I’ve been avoiding writing a blog post about our Italian holiday house for ages. Why? Because it might sound a bit smug, a bit rubbing a bit of spare cash (now spent) in your face.

And because one of the reasons why we ended up buying a holiday house in Italy is a bit emotional for me. And, despite deciding to write a blog, I don’t really write anything emotional. I’m happy to write about what we cook, what lovely Daisy Roots rose gold sandals I’m dancing around in, my son’s obsessions and my daughter’s face-like-a-slapped-arse on a rainy day in Rome. But not really emotive things. Things that make me cry, or well, up, as I type.

 

So why am I writing now about our holiday house in Italy?

I’ve just come back from meeting a friend, an actual real-life one, rather than a Twitter friend, for a coffee. She’s a terribly glam, funny and massively energetic Irish blonde who reads my blog. And she’s also an Italophile. And she just assumed that I’d be writing about the other hidden bit of our lives. The bit about buying a holiday house in Italy. And where I try to teach my kids to speak Italian.

And, do you know what? She’s right. I should.

Truly, I love Italy. I watch endless holiday programmes about Italy. I cook (vaguely) Italian food. I’d choose to eat Italian every time we go out if I could. But I can’t. So I endure an evening of sushi. ……And then choose Italian the next time.

And I love our Italian holiday house.

We’ve ended up buying it only 2 years and it’s already brought so much joy and fun to our little family of four. Yet, the whole idea of it was brought about by a pretty horrid time.

Before buying the holiday house in Italy

I’m going to take a deep breath and write this bit as quickly as possible, then gloss over it and not mention it again. And, if you know me in real life, I don’t want to talk about it. No, really. I don’t. So, in the nicest possible way, fuck off and don’t ask me.

Just over 3 years ago, we fell pregnant with what we hoped was going to be a Baby 3. Much-longed for, much-hoped for.

And, being quite an old bird, I had some blood tests, which I thought nothing of.

Until the 12 week scan, where everything looked all fine and dandy. Fingers, toes, all moving. Of course, I knew that anyway as I could feel it all. (All that feeling things happens far earlier with baby 3. I suppose you have no muscles left by then after Babies 1 and 2)

And then the blood test results were revealed. The baby very likely had a chromosonal abnormality called Edwards Syndrome. A pretty much fatal syndrome.

The next month was a blur of tears, tests, more tests. And then the baby died when I was 16 weeks pregnant.

The whole fricking sorry fiasco ended in a labour induction in hospital, lots of tears, weeping and wailing. And gas and air. Lots and lots of gas and air.

…what a great way to spend our 10th wedding anniversary. I can honestly say that I never want to have another wedding anniversary that memorable!

Actually, it ended in me getting really fucking furious. At fate. At God.

….And then I got really rash. And decided we should just fucking move on and do something really positive. Something fun.

…”Let’s buy a holiday house in Italy!”

“Let’s buy a holiday house in Italy!”

I am aware, as I write, that it probably sounds a bit fricking loopy to go from mourning a dead baby to buying a holiday house abroad. And that’s what my husband thought.

So he palmed me off with a bit of ‘why don’t you research it’. So I did. There’s nothing an ex-estate agent likes more than a bit of property research. A bit of property porn.

Three months after the Curious Incident of the Really Shit 10th Wedding Anniversary Night, we were on a plane to Italy. I had researched areas online, narrowed it down to one that caught my eye, we had a hotel booked. And we had property viewings lined up.

… No point doing things in a half-arsed fashion, right?

We also had, in tow, a lovely Italian au pair who we had employed to help me out as I had been hoping to be very busy with 3 small kids under 5.

It turns out that, despite the unexpected and unwelcome change to our family plan, the Italian au pair did turn out to be very useful. She looked after the 2 littles in the mornings whilst Northern Husband and I looked at flat and houses.

So where did we buy?

On the wishlist was views. Mountain views. That’s the only way I’d get this rash purchase sanctioned by Northern Husband. He grew up in the Lake District so is pretty partial to a mountain (or a fell, it’s all the same to me) view.

And rural. A little village. With chickens. And little old ladies. Because I grew up on a farm outside a little village in Southern Ireland. With chickens. And little old ladies. (We moved from there to England was I was 9 and I have yearned for it ever since)

And the village must have a bar where everyone knows your name. Because we both grew up watching Cheers.

So we chose a beautiful, mountainous area in Northern Tuscany called Lunigiana. It has hill, mountains, views, little old ladies and chickens a-plenty.

…and a lot of really quite cheap rundown mountain houses in small villages.

A few more trips later…..

Our first buying trip to Lunigiana confirmed that the area was right for us.

(You can see a bit about the area here; and indulge in a bit of Italian property porn)

We loved the views, the little mountain villages, the climate.

Because, let’s not gloss over this, we were after the right climate too.

….A bit like Goldilocks, we needed something not too hot and not too cold.

Because of its position up in the hills, ‘our’ area doesn’t get too hot in the summer. When it was a scorching 40 degrees down in Florence last summer, it was a much cooler 32 degrees up at the house.

Eminently more comfortable for our kids especially Littlest Angel who gets hot, sweaty and grumpy very easily. Especially comfortable as they have lots of shady areas to relax in. And a small pool for extra cooling down. That’ll cool the grump out of anyone.

The holiday house we bought in Italy

Our second trip to the Lunigiana area was to view another batch of houses, and to second view two from the first batch.

…. An estate agent knows how to crack on and buy a house without too much fannying around.

We ended up buying a house just on the edge of a small village. It has lovely views down the valley and of hills and mountains in the distance. It has a funny, higgeldy-piggeldy garden with fruit trees and a hazelnut tree. And a tree producing weird and, to my mind, inedible cachi fruit. Perhaps they’re an acquired taste.

So, now, we’ll spend every summer holiday in our holiday house in Italy. And as many of the slightly warmer half-term holidays as possible too.

And, who knows, one day, we might even retire there.

If you’d like to see more of our holiday house, do join the Empty Nest Mummy mailing list. Don’t miss out on Empty Nest Mummy Does Italy this summer!