We live in a small house. A Small House. A house so small that when seeing people we haven’t seen for a while they get a look of amazement on their faces: ‘You’re still living there?’ A house so small that we can’t invite more than three people over at a time without it being too crowded. A house so small that one friend always uses us as an example: ‘You think your house is small? You should see where my friend Kelly lives!’…
Our house measures 65 square meters, which for all you nonmetric types is just under 700 square feet. Although we’ve lived here for five and a half years, I didn’t convert the surface area until fairly recently; I remember being amazed at how much space we actually have! 65 square meters sounds so… small.
We moved here before having children, and thought ‘Well, we’ll stay until we have our first.’ Then we had Jonah and found a place to fit his crib, and thought ‘Well, we can stay until we have our second.’ Then we had Owen, and bought bunkbeds. After Owen started (finally) sleeping through the night, I started brainstorming different room configurations. Now that number three is on her way, we’ve (Eddy’s) redone the upstairs, and I feel like we have more room than ever.
Even though it’s little, I love my little house, and even though it’s little, I don’t want to move. It’s in a great area, calm, close to town without being too close, close to the nanny’s and the kids’ school. It takes no time to clean, little money to heat, and we’re cozy without being on top of each other. Of course now that I’ve divulged all this in public, the landlord’s going to raise our rent!
I’d like to stay here another three years, until we’re ready to move back to the States or onto another location. By that time the kids won’t be able to comfortably share a room anymore and we’ll be ready to upgrade… maybe to 850 square feet!