Big Enough for Love

The first house I can remember living in was a little white two bedroom on Congress street.

There were three of us kids and two parents living in the tiny house. I have so many fond memories of that house before the ripe age of seven.

We knew most all of our neighbors, even Earl, the elderly man living in the shack across the street. I can remember just how snugly my blue paint-splashed bike fit while ridding between the garage and the house.
My Ma had a beauty shop in the basement and we'd spend hours spinning around in her beauty chair. I remember singing into pencils and dancing on my bed with my sister. My parents had a water bed. There was a little rhubarb patch in the yard and I will never forget the day my mom accidentally pulled a snake out while harvesting the rhubarb for jam. On the back porch there was a table where Dad did his studying and mom did her sewing. I remember Mom sewing my red farm animal blanket for me on that porch. I had a sandbox out in the backyard. My neighbors had a dog named Bingo. And I had a crush on a boy named Beau that lived just down the street in the apartments across from my school. He stuck baseball cards in the spokes of his bike tires and I thought he was the coolest kid on the planet.

When I look back at all of my time there I don't see the small house. In fact I don't remember the house as being small at all. My mom however remembers differently and I bet my dad would too if I asked him. When I think of where we are at now, our small house, the one we bought when I was eighteen, the house with our three children, and us two parents, I think of all of the love and life that goes on in between these walls. And I wonder what my children will remember most from their years here. What memories will they take from this home of theirs? Because it is also the first one that they will remember. This is the house we brought our two smallest littles home from the hospital to. The one that our biggest little moved into at a little ten months old.

People ask how we do it all the time. Most act like it's unbelievable. That our house is too small. Truth is, it's hard to live in such a small house with three small children.There's a lot more organization needed in a small home. And it helps us to decipher our needs from our wants with ease. Less is more. The less bedrooms we have the more family time we spend together. We don't have space for five TVs, three computers, and a different video game system in every bedroom and I believe that we are closer because of it. We all sleep close by one another, crowd around a smaller table to eat our meals, and we all cuddle up on the living room rug to play games, read books, and have family movie nights together. I am thankful for all of the togetherness that we share here because when I look at the big picture, I know we wont be here forever. And I know that we may never be this close again. These days are ones to remember. These days in our first tiny home.


As the picture from my grandmother that hangs on the wall in my kitchen reads:
Dear House
You are really very small
Just big enough for love
that's all.