When Are You Moving?
What it's really like to live in a 1,000-square-foot historic house with a toddler, a husband, and a dog.
For some reason, people assume a smaller home means settling. I’ve never felt that way. Every home I’ve lived in was a choice, and the smaller ones have always been my favorite...
I grew up outside of Houston, Texas in a middle-class neighborhood where space felt abundant. Most of the homes I knew had yards, fences, multiple bedrooms, and room to grow.
My perspective on homes was shaped by growing up in a place where space felt like a given. It took me years to realize how much that assumption shaped the way I thought about homes.
My first apartment was spacious. And it was pure luck because we could hardly afford our rent as starving artists. The developer who owned our ballet studio also owned the apartments next door. I think it was 1,400 square feet, maybe more, though I never really knew. I just moved into the second place I toured. A two-bedroom with a horrible musty 1970s smell, but big windows and a great location. I’ll give it that.
When I finally left that apartment, I moved into what I could afford on my own. A micro apartment that came fully furnished. Something about a place that was mine, decorated, felt so novel that I overlooked the size of it. All the furnishings were so well thought out, down to the size of soap bottles, that it never felt small. I think it was about 400 square feet. Maybe less. I had a full bed that turned into a sofa. A foldable dining table for two. A nook I converted into a walk-in closet, an old ceramic bathtub, 10-foot ceilings, and tons of natural light. What else did I need? I got rid of everything I owned and moved in with my toothbrush and shoes. I lived there happily for years, until space became a real issue. Not because I wanted more of it, but because my job meant packages and things, and I simply could not store it all.
So I moved downstairs into one of the building’s rare one-bedrooms. The one that came with eight windows. EIGHT. By then a small space didn’t faze me at all, so I converted the only bedroom into an even bigger closet and treated my unusually long living room like a hotel room. Sofa, tv, and bed all in one space. I invested a lot in organizing that closet, but the closet was my office so having it organized mattered to me.
Small spaces aren’t new to me. So by the time we bought our home, two bedrooms, one bathroom, small was just how I lived.
Of course I tell people we chose a small house on purpose. I mean, it’s mostly true. We bought in a different era and just wanted to build equity in a fantastic neighborhood. We had no clue what we were getting ourselves into and could have never predicted what followed: a bumpy renovation, baby, cancer… People called our home cozy and they’re right. They also ask, “when are you moving?” Backhanded, maybe, but who cares, it’s unconventional and that’s us.
There’s no hiding in a small home. We hear Penelope the second she wakes up. When my husband takes late night calls, the sound carries into our bedroom. I sometimes wish I could shut my door and work, but I have to go outside and take calls on our porch. I’m always shuffling piles of fresh laundry, toys scattered on the floor and my husband’s big shoes out of virtually every photo I take.
There’s also no guest room, which means we have to, politely, offer our sofa or a nearby hotel. Nap time gets tricky with a dachshund who loves to bark. My husband and I bicker in whispers. Cooking in our kitchen, although beautiful, can sometimes turn into choreography. And almost every single purchase comes with something old going out. I do have, I might add, two storage units…
But when it rains, the whole place smells like old Dade County pine, a scent I fell for years ago in my historic apartment building. The floors creak at night like they’re saying hello. You can clean the whole house in an hour. Every object has a place. We have exactly one junk drawer, which has made us excellent editors. You stop buying things you “kind of” love, because they don’t fit. And one small choice, a print or vintage find, can change the entire room. The smaller the space, the more a single decision matters, which is partly why our living room and kitchen took so long.
We go to the grocery store more often, which means saying hi to strangers. We spend most of our time in the backyard and take several walks a day, partly to get out of the house. I get sunshine on my face during my calls. I’ve let go of needing a perfect home and practice “radical” patience. And I sleep soundly knowing I’m an arm’s length from my daughter. To her, our home isn’t small. It’s warm.
You also learn to get creative. Everything doubles in function. Our kitchen banquette has hidden storage. There are baskets under the bed. Our high chair and toddler ladder are the same color as our kitchen so they disappear into it. We have luxury upgrades, like beautiful window treatments. Right now we’re having a custom desk made that will double as my nightstand. And you are never far from anyone. Penelope sprints from one room to the next, which is exhausting, I won’t lie, but also the point.
We always end up in the kitchen. It costs less to be here, lower everything, and when you’re building something and itching to take risks, the way my husband and I are in this chapter, living in a small home turns out to be its own kind of freedom…
My Outfit:
As someone living in NYC with her husband and golden-retriever (who is also a Texas native) I loved this read and perspective