Big dreams in a tiny house

I sat on a small couch in a tiny house, looking out the window.Blue fence with white flowers

I smiled as I dreamed of the future. I talked to God.

“This is our house. I know it’s only the fifth or sixth house we’ve looked at but it feels like home. If You can just see fit to put us in this house, all will be right in my world.”

I dreamed of children running on the lawn. Dinners served at the dining room table. Lullabies sung in the nursery.

It was picture perfect, in my mind.

In reality,  we would find a leak in the gas line leading to the stove, poor plumbing, an ancient gravity-air furnace, wallpaper in just about every available square inch of wall space.

This house was a labor of love for my ex and me.

But, the children did run on the lawn. Many dinners have been served in my dining room. And countless lullabies crooned in the wee hours of the morning, in a rocking chair in the nursery.

It was, at times, Rockwellian. At others, anything but that.

But my instinct was correct. This was the house for us. It still feels like home.

What I did not see at that time was what any young newlywed doesn’t see—life coming at you like a freight train.

I did not foresee margaritas on my hallway floor as we scraped wallpaper off for what seemed like the 100th day. I did not see a tiny clone of the larger man scraping that wallpaper standing next to him a few years later, trying to hammer nails like Daddy and nearly bludgeoning his thumb off.

I was blind to two sleep-deprived parents taking turns walking a colicky, inconsolable baby around the house for hours in the middle of the night, tears streaming down their faces because nothing they did seemed to help. And they just. Needed. Sleep.

I certainly did not see a basement flooding during construction of an addition because the construction crew left us without backfill for days on end. My sleeping on a soggy air mattress in the basement, pregnant and with food poisoning, wondering when I’d be well enough for us to go to a hotel.

I may have envisioned hot chocolate after sledding, bedtime stories in a rocker and pics on the front porch in full Halloween regalia but I could not have anticipated the joy, sorrow, worry and pride that would come with each season.

I am somewhat glad I did not foresee a couple yelling at each other over money, life, difficult children.

Had I foreseen a divorce and the accompanying financial struggles, death and grief, the arduous and painful rebuilding of a life for two minus one, I certainly would have walked out the front door of this tiny little house with nary a backward look.

This home has housed so much of us, my family, over the past decade. And life would have come at us like a freight train anywhere. It’s why we humans should not have the ability to foresee the future. It might paralyze us into never taking that first step.

Perhaps getting this house did not immediately make all right in our world. But it certainly provided a loving haven. At times, a barrier against a world that moves too fast and metes out fates too harshly.

Im KinderzimmerSometimes I catch my little one on the couch, in the very same location I sat 15 years ago, staring out that same window (well, almost-he looks out of the upgraded, thermal variety of that same window).

He is usually pondering something he has just read in a book. And this is one of the many safe, cozy, quiet places he finds to ponder in this nook-and-cranny abode.

That is when I think buying this house did—in a roundabout way—make all right in our world. All that is right in my world at this second is sitting on that sofa. And to him, this is home with a capital H.

I think I will bring him hot chocolate and gaze out that window with him.

The view from my small sofa has changed. But this house, which encases our history, our worries, our cares, our joys, our sorrows, our hopes, is still our home. The view can change all it wants. The capital H bit will not.

I can still look out that window, dreaming and praying.

This time, a bit more world weary.

But also a bit more worldly wise.





30 Comments Add yours

  1. Dale says:

    What beautiful writing. Thanks to Roy, whom I found through Jean (Social Bridge)… I love this Blogosphere! I will definitely be looking into more of your writing!

    1. candidkay says:

      Thanks for stopping by, Dale! Glad to have you. Roy is a wonderful connector, isn’t he?

      1. Dale says:

        Indeed! It’s the best place to find new blogging friends who speak the same language!

  2. willowmarie says:

    This is a brave and honest insight Kay. It made me think of how rarely things turn out the way we think they will (even us). For some reason, it made me think of a film I saw a while back “Under the Tuscan Sun”…best watched with popcorn and hot chocolate!

    1. candidkay says:

      Yes! Love that movie:). And her struggles but ultimately a happiness beyond her imaginings. My version of a wonderful fairy tale that I hope actually plays out in real life . . .

