The other day I was looking around the interior of my home, thinking about how much it had changed since Little Goober came along. Apparently, I no longer give a flip about impressing anyone other than him, for my rather small house seems to have morphed into one rather large playhouse.
That notion got me to thinkin' about the playhouse my two older sisters had when they were young. My dad was a home designer/builder, and when he did spec homes, we sometimes lived in them for a while, until they sold. My mom said her very favorite houses always got whisked out from under her as soon as she started to settle in, but that if she ever moved into one she hated -- one not built by Dad -- that would probably be the one she'd get stuck in for life. Turns out, she was right! Of course, since my parents loved nothing more than working on a remodeling/redecorating project together, that house gave them oodles of opportunities for collaboration, and ended up being one they had to be dragged out of, kicking and screaming, forty years later.
Anyhoo, back to the house Mom loved the most -- the one we left when I was still a toddler, and therefor have no memory of. The one she and my sisters went on and on about for the rest of their lives, just to torture me. You see, being a man ahead of the times, Dad apparently designed one of the first "open concept" houses way back in the early 50's -- one with a beautiful kitchen with an exposed brick wall and brick floors, that opened into a large family room. The piece-de-resistance? A fantastic playhouse in the backyard, custom built for my sisters. I've been pining for one of my own ever since.
Guess I finally made that dream come true, huh?
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