Growing Some Moss
This month marks the longest consecutive time I have lived in any one place.
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Can we have a moment of silence to reflect on that please?
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Thank you. Now back to the subject at hand.
Four years ago, when escrow finally closed on the only condo we could afford, we laughed off people's doubts about buying such an itsy-bitsy space.
Four hundred and seventy-three square feet is plenty for us, we said. It is just us two.
And we settled in to our cozy little space and loved every square inch.
A few months ago I walked into the hallway of our building to find a neighbor wrestling an enormous piece of exercise equipment down the stairs.
We're moving, he said. Same complex, just a bigger unit. You know how it is, there just isn't enough room for the two of us.
I nodded as if in sympathy and hurried my hugely pregnant self through my door before snickering quietly. Try adding two babies and a pet snake, I thought.
Sometimes in those early morning hours in between hearing our neighbor's toilet flush and the stirring of my little boy in his bed, I create an elaborate math problem wherein I try and divide the 473 square feet of our space by the number of occupants. Other times I eye the wall in our kitchen that may or may not be hiding empty space and dream of possible uses. Could a dishwasher fit there? or a mini washing machine? More counter space? A baby bed?
Well, okay, a baby bed would never fit there. But in a space that only has one door and two babies, the question of where to put their beds to maximize everyone's sleep is an ongoing riddle.
But riddles and middle of the night math problems aside, I love our space and am glad we have this much and no more.
But for the sake of truth in advertising, let me make a few confessions:
1) It is a good thing we live in Southern California. We've made our space larger by borrowing a lot of public space. You know that question about maximizing sleep? Let's just say that SOS and the kids are on a first name basis with the staff at the neighborhood bagel shop. But the results of another night math problem: you would have to not buy a whole lot of bagels before you could afford another bedroom.
2) We have to close our shower door before we can change a diaper on the changing table. Don't think about that one too much.
3) I'd be a lot more annoying with spamming cyberworld with pictures of my kids if it weren't that every cute picture of them has dirty laundry or some other less photogenic backdrop and I'm not skilled enough in photoshop to fix it.
4) Our bathroom: the only place you can go and close the door. Someday I will outfit my husband with an amazing office with a comfortable chair and a real desk. It will also not smell of dirty diapers. Today is not that day.
Four years, dear readers. It's been good and I'll take those congratulations now.
--
Can we have a moment of silence to reflect on that please?
--
Thank you. Now back to the subject at hand.
Four years ago, when escrow finally closed on the only condo we could afford, we laughed off people's doubts about buying such an itsy-bitsy space.
Four hundred and seventy-three square feet is plenty for us, we said. It is just us two.
And we settled in to our cozy little space and loved every square inch.
A few months ago I walked into the hallway of our building to find a neighbor wrestling an enormous piece of exercise equipment down the stairs.
We're moving, he said. Same complex, just a bigger unit. You know how it is, there just isn't enough room for the two of us.
I nodded as if in sympathy and hurried my hugely pregnant self through my door before snickering quietly. Try adding two babies and a pet snake, I thought.
Sometimes in those early morning hours in between hearing our neighbor's toilet flush and the stirring of my little boy in his bed, I create an elaborate math problem wherein I try and divide the 473 square feet of our space by the number of occupants. Other times I eye the wall in our kitchen that may or may not be hiding empty space and dream of possible uses. Could a dishwasher fit there? or a mini washing machine? More counter space? A baby bed?
Well, okay, a baby bed would never fit there. But in a space that only has one door and two babies, the question of where to put their beds to maximize everyone's sleep is an ongoing riddle.
But riddles and middle of the night math problems aside, I love our space and am glad we have this much and no more.
But for the sake of truth in advertising, let me make a few confessions:
1) It is a good thing we live in Southern California. We've made our space larger by borrowing a lot of public space. You know that question about maximizing sleep? Let's just say that SOS and the kids are on a first name basis with the staff at the neighborhood bagel shop. But the results of another night math problem: you would have to not buy a whole lot of bagels before you could afford another bedroom.
2) We have to close our shower door before we can change a diaper on the changing table. Don't think about that one too much.
3) I'd be a lot more annoying with spamming cyberworld with pictures of my kids if it weren't that every cute picture of them has dirty laundry or some other less photogenic backdrop and I'm not skilled enough in photoshop to fix it.
4) Our bathroom: the only place you can go and close the door. Someday I will outfit my husband with an amazing office with a comfortable chair and a real desk. It will also not smell of dirty diapers. Today is not that day.
Four years, dear readers. It's been good and I'll take those congratulations now.
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