Friday, February 17, 2012

Roots

In an effort to facilitate the size of our family (recently grown to four with the birth of our son) we're adding on a room to our house.  Several rooms actually, all rather small by national suburban comparison. While many (if not most) have endured having a commode-to-resident ratio less than 25%, the constant interruption while trying to read my Science News is just to much to bear. Thus, our decision to add another bathroom. While we're at it, another closet, a bedroom, and a study seemed in order, because as long as we're expanding, why not move the parents' bed out of the living room and into its own room? This doesn't mean that I'll be sleeping in the master bedroom any time while our son is young, but at least our daughter can have more space in the living room for her doll house and craft table, and I can set up a camp stove and sleeping bag for the long, lonely nights in the living room.

Alternatively, we could have moved to ANY PLACE OTHER THAN THE SILICON VALLEY, sold our house, and bought a McMansion, complete with tea boys and servant girls. But that would mean leaving Sunnyvale, leaving behind the best diversity of cuisine this side of the Mississippi--not that we dine out much anymore, but still--I can sense the presence if Indian, Thai, Mediterranean, and Mexican in my every pore (especially my nose pores).

We would abandon all hope of teaching our children a second language natively. We would have to learn to explain atheism and vegetarianism and love of arduous international travel. I would worry that the next home owner would poison Tree (the ginormous shamel ash in our front yard) and convert its timber to firewood. Somebody might convert my garage into long-term storage for conspicuous consumption. Worst of all, they might burn some of Tree's wood in the vestigial fireplace.

So I stay.


1 comment:

  1. Heh, when I go home to visit, everybody's house seems gigantic. You could go to Europe and live in small house there.

    ReplyDelete

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