When I was 12 I lived in a three bedroom house in a boring little town just outside Bournemouth. I lived with my Mum, (ex)Step Dad, 2 brothers and a sister. A town full of people who have retired and teenagers trying to have a laugh with only a kids playpark and a skatepark. Where did we sit? Outside Tesco.
My house wasn’t the biggest house in the world. It wasn’t even the happiest at times. But it was, still is, home. A home where I was surrounded by people that loved me. Well, almost anyway. The step dad only loved his own kids, and sometimes that’s even debatable!
I shared my room with my sister at that point, I don’t remember what colour the bedroom was, but I do remember we had a bunk bed. Me on the top bunk, her on the bottom, obviously. We always fought, the way sisters tend to do, but we also had fun! We’d argue about who was tidying the room, who was choosing what was on the TV, who was going to get up and close the door!
One of the best things about my house though? I lived across the road from my best friend. The one I still call my best friend! It made life fun.
Sometimes I miss my house, but then I think about the future, and the kind of place I want my child to live in when they’re 12. I want them to live in a house surrounded by love. A house surrounded by memories. A house where they’ll feel safe. A place they’ll want to come back to.
Where do you want your children to be living when they’re 12?