I want a new house. Badly.
It’s possible some of this urge is envy of Siri’s new home. It sounds like she has so much space, and I just love old houses, and I might even grow a few herbs if I had a back yard, or even just a little more space on my porch…
A lot of it, though, is that my apartment is simply too small. I knew it was small when I moved in five years ago, but since then my kid has grown about a foot (I swear!) and grown more social. Also I’ve acquired a housemate. I thought it was just temporary, but she likes living here and I like having her here. Add to the fact that I am working on getting some balance in my life, which means walking away from my computer, but if I walk into the living room to read or watch TV or exercise, there’s the housemate, in the place she goes to get away from the kid who has no idea how to SHARE A ROOM…
My kitchen is too small. I had to move my free-standing pantry (it’s just a cabinet, ssh) out of the kitchen so I could move a table large enough for three people in. My bedroom is too small. I couldn’t possibly do yoga in here; there’s nowhere to MOVE without bumping into something. There’s only one bathroom. In a house with three women, that’s an ISSUE. Even if we are the kind of women who travel for twelve days across the country and back and not one of us brings so much as a comb…it’s still an ISSUE.
Don’t get me wrong. This apartment is beautiful. It’s small and sweet and well-maintained. My landlord is awesome. The landscaping is gorgeous, with flowering and interesting plants everywhere. There’s even a ramada with a grill so all I need is charcoal when I want to cook out. If I lived alone (alone but for two cats), I would never want to leave. But I don’t. So…
I want another bathroom. I want a kitchen with enough room for the housemate or the kid to help me, or at least hang out and talk while I work. I want a sink big enough I can wash my dutch oven when the kid burns mac’n’cheese in it without shooting water all over the kitchen as I try to rinse it. I want a porch I can sit on, with enough room for at least one shelf of herbs and maybe even some tomatoes because good lork do I love fresh tomatoes. I want the kid and the housemate to have separate bedrooms because of—well, guess.
I want enough floorspace I can do yoga. Maybe…oh, maybe, I could even have an office and move my desk back out of my bedroom?
So yeah. We want to move. Now comes the saving up and the getting ready. I have a post-it note on the bottom of my monitor that says “I want a DISHWASHER.” That’s to help me fight the temptation to buy whatever OOH SHINY I’m looking at as I cruise around the web avoiding work. I have a post-it note on my debit card too, reminding me that I need a security deposit and probably a couch. In my firesafe I have an envelope of money. On the outside I write the running total (currently down $60 because of a trip to the pumpkin farm, whoops) and inside is a note from me to me reminding me of all the reasons that I want to move and asking if I’m sure whatever I’m thinking of spending money on is as important as a dishwasher.
Okay, but is it as important as a second bathroom?