I’m sure it started after my mom said, “I wish we lived closer.” In fact, we do live relatively close to one another. We’re only about a half an hour away, but with Atlanta traffic, that half an hour can stretch anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour. In any event, we don’t live close enough to just drop over for a chat any time the idea strikes our fancy.
Thus birthed the idea for our plot of land. At first, it started as a joke; we’d have a home for all the women to live in and a separate home for all the grumpy men. The women could get together every night after the kids went to bed and play the board games we so love while the men stayed home and scratched their rears and fell asleep on the couch.
Except my brother-in-law said he didn’t want to be stuck in a house with the grumpy men, either.
Then the idea morphed into something more realistic. Instead of two houses divided by gender, we’d have three homes divided by family units all sharing a large plot of land. There would be a communal garden. There would be Hilda the cow. There would be game night. Many nights.
Sometimes when I would get discouraged with the condition of my home or tired thinking about putting the kids to bed after a visit with my parents, I would envision my dream home on that large plot of land. I would see the tall trees surrounding us, hear the stream running through the woods. I could taste the tomatoes I’d pick from our garden, and I was never overwhelmed at its upkeep–the three families worked together.
And there was Hilda. Oh, she was such a good cow. She ate her grass and gave us the finest milk. No longer did I have to debate whether or not (not, most often) to purchase organic milk for $5.99 a gallon–our organic milk was right in our yard.
But like most dreams, this one was squashed by those whom I love.
“Do you think I’m made out of money?!”
No, Dad, I think you’re made out of blood and muscles and bones.
“Dad, you’re just buying the land first since you’re ready to move now. You’re reserving our spot. Then, we’ll come and buy our section of the land from you and build our house. This plan made sense to me.
“What happens when Matt and you decide to move and sell your home? Now I have this piece of land that I have to share with someone I don’t know.”
“Well, we’re not going to move.”
And then a few days later my husband joined in:
“Do you know how much a cow costs? It would cost thousands of dollars. It would take years before you even reaped the benefits of having your own cow to milk.”
I don’t trust your math.
“Jennifer, you don’t live on Little House on the Prairie.”
You’re right; Caroline’s husband was warm and kind, and he played the fiddle.
“This move doesn’t make sense from a financial perspective. What happens if we want to move? We now have a house that’s connected to two other families.”
Are we planning to move? Did you and my dad have a talk that I don’t know about. Are you being transferred to Canada or something?!
After that moment, I told myself, “Forget it.” Forget the big plot of land. Forget the communal garden. Forget Hilda. And definitely forget game night many nights during the week.
At least I have ‘Word With Friends.’
Has your family ever squashed your dream before it had time to come to fruition? Have you ever wanted to own a cow? It’s the middle of the week, folks. Let’s take a minute to smile and get through it!