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The live-in babysitter was nice; the kids had yet to figure out how to ‘yeet’ Qui Gon and Mace into the timeless shadow plane between life and death (he really hoped Mrs. Duckworth’s insurance covered a very good therapist) which let Obi Wan breathe a little easier when he was leaving for work knowing that at least if his children unleashed a multi-dimensional hellbeast it would eat Qui Gon’s sofa and not his.
It had been his, though. A lifetime ago. Two, actually. Two very small, child sized lifetimes ago the mansion had been his home; he’d been happy there.