Let me start by saying, despite all appearances, I don’t like to move. Yet, somehow, since my husband and I started dating in 2011, we have moved 6 times and are in the process of looking for nest number 7. When we were college seniors, moving apartments (in December in Orono) didn’t seem so bad. And moving from Orono back into our parents’ houses and then to a Farmington, NH town house wasn’t too bad either. But somewhere along the way we got tired of renting. That’s when we bought the world’s tiniest house.
764 square feet of peeling paint and leaky porch roof combined with questionable color choices inside. I mean, really, who paints hardwood floors dark purple? It came with a lot of benefits though, including a great river view, and front row seats to the town’s fireworks displays every summer. Over three years and many home improvement projects, we realized the house was getting a little tight. After all, we filled it with Big Fluff, Moose, Jinx, and Zoey, the newest and only human addition.
We had spent several years talking about the differences between Maine and New Hampshire while attempting to find find a decent candlepin bowling alley or movie theater that didn’t cost half a paycheck to attend. Believe it or not, the lack of bowling alleys and small movie theaters were just some of the small, but endlessly irritating aspects of living out of state. Over time these irritations built up. So we packed everything up, put the tiny, but much improved, house on the market, and moved into our in-laws house. Us, our cats, our dog, and our baby joined my husband’s sister, parents, a visiting friend, occasionally another sister, four more dogs, and several outdoor cats, along with a huge extended family, in North Monmouth, Maine. Somehow we all fit, and as for how? That’s a story for another day.