Yikes! The rabbit had barely died, and child number four was already changing our life.  Our three bedroom house was too small.  Erik and Stephanie slept in the same room and Kristin, who was still in a crib and woke at the drop of a snowflake, was not ready to share her tiny quarters. Each morning we all crowded into our narrow green tiled bathroom taking turns on the potty and brushing teeth, while Jerry attempted to shave at the small sink. The kitchen had only enough room for one adult and one high chair when the refrigerator door was open. Our once gracious living room, where, pre-children, we had served cocktails in our wedding crystal and passed hors d’oeuvres straight from The Joy of Cooking, now was dominated by a playpen and swing.  Our one-car garage was jam packed with big wheels, trikes, a stroller, bassinet, sleds and assorted plastic Playskool products. We were stuffed like the feathers in a down comforter, bulging wherever we all gathered.

    That spring had showered us with more than our share of rain, and we all had cabin fever. When Jerry and I contemplated where we would put the new baby, we decided it was time to look for a bigger house.  

        We only had six months. The next day, a rainy Friday, I began in earnest checking the classified ads for Houses for Sale.  If I could get a sitter, maybe we would just go out and drive by a few that evening; especially one in particular whose ad that caught my attention:
            For Sale by Owner
            Charming Victorian in heart of Wayne
            Detached two- car garage
            Large front porch, Six bedrooms,
            three baths, study, eat-in
            kitchen. Walk to school and train
            Perfect for a large family.  
            Open House Saturday

        I could picture us sitting on the big front porch watching the kids play baseball on the lawn.  I would be able to store all the out of season clothes in the attic and we would eat breakfast in the spacious kitchen around a big table before the children would walk to school.  Everyone would have his own room, and Jerry could have an office to himself upstairs.  It sounded like a dream come true.

    When Jerry arrived home, he told me he had had a long hard day.  But I convinced him to just go drive by.

    “It can’t hurt to just look.”

     When we arrived in front of the big gingerbread house on tree lined Midvale Avenue I knew we had to get inside.  We rang the bell and the lady of the house, a tall wide-eyed redhead, in a long print skirt, answered.

    Jerry introduced us and said, “We know the Open House is not until tomorrow but do you think we could just take a quick look?” 

    “Oh, what the heck.  I’m here all alone waiting for my husband to call from the airport.  He’s away on business and his flight’s delayed.  So come on in. I’m Kathy.”

    As soon as we entered the large front hall and I peered up the staircase that ascended to the third floor, I knew I was hooked.  I could picture a grand Christmas tree reaching up to the second story, the wide oak banister wrapped in red ribbons and greens, the tall windows bedecked with wreaths. 

     “I’ll show you the living room first.”

       It was a big room, curved on one end and had a bank of tall windows.

    “This is where our kids always played.  We call it the round room.  See those window seats?  That’s where they staged their make-believe plays.  And the piano fits in here so well.  Bill and I use the study next door the most - great for reading or watching TV.”

    When I entered the wood paneled study I knew she was right.  I thought, this will be my room, where I’ll curl up with a book, or have a cup of tea. I was falling in love with this old house of alcoves, high ceilings and oddly shaped rooms.

    Kathy was a perfect hostess in this perfect house.  “Come see the kitchen.  I was just about to make myself a drink.  How about joining me?” 

    I declined but Jerry answered, “Don’t mind if I do.  I’ll have a beer.”

    Kathy handed him a can of Miller Light and poured herself a generous J&B scotch on the rocks. 

    “I’m gonna miss this kitchen.  It does need a new floor, and the stove should be replaced, but you’ll love it.”

    By now I was not looking at the floor or the stove. I was only seeing us all gathered around the big table having pancakes.  I already had our coats hanging in the closet and the children’s red boots lined up in a row. 

    “Now upstairs is next.  Of course, it all needs paint.  Let me show you the nursery.”

    We climbed the stairs. I was excited. I felt exactly like I did when I was nine and my father took me to pick out a new puppy.  Jerry commented on the fine hardwood floors. He likes it too, I thought. 

    “I rocked all those babies in here,” Kathy told us. “Four, you know.  They love this old house. Hate to leave Wayne.  But they’ll be off to college before long.”
 
    I was animated as we walked from room to room. “We can put Erik in this room and Stephie can have the pink one…and look at all the space in the attic.”

