My dream house has a fenced in backyard where I can open the door and let the kids out to play without worry of them wandering off. There’s a swingset and sandbox and, in summer, a small inflatable pool. There might also be a dog. It would have a deck, complete with an outdoor dining area. I could try my hand at gardening in a small secluded patch of land safely off to the side of little running feet.
Inside, it would be spacious, but not enough to get lost in. It would have a separate playroom, so that toys wouldn’t be the first thing you trip over when you walk in.
There would be at least 3 bedrooms with an extra space for J’s office, because it’s just a given that the boys are destined to share. I would love more than one bathroom.
It would have a basement. If for no other reason than so I can feel safe during storms.
It would not have fake wood paneling.
Other desirable features of note: large windows and a place for a cushioned windowseat, a garden bathtub, two large trees to hang a hammock, a garage, lots of closet space, nice but non-nosy neighbors, cherry wood kitchen cabinets, stainless steel appliances, an open floor plan, a brick exterior. The list could go on.
When we don’t know what else to do on lazy days, we’ll drive around neighborhoods gazing at what could be. Over our many moves in the past, I’ve been able to narrow down my picture of our perfect house. Though our dream home is nothing without Abby’s infectious laugh and high-pitched demands, Buzz’s rambunctious energy and daredevil antics, or Jedi’s endless array of questions and bouncing off the walls. No matter how perfect, a house is not a home without the noise and chaos I’ve come to find comfort in. For them, I am thankful. I am home. A perfect, dream home. Wherever we are.