Survivor Saturdays - Housing Now and Then (subtitled: Dream a Little Dream)

I’ve hesitated writing on this topic for a while now because it always seems to come out as extremely pretentious and materialistic - and anyone who knows me well knows that those are the two qualities I loathe most. It’s not (I hope) me at all, but after talking it over with my BFF/Survivor Sista, Gretchen (she and I went through the trenches together and came out alive), she agreed that what I have to say is good advice.

OK, here goes. Let’s talk housing, girls. Specifically, how crummy it can be when you’re in training, but how it is OK to dream and plan because you know that it will get better in a few (long) years. If you’ve been keeping up with Melisa, you know just how crummy it can be.

My experience wasn’t quite as bad as Melisa’s. We lived in a tiny condo during med school and internship, and we lived in a relatively nice house – about 1800 square feet – during residency and fellowship. Our first child was born during MS4, and I used to take her for rides in her little red wagon around the parking lot of our condo complex. The kitchen was so small that you couldn’t open the dishwasher and the refrigerator at the same time. But it was home, and truly some of our best memories come from that itty bitty apartment.

During residency, the size of both our house and our family grew. We added another munchkin to the mix – they shared a bedroom, and all four of us shared a single bathroom. The kitchen was slightly larger, but I could still rinse out the mop in the sink and stretch the handle across the kitchen to rest on top of the stove. We didn’t have a pantry, so we used the hall closet. But it was home, and we were happy.

My husband grew up in a small town in a house situated on 7 acres of woods, and he had a fantastic childhood among all those trees. Our dream for our family has always been to have something similar – lots of trees, lots of room to explore, and the “cool” house where all the kids want to come over and play. Early in our marriage, we dreamed of and prayed for our home to be a “safe place” where everyone was welcome, where kids could come and know they are loved and cared for – not only our own children, but all of their friends as well. Our dream started to take shape as we grew in our marriage and as our kids started to grow up, but we knew that the fulfillment of this dream (at least the “cool house” part) was years and years away. And that was OK.

Somewhere in the middle of residency, we went on our first of many Parade of Homes tour. Many cities do this. The individual builders within a local homebuilders’ association showcase some of their new homes in hopes of drumming up some business and getting their names out there. In any case, it is the perfect opportunity for young, poor doctors’ wives to dream a little bit and, most importantly, do some mental planning. We would walk through these gorgeous homes, notepad in hand, carefully observing all the amazing features, taking note of what we really liked and what we didn’t. I started a file folder with the notes I had taken during the tours, floor plans, and pictures from magazines of features I really liked. (Most tours won’t allow you to take pictures.)

We walked through one home with Gretchen and her husband – this house was something like 6000 square feet. It was enormous. Gretch and I commented to each other how it was just too big. You could “lose your kids in this house”! The next week, we were sitting in her tiny kitchen in her tiny house while all four of our kids ran laps through the narrow hallway, through the kitchen, into the tiny sitting room, chasing each other, yelling at the tops of their adorable lungs. Gretchen looked over at me with a sly smile and yelled above the noise, “Remember that house? YOU COULD LOSE YOUR KIDS IN THAT HOUSE!"

I struggled with this topic because I don’t want you to be discontent with where you are. These long years are going to give you some precious memories. I promise you will someday look back on this time fondly. (Even you, Melisa.) These years will give you time to grow in your marriage, to struggle together, to dream together. As I’ve said before, if you can survive these years, you can survive anything.

But I want you to know that it is okay to dream because it’s not always going to be this hard. Looking through magazines, watching home design shows on TV, going on home tours – all of those things can give you a little bit of hope to keep going, keep persevering, keep struggling. Gretchen likened it to the visualization that you learn in Lamaze to lessen the pain of labor. At the very least, it's a fun diversion from your present reality.

When Michael was nearing the completion of his training and signed on with his new practice, we went to our new city to search for a new home. From all of our years of dreaming, we had a fairly good idea of what we wanted, and we found a great house. After living there for several years and going on several more home tours, we had an even better idea of what worked for us and what we could live without. Armed with more than ten years of dreaming and a hefty file folder full of notes and magazine clippings, we drew out a rough sketch of our dream house and took it to an architect. After a very long journey and many evil thoughts involving knocking our city council over the head with a 2x4, we should start building The House on 2.5 acres of woods by the end of the summer, hopefully moving in next spring, just after our fourteenth anniversary.

So go ahead. Dream. Take notes. Be content where you are, but form your opinions. Build your marriage while you build your file folder. It might be a while, but someday you’ll have a little more freedom to spread out.

You may even get to lose your kids in your house.

I'll be blogging our house building journey for the next 6-9 months (or more - eek!) over at my blog, starting here. You're welcome to join me for this crazy ride! ...though I may cure you of any desire to ever build a house! ;-)