Remember what your dream house used to be? I do: fourteen years ago, Jamie and I moved into ours We didn’t pay rent to live in our dream house, we owned it. We could decorate it, paint it, do anything we wanted. We could make any changes we wanted; but why change it? In our house, there were enough rooms for Jamie and I to have our own little offices. We could look out upon our decently-sized yard and imagine our children playing in it. The subway, the cheap movie-theater and decent restaurants were a quick walk from the front door. Did I say “dream house”?:; well it was. Jamie and I didn’t dream big house-wise, so the house could be small.
I still love this house. It’s my family's history. Both my kids came home to this house. My children are city children; they walk places because so much of life is within walking distance. They know kids on this street. Their yard is the best yard, climbing structure and all.
This is our home, and we’re bursting out of it. Those two offices? They were perfect places for desks and filing cabinets, Once they became the kids’ rooms, they got smaller. Now that Emma is sleeping in the cozy little office where it wrote for hours on end, it looks smaller than a hotel coat-closet. It is, and always was. Liam’s room is jam-packed with Legos. The kids need bigger rooms. I need a second bathroom because, first thing in the morning, desperately wants the only one we have. The half-bath, the guest-room, the laundry-room up where all the laundry is; yeah, we need them.
The house has us, it really does. The porch has been torn down, and the cement steps got demolished yesterday. The back-door opens straight into nothing. Step outside, and you’d drop into a hole that’s as deep as our basement. The only way out of the house is through the front door. We’ve got nowhere to go but forward.
Comments