Little boxes

I had a dream about the little bungalow we bought when we moved back to Georgia the other night. In my dream, it was enormous on the inside and the rooms kept going on and on. In reality, it was a teeny place, barely a three bedroom. The closets were so small, that in one of the bedrooms, the hangers had to be placed in on an angle. We ended up selling it before Little Guy came along, but for a while it was just the two of us and our baby girl, and it was perfect.

A few years after we got married, we lived in a tiny apartment where there were always cat fights echoing in the back alley at night. Some crazy lady left food out, so it became the city cat hang out. Still, we loved that place because it was super cheap and centrally located in the hipster part of Atlanta. We could literally step out of the front door and be in a restaurant, bar, or coffee shop within two minutes. It had one bedroom and the only closet in the entire place was off of the living room, but somehow, it was perfect too.

Don't get me wrong, I love the house we are in now. It isn't huge, though sometimes it seems like more than we really need. Still there is a part of me, that looks forward to the time when the kids are out of the house and Hubs and I can cozy up in a little place again. I don't know where we'll be, but I can totally picture it.

Small and perfect, just like it used to be, except maybe with a little more closet space.