Moving from my dream home to a small cookie cutter suburban slab turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to my family.
To say moving to my current neighborhood wasn’t my first choice would be the understatement of the century. I grow up in the country. The school I attended had annual “tractor day” which meant students could ride their tractors to school. Senior pranks often included some sort of farm animal being released in the halls. This is how I envisioned raising my kids, in an old farm house with wide open spaces. When I married, compromises had to be made. We happily settled in a century home not far from the road I grew up on. A street with side walks that led to town. I could have lived there my whole life. But that wasn’t going to happen.
In the wake of a new job, other life changes and a “deal I couldn’t pass up,” I landed in a suburban development. I complained about living in a “bag of Wonder Bread” and all the things the kids would be missing out on. My heart sank at the sameness of it all. I missed the large oddly shaped rooms and creaky floors. Strangely though, this move has been the best thing that could have possibly happened to my family. No longer do I have to spend weekends repairing the latest thing to go wrong in a century home, and without a basement anymore, rain doesn’t cause concern.
Now we can take bike rides to the nearby park on the weekends, or head to the neighborhood pool. The kids love having friends around every corner. Pick up basketball games and rollerblading hockey games are common on our quiet street. And my boys do get the experience of farm life in a way. They each have a lawn tractor, complete with snow plow attachments and work year round for several of our busy neighbors. I’ve gotten over the loss of land and enjoy my small plot to the fullest. My gardens look better with a tighter frame; a little really goes a long way.
I’m content in my Wonder Bread house and enjoy customizing it to our needs. Pulling into the drive now, I realize how much I love the tiny place. Turns out, it isn’t the shape of the house or even the location, it’s the family that matters.