A house is just a box.

The plans that made my life happily ever after. We sold it after 10 rainy months.

Such a pretty kitchen.

"I feel satisfied that there is no adequate substitute for the morning and evening practice of kneeling together in prayer--father, mother and children. This, more than heavy carpets, more than lovely draperies, more than cleverly balanced color schemes, is the thing that will make for better and more beautiful homes." 

Gordon B. Hinckley.

I remember the day the FedEx man slid that monumentally important white cardboard tube into my hands. I ran into the kitchen of our gloomy Oregon rental house to find a knife with which to frantically sever the top of the tube, and then stood breathlessly watching the long beautiful parchment scroll slide elegantly out with a "swoosh". I rolled it out right there on the tacky powder blue tile of that shabby rental house floor. This piece of parchment was about to change our lives. It was our first glimpse of what KBH Architect Tucson had masterfully designed for us, and we poured over that floorplan on bare knees on the kitchen floor until our feet fell asleep. After years of living in architectural mediocrity, we were about to realize domestic nirvana. Jason and I wept, giggled, marveled, and dreamed over that buttery piece of paper for the next 6 months.
     A long time ago a friend said "A house is just a box." He said it was what you filled it with that mattered, but the box was really inconsequential. I thought he was just too dumb to understand the subtle nuances of Bauhaus design or appreciate the beauty of Portugese limestone. At that point in my life, I really believed that a house was earth-shattering. I believed that once that gorgeous mid-century modern inspired dream home was done, all the roads in our life would be paved with gold.

Men+babies=my favorite thing:)
Happy times in a tiny house that I didn't love.

    The day we moved into that new house, I was in the cardiac wing of the OHSU hospital in misery. Kind of anticlimactic. The house didn't change the fact that Oregon receives an unfair amount of rain, it didn't change the shift in the economy that squeezed our finances. It didn't make my kids happier, bring more romance to my marriage, or calm my frazzled nerves when dealing with 2 boys under the age of 2 with major health problems. In fact, I felt like a slave to that high-maintenance monster. It took teams of housekeepers and upkeepers and daily work to polish all the quartz and the 3,000 square feet of espresso colored hardwoods, vacuum the other couple thousand square feet of plush carpet, and shine the 87 massive windows. Just turning off all the lights in the 6 bedrooms, two offices, etc. took a while. And really, I was still just me. My life was still the same. It turned out that my friend was right, and a house is just a box.
     I wish that I could've seen a couple years down the golden road while I was pouring over those house plans. I would've either laughed or cried to see my future. We're currently scrunched into my mom-in-law's tiny 2 bath home in the back woods of Arkansas for a YEAR. No limestone floors here! But this afternoon while I blog, my teenagers and husband are playing a heated game of Rook with a new friend. Our tummies are full of buttermilk pancakes, and we all have smiles on our faces and in our hearts.
     We have been sold a pack of lies by realtors who tell us that life is all about LOCATION LOCATION LOCATION. It's not true. Life is about INGREDIENTS! The house is just the container.
     If you're working overtime, saving for that perfect little Craftsman home or whatever so you can finally entertain your friends in style, or soak in luxury in your new Italian soaking tub, stop it. Look around at the place you call home and realize that it's what and who it holds that matters. Fill it up with good friends, cinnamon candles, good times, prayer, and important memories. A house is just a box.

Hannah's hair-do was a group effort, and cousins are awesome. No house necessary for this memory.