  3. Very moving – this struck a chord as we’re currently in a place where we’re deciding whether to move from our home of ten years. I remember that feeling of coming home, like you, then the discovery of all the little and big things that were wrong with the house and all the major and minor life events that have happened here. Whether or not we move, you’ve made me pause to appreciate what our home has given us.

    1. candidkay says:

      I’ve had to learn over the years that home is what I carry within me. That said, I’m very influenced by my environment. I wish you peace in your decision and your ultimate destination.

  4. Aunt Beulah says:

    For me, the gem in this honest, wonderfully written post is the line “It’s why we humans should not have the ability to foresee the future. It might paralyze us into never taking that first step.” So true. I’ll be back, CandidKay.

    1. candidkay says:

      I hope you will be! Always love to see your friendly face here.

  5. This post just brought tears to my eyes, tinged with both sadness and happiness. I have a similar story with a little yellow house, but since my divorce. How quickly those colicky babies grow up and precious memories get forgotten? I am going to make my two kids the biggest, steamiest mugs of hot chocolate upon their return from school today. Thank you for reminding me to ‘cherish’.

    1. candidkay says:

      Wishing you peace and joy in that little yellow house. You’ve got a compadre out here in the big wide world:).

  6. socialbridge says:

    Wonderful post! So glad to have found you thanks to Roy.

    1. candidkay says:

      I’m so glad you did! Thanks for stopping by and for the kind words.

  7. thenoveilst says:

    Sweet 🙂

  8. Roy McCarthy says:

    Reblogged this on Back On The Rock and commented:
    One of the best posts I’ve read in a good while from Candidkay.

    1. candidkay says:

      Thank you so much, Roy! I truly appreciate the reblog–and you being such a faithful visitor.

      1. jennypellett says:

        I’ve just popped over here from Roy’s blog after his recommendation. What a beautiful piece of writing – very poignant. There are bits here that I definitely recognise – put into words with eloquence 🙂

      2. candidkay says:

        Thank you so much for stopping by! So nice of Roy to highlight this piece. And thank you for your kind words–much appreciated.

  9. Roy McCarthy says:

    Lovely, poignant and personal piece of writing Kay. Hopes, joys and sorrows all packaged into one excellent post. How true that if foresight were granted to us we’d be nothing – without it we can always have our hopes and aspirations.

  10. markbialczak says:

    It is wonderful how your little house turned into your big Home, notch by notch in your heart and soul through sad and glad times, Kay. Thanks for opening the windows and allowing us to breathe in the same air.

  11. Elaine says:

    I feel like it’s Christmas morning when I see you have a new post in my inbox. I wait for a quiet time in my house to sit, read, enjoy, sometimes cry at your articles. Thank you for always making my day.

    1. candidkay says:

      Couldn’t have offered me, or any writer, nicer words. Thanks for reading and commenting . . . I love knowing when my writing touches someone.

  12. Kay: If you’re planning to put all of these posts into one book, this one is a keeper. And not just because I write on the topic of Home. It’s a beautiful, well-written story. More to say on this topic of your writing, but as you know, I’m dealing with an emergency right now. Will circle back later.

    1. candidkay says:

      You are in my thoughts & prayers–and the fact that you took the time to comment in the midst of your situation says a lot about you. Stay strong and well–and thank you for the kind words.

  13. Beautiful post. Very nice to read. Early this morning I had decided to practice being thankful, and reading your post seemed to go along with that theme just perfectly. Peace and Blessings

    1. candidkay says:

      I love it when the stars align and our messages get to the right people at the right time, Craig:). Wishing you a thankful, peaceful, blessing-filled day.

  14. This is probably one of my favorite posts.

    1. candidkay says:

      And those are some of my favorite words:).

  15. Amy says:

    This post plucks my heartstrings in the tenderest of ways. I’m so glad your home is still your home. You know what? That’s beautiful. Truly.

    Wishing peace to your good heart as you remember, as you pray, dream, and pick your point of view each day. Much love to you, my friend~ xoxo

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