, it can be stressful.

I know it will be fantastic and I’m looking forward to a new office and a onsite bar (seriously, who wouldn’t?). I just want it finished and life to resume some normality.

Pronto, please.

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Corporate to Kids

Who: Sarah - Queen of self-deprecation Job: from corporate HR career to Mum, Writer and Blogger Children: two boys with a 13 month age gap!! Obsessions: writing, Haribos, rainbows, coffee, fizz

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