My Dream House

My dream house is round. There are no corners to hide wheeled toys or hair brushes from unsuspecting feet; no sharp edges to threaten tender temples or shins. If I can't find my keys or my kid, I just keep turning until they appear.

There are tiered shelves along the wall all the way around, and every twelve inches there's a hook attached to the bottom shelf. I never have to put anything away, because everything sits on a shelf or hangs on a hook.

My floor is an extraterrestrial material that looks like hardwood, wears like berber, feels like warm sand, and smells like fall. It absorbs crumbs, spills, dust, lint, odors, calories and fatigue.

The large windows are smudge-proof, streak-proof and break-proof. They're made of one-way glass, which means I can wear morning face with confidence and dance around in pink long johns and an orange Xanadu sweatshirt without fear of discovery.

Instead of a ceiling I have a domed skylight that never leaks or ices over. The glass retracts with the touch of a button, as a floor panel gently lifts me to the roof deck where my husband waits by an outdoor fireplace - with a gourmet organic meal and an unquenchable interest in my day.

There are no phones. There is no television. There are complete, mint-condition collections of Emily Dickinson, Ernest Hemingway, Robert Frost, Maya Angelou and Corduroy.

Clusters of self-feeding tropical plants maintain a perfect humidity balance and an internal temperature of 70 degrees.

There's a sound wave vacuum system in the wall that automatically adjusts a toddler's piercing scream to an "inside voice".

But the very best thing about my dream house is my bathroom. It's spotless, soundproof, completely impenetrable, and invisible to everyone on the planet except me.

Sally Bacchetta - Freelance Writer
Freelance Writer
Parenting
Motherhood