So no more mystery: With three kids and the ever-present possibility of more, plus the for-real need for some serious art-teaching-studio space, it’s our goal over the next few years to build a modest house out in the country, and to come out financially ahead of where we are now when it’s all said and done. We’re hoping to stay within a budget that some might consider ridiculously low or maybe even impossible–and they might be right. But we’ll give it our best shot.
And I’ll tell you one thing we have learned from the house we are currently living in: it’s not about bedroom size, or ceiling height. It’s not about hardwood floors or stainless steel or granite countertops. It’s not even about elbow room in the shower.
What my family needs the most out of a house–the very most–is…wait for it…
A mother-freaking junk zone. Because apparently we are the family who explodes upon arrival: shoes. Backpacks. Coats. Hats. Mittens. Homework papers. Library books. DVDs. Purses. Keys. Sunglasses. Junk mail. Bills. Half-empty bottles of orange Sunkist. Happy Meal toys. Dog leashes. Acorns.
I couldn’t care less if I have a whirlpool tub in my master bathroom. I actually couldn’t care less if I had a master bathroom period. Fireplace? Whatevs. Ugly brass fixtures? Why not! Air conditioner? Keep it.
(Ok, I so didn’t mean that last one. I’m sorry air-conditioner, I love you. I love you so much.)
But on busy weekday afternoons, I sometimes feel like we could have a one-bedroom, one bathroom shack as long as there was an epic mudroom/junk station strategically located at our main point of entry.
Personally I think that any family of 1 or more has this problem. But if it’s just mine then I’ll shut up.