It was supposed to go well.

Kris had washed both cars, we were wearing our good clothes. I was holding my best handbag. And I had a personal application letter and supporting documents altogether in a plastic envelope. The kids were prepped – best behaviour and shoes off before walking in the house. We strategically chose to arrive in two cars, to minimise anxiety. And we arrived ten minutes early.

Ready for the house inspection. The most promising house floor plan we had seen since searching over a year prior. (Apart from the perfect impossible property… more another time). Ready to make a good impression, so our rent application would be accepted.

A great start!

And Summer had had a lovely morning. There was no carer, so Summer came into my room with clothes picked out and asking for a shower. Winning!

She enjoyed pancakes for breakfast and then played the keyboard in her happy place. She was calm and relaxed getting into the car. And we had a good car drive. She repeated phrases over and over 5-7 times. And Sarah and I were patient and allowed her to be.

It was easier knowing the other three kids were in the other car. Knowing they weren’t getting stressed out by Summer.

We walked to the house and all took our shoes off. It was a bit bumpy going in, everyone unsure where to go, but everyone soon took off to their places of interest.

It didn’t have a great feeling. But hey, you make it your own home once you move in. And any small issues could be worked around. It all looked like the photos so far.

We hit the stairs and that was new information. Steep wooden stairs with not a great hand rail. My anxiety increased. This was my biggest question mark, not having seen photos of the stairs. Were they safe for the girls who would be upstairs? The girls, who frequently have absent seizures. And was it fully enclosed at the top of the stairs? No and no.

The rest of upstairs was all great – nice living space and bedrooms and bathroom and kitchen for the carers to prepare meals for the girls. No laundry though, which we thought was there from the plan. Dang. That’s a big problem. The carer then has to come downstairs and leave the girls alone and come into the area of the house that belongs to the other three kids, to do the 2-3 loads of washing a day that happen with the girls. Oh dear. The three kids are sensitive to carers being in their space. Not feeling good.

While looking at the rest of the rooms, which seemed fine, I’m processing in the background our options. What if we put the other three kids upstairs instead? They could love it. But the point was for the girls to have their own kitchen and laundry for independence and separation. Aargh!! What to do?

We went outside and put our shoes on again and explored the back garden and shed. I voiced this idea aloud in front of everyone. This set off a chain reaction. The three other kids were aware that upstairs had three bedrooms. One large with walk-in-robe and direct access to the bathroom. One medium. And one extremely tiny. The discussion had emotions.

Summer was there listening. And silently being triggered.

We went back inside and the three kids rushed upstairs to re-look at it all. Summer wanted to go upstairs too. Kris and I steered her to the downstairs bedroom area, to give the three kids space. And to avoid the long, slow unsafe journey up the stairs again. We steered her away. But she was cross. And she started expressing it.

‘Shut up’. Then again and loudly. More words. Then turning around and giving the middle finger. We tried to calm her down. She walked back to the dining room and picked up a container on the table that belonged to the owner and threw the contents across the floor.

We hadn’t met the owner yet. The host had let everyone in. But the owner was late.

And at that moment the owner made her entrance. And met Summer in all her angry glory.

And met us apologising for and picking up the carnage. She was sympathetic – ‘it’s hard’.

Summer then went up the stairs. I followed her closely.

At the top of the stairs she pushed the gate harshly against the wall. The lock on it pressed hard into the wall and punched a hole in the plaster. Bits of plaster fell to the floor. She kept opening and banging the gate open and shut in frustration.

I called Josiah to help. He tried to calm her and stop her banging the gate. I was just below Summer, near the top of the stairs and nervous about the tense exchange in the position we were.

Kris came up. The three kids went down. 

I told Kris.

Neither of us discussed it. There was no emotion. We just did what we had to do next. 

He supported Summer. He waited. I took a photo of the wall and went downstairs and showed the host, then the owner and profusely apologised.

It was embarrassing. But I’m used to it.

We promised to arrange someone to fix the hole within the week.

We gave her our pre-prepared letter and documents, with acknowledgement that this might not be the place for us. She said it wouldn’t be ready until August anyway, as someone else was going to move in for the month of July.

She was very nice.

I had good rapport with her.

But the elephant in the room was big – her first impression. What can you do!

If our life was a movie, this would be one scene that had a perfect script. For an awkward family encounter. A disaster moment. Not what we had planned.

We went back to the cars. Kris took the lead and said he would take Summer to do shopping. The other four kids hopped in the car with me.

We drove in silence for some time. 

Then I debriefed quietly with each one in turn. Kiara, then Josiah, then Micah, then Sarah.

The first three had come to the same conclusion as I.

The house wasn’t going to work for our family.

It wasn’t the realisation we were hoping for. We want to move now.

At home I also debriefed with Summer. She said ‘sorry mum’.

And Kris – we are on the same page. I’m so grateful we stuck to a peaceful response together. It could have been worse. Kris was concerned about bringing Summer in the first place. I thought she would be fine, as she had done well previously. And we had no carer anyway. There was no ‘I told you so’.

Next time I imagine Summer will stay home.

And hopefully next time will be the one!