Life Swap: Trying On My Neighbour’s Life (Part Two)
When I tell my husband about our planned life swap – my work, my home, my husband, my small dog, for Megan’s work, home, husband and 10-year-old daughter Bea – his first response is, “Anything for art”.
His second response is, “Are they swingers?”
It’s not a wife swap – it’s a life swap. Forty-eight hours. Sleeping in spare rooms. Taking over work duties and other life duties. My first concern is not how I’m going to handle the role of mother. It’s that one of Australia’s leading interiors writers and stylists will be sleeping in a bedroom with ill-fitting curtains from Spotlight. Shivers! I make a mental note to buy fancy shower gel; hopefully it will distract from the mismatching soft furnishings.
The day before the swap I am wiping down walls, fluffing cushions, and making sure there is enough food for everyone. As a woman who has never given birth to a child of my own, my chances growing slimmer by the day, I am in a process of slow mourning. I confess to Megan my concern that spending time with her family may trigger the complete dissolution of any hard-won calm I have built up over recent years.
The morning of the swap, Megan meets me on the street. I’m giggling nervously as we cross her threshold. Bea is in her PJs and bubbling with life. It’s school holidays so we will have the next 48 hours together. I remind myself that I’m the adult and I will not to defer to Bea on everything –something that’s inherent in my nature. I’m an accommodator. Whatever you want to do is pretty fine by me. (Exhibit A: life swap.) “Make sure you have a bath!” Megan says as we part ways.
The Morton family home is beautiful. Thoughtful. Stylish. Quirky in places, sophisticated in others. There is a bathtub and vanity in the master bedroom and the curtains are luscious, custom-made and properly fitting. Damn it! Why didn’t I care about curtains before this? Food has been left, bedding all plumped and details about Mr M’s coming and goings for work noted. Bea has eaten breakfast so we get our plan together for the day.
“Bea will need snacks, like 24/7,” Megan warned me. I’m taking her to a work-related site visit in a nearby suburb – me on foot, her on a scooter. A morning tea pitstop at the halfway mark should make it doable. I grab two bananas for her. Bea grabs another two. Four bananas should get us there.
The youngest Morton child is hilarious. An onslaught of life and energy and laughs. Funny and kind. Interested and interesting. I feel like I am getting the slightest peek into what it’s like to see a person evolve before you.
“Megan and I didn’t want each other’s lives; that wasn’t what this was about. What we wanted was perspective and a chance to refresh some of our ideas about life. ”
Four blocks in, and there’s a slight hiccup involving a rut in the footpath. Bea’s right elbow and knee take the brunt of the fall, the scooter handles end up between her legs. I have been on duty literally two hours and I have broken Megan’s daughter! What makes this even worse is Bea is a mad keen horse rider and off to start a new school where she’ll ride most days. I have broken the arm of a little girl and completely stuffed up her new school experience, the voice in my head screams. Putting on a calm tone, I ask her where it hurts the most. We check all bones. Nothing broken.
“I need a hug,” Bea whimpers. This takes me by surprise. “Sure!” I reply, leaning in. I had forgotten the power of hugs. And the innocence of children. For all her bravado and boldness, Bea is still a 10 year old. Hugs help a myriad of hurts for children. Heck, they even help for adults. We dust her off, stop for a banana and gather ourselves together for the rest of the trip. When we arrive at our destination, I take some photos, ask some questions about the segment Megan is doing, and then we are on our way again. Our trip home is a lot smoother. (We take a cab.)
In bed that night, I no longer wonder why mothers talk about me-time. They don’t have any! I’ve only had one day with one child, with only about an hour’s work, and yet there was barely any time for life outside of parenting. That’s not even accounting for any mental and emotional support that might be needed for Megan’s older children, who have left home but are still finding their way in the world. My experience with my stepson is very different. Now 21, he was 14 when I came into his life, with two active, doting parents. I have always loved and supported him, but the full-time mental load of parenting is something new.
Day two consists of playing catch, craft with a hot glue gun, chalk drawing on the sidewalk, puzzles, an ice-cream trip and dancing. Hot glue guns are the best! Seriously, every home should have one. We stick flowers and twigs and pine-cone pieces onto a log and the end result, even if I do say so myself, is pretty awesome. A work Zoom call coincides with Bea’s dinner, so I race to sort her out before logging on. I go to bed that night realising tomorrow I go home.
At six am on my last morning I hop in the bath. Fully clothed. Without water. I want to lie and metaphorically wash in Megan’s space – a woman I see as bold and generous and accomplished. I want to see if some of what she has will rub off on me. I lie in there for a good half hour, looking out at the trees, looking at the thought put into each nook and cranny of the room, looking at the lush two-tone curtains that drape artfully to the floor.
Why don’t I just fill the bath? The thought of getting nude and sitting in someone else’s bath, even though there is a lock on the door, is just not as relaxing as it’s meant to be. The metaphorical bath does the trick. I leave the Morton home feeling stronger and more capable than I have in a long time.
Megan and I didn’t want each other’s lives; that wasn’t what this was about. What we wanted was perspective and a chance to refresh some of our ideas about life. Spending time with B didn’t make me regret the path not taken. It made me grateful for the life I have built and the people, young and old, in it.
On handing back over I say to Megan, “I’m sorry about the curtains.” She looks at me quizzically, “What about them?”
Wilamina’s day-after debrief
What was your first impression of Megan and her life?
Megan: accomplished, smart, quirky. Her life: full, fast-paced, colourful, with lots of family members and colour-filled work.
What did you think you'd enjoy most about her life? How did that play out
Hanging out with Bea, and it was great.
What did you learn about Megan’s life that you'd never have guessed?
Megan is a laundry aficionado. She uses fragrant oils to perfume the washing – it’s magic!
What struck you most about her home?
The Morton home is a neutral palate: whites, greys, little if any colour. However, when Megan explained that home is a place for her to reset for work, which is full of colour and objects, it made complete sense.
Best discovery?
Her purposeful interior design. I have just always accepted whatever a house has offered me, rather than considering how I want the space to work for me. I love the stunning bathtub and vanity in their bedroom and the kitchen breakfast cupboard, with a toaster, coffee, cereal, hot water jet stream tap and more housed behind antique doors that look like they came from a Parisian apartment. It's beautiful and makes great sense.
Which moment brought you joy?
Playing Velcro catch-ball with Bea on the beach and writing chalk messages of encouragement to the street. Just general kid stuff.
Any particular challenges?
Time. Not a moment went by unallocated.
Missed Part One? Read it here …
Words_ Wilamina Russo
Photos_ Daniel Boud, originally featured @objects_in_aspic