Living Small

I've always had a tendency to dream big when it came to my living quarters. I'm one of those people who drives five miles an hour down the street in the pretty neighborhoods, craning her neck and nearly taking out a mailbox or two to get a good look at those big expensive houses with the manicured lawns and perfect paint schemes  You know, the ones with front doors that cost more than I've ever spent on a family vacation, and untold treasures of space and hardwood behind their all too small to see through properly from the street windows.

You just know they have walk in pantries. 

I stare at those houses, as I do magazine photos, trying to take mental pictures. Memorizing any little detail that might come in handy later when I'm attempting to make my house look not so blah. I try to determine what it is exactly that makes them so beautiful, but mostly I dream about the day that I, too, will live in eye-candy worth scraping your bumper just to look at.  

It has recently hit me that I am 37 (almost 40).

All right, maybe that's not startling news to anyone who has known me for the last three decades (almost four). But to me it has come as quite a shock. Not the realization that eight comes after seven followed by nine then forty... but the fact that I will be what seems a goodly settled age...

 (is goodly an acceptable word in this century?)

and living in a house that will, by then, be entirely paid for...

 with a husband who has no intentions of moving again.

Ever.

I have no walk in pantry.

I can practically wash dishes while sitting on the living room couch.

My lawn turns brown sometime in late August and doesn't look green again until it rains in May.

But still, the so-called love of my life wants to remain here, in this community, in this part of town, in this house that is nearly paid for.

Forever. 

And here's the weird part... I'm starting to understand why.

So this is what I've been doing lately...  trying to acknowledge and accept my lack of pantry and all the untold treasures that come with one.

I'm keeping my eyes on the road and avoiding the pretty neighborhoods at all costs.

I'm not reading house magazines or dreaming of the magical day a house-fairy drops a new wing, extra story, or beautiful new facade onto my home. In fact I'm trying not to dream at all.

Maybe this measure seems extreme, but like the song says - 

If you can't be in the house you love, love the house you're in.

Ok maybe that's not exactly how the song goes... but the message is the same. 

I've been looking around my house for thirteen years thinking if only the walls would move back a few feet here, a couple of yards there. If only there were a large porch, and a separate room for laundry...

But no matter how hard I stare at the walls, they aren't moving. 

It's time to forgive them.

It's time to stop wasting energy on what this house doesn't have and see what I can do with what it has.

Because a house isn't just a place to hang molding, it's where my babies learned to walk. It's where my first and dearest dog is buried under the pear tree. It's where I sat with my best friend and laughed until we cried about things so hysterically insignificant I can't remember what they are. It's where I learned that raising girls isn't just about ponytails and matching hats, and where I realized that having a boy wasn't so bad after all.

Maybe Christmas, perhaps, doesn't come from the store... Maybe Christmas, it seems, means a little bit more...

Obscure Grinch reference. I know. It just felt right.         

 Point being... it's time to let go of those big dreams and concentrate on a little happiness.

And I do mean little.

I can open all of the drawers in the kitchen with one hand, at the same time.

I can put towels away in the cabinet while sitting on the toilet.

But that's ok.

I forgive you, house.

It's not all about built-in fireplaces.

Right?

I can do it. I'm sure I can. 

I can be big enough to live small.

Right?