I've always wanted to know a girl whose boy proposed to her under the Eiffel Tower. She would be smart and sweet, stylish and lovely...and best of all, my friend.
I love it when life matches your wishes.
I'm please to introduce to you one of my favorites, Stacy. And here is the home I've found especially for her. I hope you love it, too.
If I were Stacy's realtor, I'd hunt first for an art studio. My friend is an artist, and her daughters are fast following in her footsteps; they need cubbies and clean surfaces and lots of space for clay.
But my friend is also a fabulous mom to her girls, and so her studio must include room for scooters and jump rope contests. It would lead directly out to an ancient garden overflowing with established root systems and ribbon-winning fruits and vegetables, not to mention one old tree the family would name and love for the rest of its life.
The kitchen would be serious, full of all the necessary instruments her husband needs to make his signature dishes.
We'd all stop and inhale the potential someday aromas from his cheffery, even though that is not necessarily a real word; if you tasted his cooking, you'd invent better words, too.
"There's room for you," he'd whisper to his sweetheart wife, pointing to a well-stocked bright corner.
She'd smile, shrug, and explain, "I'm still trying to master the perfect Martini. It's a pretty fun learning curve."
The bedroom would be a haven, but there would be little time to linger over its serene solitude and ceiling height that takes our gasps away. The girls would be getting antsy.
"Pardon me?" They'd ask politely. They are stellar and very polite girls, my Bella and Mia. "Is there a room for us?"
Is there a room for them? I'd stifle a giggle and put on a worried frown.
"Oh, dear," I'd tell them. "Your room needs some work."
They would hold their collective breath for at least thirty seconds before turning to their parents and begging to sleep over this very night.
But you and I both know that's the way with your perfect home, isn't it? You never want to leave.