I know they are cute, and tiny, and probably take no time at all to clean but my life goals go in the opposite direction of the tiny house movement.
When I dream of houses I don’t dream about the five of us tripping over each other and worrying about each and every item that comes into our home.
I dream about us each having our own room, with adjoining office/library and a large fireplace.
There is a lot to be said for personal space.
A couple years ago we upsized and it has been wonderful. We moved out of our small one bathroom home into a larger one. We have a kitchen that more than one person can stand in now. We have a finished basement where we can stash all the kids toys (of course, that doesn’t prevent them from being spread all over the house).
The Mister thinks the house is too big and having a bigger house makes us accumulate too much stuff. And this is probably true.
But when in my room and the girls are in the basement I can’t even hear them and that is worth the price of admission.
Plus we are slowly getting rid of the things we really don’t need but I don’t see him getting rid of all his CDs or Magic Cards and so my books are staying and so are Moira’s 41 Shopkins and Oonagh’s army of dinosaurs.
So sure, the houses I dream of are ridiculous by today’s standards. They are probably drafty, impossible to maintain and, hopefully, haunted.
Call me crazy but I would much rather have this:
Than this: (no matter how cute it is.)
That would be cute if I didn’t have to share it with anyone except maybe a dog.
I guess I take the saying Go Big or Go Home a little too literally. Because while many aspects of minimalism appeal to me that doesn’t apply to my living space.
So here is the thing about getting older. You start realizing how many things you are never going to be able to do (maybe this is just me and my terminal issues, but I doubt it). I used to think… someday. But at no point am I ever going to get to move to a small town in Illinois just so I can live in a Victorian mansion for under $300,000 dollars US. Nor am I ever going to own my own bookmobile or bookstore. I guess this is why I am so interested in fiction writing these days whereas I never was until I started having children. It answers the question of What If.
What If I wrote about someone who threw caution into the wind and bought one of those huge houses.
What If I wrote about someone who gave it all up to travel around in a bookmobile. (Two stories I have started but put on hold.) Writing gives me the opportunity to live lives I would otherwise never have the opportunity to live. Imaginary lives in giant homes where everyone leaves me alone and stops wiping their dirty faces on me.