Like Barbie before me, I’ve long thought about my dream house.
Even before my flirtation with becoming an architect or engineer.
I came up with some pretty rough floorplans, drawn on lined paper with a blotting pen.
But it was an impressive house.
I still think about it from time to time.
But I don’t require some of the things I felt like I needed in that version.
No built-in pizza oven.
No walk-in closet for my baseball caps.
Probably not even a moat.
My priorities have changed.
Yet there are some things I’d still like to see:
– A giant kitchen/dining room table.
Friends will drop by and you and I’ll sit what others would mistakenly call “unnecessarily close” together. I’ll listen to their stories while placing my hand on your thigh under the table. You’ll smile. You’ll know that the first squeeze means “I love you.” And the second squeeze means “You and me on this table before these sumbitches even get out of the driveway.”
– Two over-sized desks facing each other in a study/office area.
Your desk will be modern and white and pretty. Mine will be wooden and utilitarian.
They’ll be open enough at the bottom that we can play footsies. Always.
Even when you’re crankybutt and feeling a little guilty about it and wondering if I’m mad at you…
My foot will sneak over and just barely touch yours.
And you’ll know.
Sometimes you’ll catch me staring at you.
“Whaaaat?” you’ll ask.
“I’m just smitten is all.”
And you’ll shake your head and go back to your work.
Before looking back up to make sure I’m still doing it.
– A large dry erase board.
Our calendar will be there. As will our to-do and grocery lists. Most of it will be written by me because you’ll only think of things to add to it when you’re “Oh, babe, I’m soooooo comfy” on the couch. And sometimes when you’ll walk by you’ll find silly notes and drawings.
One afternoon you’ll find something like this:[picture of my hand] + [picture of your bum] = :)
They’ll all have a common theme: I love you and you’re ridiculously cute.
– A room for my adorably cute niece.
OUR adorably cute niece. I love how that sounds.
– A humongous and comfy couch.
We’ll use it for summer afternoon underwear-clad snuggles, napping on and off throughout a baseball game on tv, making out a lot, with the doors locked and knowing it’s not about who you’re hiding from, but who you’re hiding with.
And when the kids come, they’ll sit between us on the couch — as we look at each other over their noggins — and they’ll fight to stay awake. They’ll know that bedtimes are an adversary they don’t want to lose to. Finally we’ll convince them to go to bed, under the agreement that I’ll tell them stories. And I’ll pick them up off the couch and you’ll slump over and stretch out. I’ll toss them in their beds, tuck them in, and tell them a story that I make up based on the plots of Cinderella, Lord of the Rings, and a second season episode of Boy Meets World.
And when I’m sure they’re finally asleep, I’ll plant gentle kisses on each of their little foreheads, and tip toe out of the room.
I’ll be a surprised to find you in the hallway watching.
And you’ll kiss me.
Like you mean it.
– A bed.
You’ll notice I didn’t add any variation of “large” when describing it. I don’t want it to be super big. I want to be close to you. Even when we’re sleeping. And even when little Einstein-haired kids waddle into our room in the middle of the night because monsters are playing Hungry Hungry Hippos in their closet, as monsters do, and climb aboard.
I want us all cuddled together as a family.
Even though they’ll be bed hogs like you.
Even though I’m a giant.
I want us to stay close.