Basement Living

Most mornings are accompanied by the sweet sounds of the temper tantrum--sometimes more than one tantrum at a time--complete with murder victim screams and small bodies hitting the walls. No, we aren't stowing any children away in our closets, but we do live in a humble basement below four rambunctious little ones, and I'm sure at least two of them are going through mid-childhood crises. While some days I am tempted to pack everything up and find another basement to hide out in, I quite enjoy coming home to two little boys manning the side gate with plastic firearms in preparation for the zombie apocalypse. They make me feel safe.

Especially lately, people have been asking me why I'm living in a basement when I can afford to live in a house. Yes, it would be nice to have a few hundred extra square feet to walk around in. I wouldn't whine about having a few more closets and bathroom drawers. Because of the space issue we are experiencing, a set of golf clubs, a tarp, sleeping bags and tents are housed in our cars' trunks. And how fun would it be to invite more than two people over at a time? We could host backyard barbecues and my friends' baby showers. I want to read on a couch that is engulfed in the light from an above-ground window. I want to take a shower and leave the door open without the steam setting off the fire alarm. I want to drop by bags by the front door without blocking the entry way. I don't want to rely on a faulty antennae from Best Buy to pick up ABC so we can watch football. I especially don't want to play the "where should we put the antennae so it works today" game. And I don't want Dalton to throw any more fits because the reception is going in and out during important '49ers games.

But, let me be real about something. Buying a house or town home right now would be absurd.

We have had these conversations, but they end quickly. We have no idea where the world is going to send us when Dalton graduates next spring. So, this chapter in our book of life is going to have to be called "Waiting." We've also talked about renting a bigger place, spending another $200 a month just for a little more breathing room. But why? We don't need anything more than we have right now to satisfy our essential needs.

I guess Hobbit living isn't all that bad--until your little brother tells you that your living space is "precious" and that his mission apartment on the Mexico border is bigger and nicer. I don't take care of a lawn, it's not my problem if anything breaks (not that anything does break) and I only have to write one check every month that covers all of my living expenses. We save more than half of what we make every month. We can pay for plane tickets, medical bills and expensive car repairs without breaking a sweat. It's almost impossible to lose things in our apartment, because there aren't many places to look. Oh, and we never get solicitors. Ever. Luckily, the Girl Scouts still find us.

However, these few perks are the only thoughts keeping me sane when I'm kicking my shoes back into our itty-bitty closet. I've lived like a college rat for long enough. I think I've earned a garage of some sort. Maybe a laundry room that isn't in a closet?

Sigh. Well, when it does make sense for us to buy a house, we'll be ready. More than ready.

Now that I've said this, I know the next place we move will be some 500-square-foot studio apartment in downtown somewhere. How about we just fast forward to the part where I live in a 2-bed, 2-bath. That's all I'm asking.