I live in a village. Yes, a village because it’s too small to be considered a town. The worst thing about it? Everyone knows each other. I grew up here and spent my entire childhood wanting nothing more than to leave—to explore, try new things—honestly, to be geographically closer to just about everything and be anonymous wherever I go. I spent five whole years away from this place in a number of larger communities, closer to more job opportunities, more stores, more events and things to do—more of everything. However, I found that more isn’t necessarily better and made me feel distant, so I decided to come back to the village I grew up in. Why? Because everyone knows each other.
I live in a house I never thought I would live in. I believe my words after the first time I saw this house were, “Absolutely not!” I was six months pregnant and we (my husband) had just set up the crib in the nursery that we (my mom and aunt) had recently painted. The life we were building for our soon-to-be family of three was in motion and on track at the beautiful home we were already living in. But there I was, driving by a house for sale in my hometown that looked to be straight out of the 1960s. It was apparently “the house” back in its day with its central vacuum and intercom system installed throughout both the first and second floors. But I couldn’t see past the barn-red siding and the textured light-green carpet that made the worst type of statement throughout the majority of the lower level. I acknowledge this was “trendy” back in the 60s, but it didn’t appear that way to me in 2019. I could, however, eventually look beyond the outdated aspects and open my eyes wide enough to see the potential once I heard the asking price. Think about all the updates we can make with that price point! We can knock this wall out and also get the white cabinets I’ve always wanted! I wonder if there’s wood flooring underneath the carpet on the stairs! We couldn’t stop thinking about the house. About two months later, we moved in.
I live in the bathroom. There, I said it. But before you jump to conclusions, let me reassure you that it’s not for me—it’s for my kids. Between my two-year-old who is in the midst of potty training and my three-year-old who needs to be reminded to wash his hands (with soap!) I can’t seem to get away from this particular room in our house for very long. With all the time I spend here, I’m glad we painted over the floral and golf stenciling on the walls. We (I) decided on a muted seafoam color for the walls—simple, yet calm and relaxing. My three-year-old, on the other hand, decided to add his own permanent marker “stenciling” to the wall during his potty training days, which is still there today.
I live in my head. All day, every day. I’m convinced my biggest talent is second-guessing every decision I have ever made or will need to make. Is it really a good idea to do a full kitchen remodel while eight months pregnant? I know I’ve always wanted white kitchen cabinets, but will they be an outdated trend in fifty years? Even five years? Did we make the right decision moving back to my hometown? What should I do with this ten minutes of alone time? I could catch up on folding laundry or unload the dishwasher. Oh! I bet I can read a chapter or two of a book. No, I should probably make a grocery list or fill out those school registration papers. The sound of the toilet flushing interrupts my thoughts. As my three-year-old emerges from the bathroom, I glance down at his hands to see they are still dripping with (what I hope are) water droplets. Right on cue, the two-year-old announces, “Mama, me go potty too.”
Inspired by Nora Ephron’s “Where I Live” essay from I Feel Bad About My Neck. Click here to read the next one in the series.
Also live in my head 🙋🏻♀️ I laughed about your house being super on trend in the 1960’s because we have been told the same (ours was built in 1950 and had so many weird quirks that our investor said would have been “very impressive” once upon a time) 😅
From a fellow head-dweller, I loved this 💛