the design(s)

Our current design is one in a long line of plans. Our first plans were small, trying to eke out a kitchen area without touching the outside of the house or changing anything structurally. Nothing seemed to work. The layout of our house is too odd. After many attempts, the architect, clearly trying to be kind, said, "there does come a time when moving becomes a viable option," and we reluctantly agreed. We spent the next two years going to every open house in the area, which we love, only to discover that to move into a home with better space (not more space, or updated space, just better space for renovating), it was at least $100K over what we could get for our awkward little home. Add to that moving expenses of $40K and we decided to go back to the drawing board.

Our next designs were big, adding a floor, taking down the 1976 addition, lifting the house and digging out the basement. Then we starting pricing construction. We were looking at more than $200K for these options. And the results still felt like we were settling.

We looked, briefly, at rebuilding. At adding $600K or more to our mortgage, then carrying close to a million dollar mortgage for what still amounted to a lovely, but average-sized house. Yes, we considered it. Like we might consider buying an island in the Caribbean, moving to Manhattan, or winning the lottery.

Many of our design issues have to do with our "Uncle Louie Special," our name for the 1976 addition, and yes, it really was designed and built by the previous owner's uncle. It isn't square, as we discovered when installed hardwood (although the triangular-cut pieces make for an interesting conversation piece). And it is so convoluted it took several minutes to run through the maze to the front door; I often threatened to put a chunk of cheese at one end. During one visit, we heard a voice faintly calling, "help! I don't know where I am!" but before we could discover her whereabouts, Grandma discovered the (occupied) second bathroom when moving aside a curtain (yes, a curtain). I'm not sure she ever came back.

After rebuilding the addition, we would have a lovely master bedroom with an ENSUITE and walk-in closet. Oh, how I wanted that ensuite! Unfortunately, to meet current codes, we lost some square footage. Also, the boys' rooms were in the basement and we'd have to move the stairs which meant redoing the existing bathroom, and laundry room and doorway. We would also have to move while the renos were going on for 6 months or more (more!?). Dave was all about living in our tent trailer in the backyard and cooking on the barbecue. Excellent. In a town where it rains for months at a time, we'd be the only trailer park family in the neighbourhood - cue the banjos. I'm sure there's some aesthetic bylaw against that. Thankfully, the financial reality hit us and we realized that we could have the reno or a life.

So we started again. We simplified and simplified until we had only the bare minimum of what we wanted. So no walk-in closets. No ensuite (my heart still hurts a little over that sacrifice - I do live with 4 boys after all). No big kitchen. No deck. No front porch. Just an eating area. That's it. Our 1946 bungalow has no eating area and no dining room. So an eating area. Simple, right? Read on.