    Kathy showed us the master bed room, with cabbage rose wallpaper and the same bank of curved windows as the living room. It was huge. Finally a room big enough for the four poster bed my parents had given us!

    “This one is tough to heat.  These old houses sure use a lot of oil.  But when you put on the new roof you can insulate and you’ll be ok.”

    “No problem, ”  I answered.  “We love the cold.”

Jerry walked ahead down the hall. “This could be my office.  Wow! Now that’s a real selling point.” 

        “And, we could paint this room in the back and make it a playroom for the kids,” I chimed in.

    Kathy was animated. “Let’s go down the back stairs, get another cocktail,” she said.

        We were falling in love, and Kathy was ready for another drink.

    “I’ll show you the garage.”

        We walked behind the house.  “This is where the kids loved to catch fireflies in the summer.”

        The garage had two heavy wooden gate-like doors that were awkward and hard to open.  I was convinced they added charm to the house. Jerry took a swallow of his beer.

    “Well, now I’ll have room for the lawn mower and the car.”
 
    I could feel that my enthusiasm was infectious.  Inside, the garage was crammed with old furniture, an iron bed, draperies, Christmas decorations, and tools.  Kathy told us they were things they were selling at a garage sale after the house was sold.

    “Look at this great bureau, Jer.” I said.  “We need something for Kristin’s room.”  Jerry agreed that we should definitely buy the chest. 

    “Sold.  Kathy, we’ll take it.”

    By now we were all elated.  Back in the kitchen Jerry and I were ready to sign on the dotted line.  Kathy had one more drink to celebrate our new friendship. 

    “This is a perfect house for you.”  Jerry and I both agreed.
    She told us how her kids made a fort in the back, how her oldest, Jennifer, had broken her arm learning to ride her bike on the sidewalk out front.  She showed us snapshots of the surprise party for her husband Bill, and pictures of the front porch decorated for the Fourth of July. Together we laughed and toasted our future.  I was picturing our life here.  And by now, our new friend was a bit tipsy.

        Suddenly, in a loud voice, she announced, “I almost forgot the best part.  You’ve gotta see the basement.”

    Down we went.  Kathy flicked on the light. There before us was a basement filled with four feet of water.

    “It always gets like this when it rains.  It’s a hoot.  The kids can row boats down there.  Don’t you love it?”

    Suddenly reality struck, and I knew this was not the puppy for us.  Jerry and I looked at each other and started to laugh.  Kathy laughed with us.  “I knew you two would love it.”

    She did not know it was a “what were we thinking?”  laugh, a “let’s get out of here” laugh.

    Just then, the phone rang.  It was Kathy’s husband, and we knew it was time to go. We told her we would have to “think about the house” and would be in touch.
 


    As it turned out we did end up buying the old chest in the garage, and painted it blue.  It went into the nursery in the house we bought that spring in a town nearby.  It was a perfect house with not so many rooms and a large dry basement that we turned into a playroom.

     The chest was repainted a few times over the years and went of to college with one or two of the children.  It even spent some time in New York City in Stephanie’s fourth floor walk-up.  A few years ago, it was returned and was carried to the attic, just in case someone might want to use it some day.

    As for the old house on Midvale Avenue, she didn’t float away.  In fact, I drive by her now and then.  Each time, I am reminded of a time when our dreams were of painted nurseries and fireflies and Kathy almost enticed us to move in. And I always have this funny feeling, as if I somehow left something behind.  

*     *     * 

Biographical Note for Kristin Flick Strid: I started writing stories and poetry as a young mother of five, sneaking time at my typewriter while the children napped. In the early 80’s I enrolled in an autobiographical writing class and have been there ever since. Every Monday morning, I would steal away to my secret place, behind the heavy wooden doors, in the parlor of the old Victorian house, where we read each other’s work, talked, and listened to each other. It was there, engrossed in the works of my classmates, that I forgot if we were out of milk, if the dog needed his shots, and didn’t care what was for dinner. I made many life-long friendships and began to learn the art of good writing.  My published works include The Swimming Lesson, an eighty-three page collection of poetry, two children’s stories, and inclusion in Monday Mornings, an anthology of short stories and poetry. See poems by Kristin Flick Strid published in our September 2009  issue and October 2009 issue, and her story, Proud as a Peahen.