On the title

I did a crazy thing yesterday – I popped a bottle of bubbles with my eldest child to celebrate buying them an apartment.

That sounds very luxe.

It’s a tiny studio and the mortgage is $60 a week less than rent. So it feels sensible rather than lavish.

The eldest started uni earlier this year in Melbourne and recently ran into issues with his accommodation.

My ex and I have been supporting his dream to study art and were wondering what to do about the situation.

I had the bright idea of buying something rather than renting.

And it all spiralled rather suddenly from there.

I didn’t mean to give my 21 year old an apartment, but my ex wasn’t comfortable with contributing to a property held in my name.

I wasn’t comfortable with him preferring to give the money to a complete stranger for rent.

Also, FFS, I was ponying up the deposit and taking on a 30-year mortgage. I will be 87 when that ends. 87!

Tensions were running high.

My dad was in a bad way that week and I was insanely busy at work. I wasn’t paying close enough attention when the mortgage broker said he’d found a way to put my child’s name on the title.

The solicitor couldn’t get her head around it, so I read her the email from my mortgage broker.

And that was the belated moment I realised I’d given my child an apartment holus-bolus.

Ohhhhhh … the studio is “unencumbered” …

Yeah, I know, how vague am I?

Ah well, too late now. Pop that cork!

We clinked glasses together last night after getting the keys. I figured such a momentous moment required a flight to Melbourne to celebrate.

The eldest is delighted with the new place. And, while I’m a bit freaked out by the accidental turn of events, I’m also awed to have given my child a permanent roof over their head.

Have a great weekend. I need one after all that.

I have a funny story to tell you next week.

Song of the day: John Mellencamp “Pink houses”