On why I’m suddenly a fan of enormous houses

And I mean enormous. Enormous as in having at least four stories, several wings, servants’ quarters, a grumpy French chef capable of feats of mouth-watering artistry, a rose garden enclosed by a high stone wall, an herb garden enclosed by an even higher stone wall, a large vegetable garden attended by a duet of elderly gardeners (indentured for life), a tennis court, indoor swimming pool, a mile-long driveway, about a hundred acres of meadows, forest, hills, several dozen serfs, and a stream of the non-seasonal variety.

That kind of enormous.

If I lived in such a house, then the children could be located in a distant wing (with its own, different zip code), separated from my study by several floors. Under the watchful eye of their governess (and a resident EMT), they could then carry on with their typical peaceful activities (blowing things up, refurbishing furniture with axes, catching the mailman in a tiger trap and then sacrificing him to one of their charming childhood gods [see: Winnie-the-Pooh, the Jack-in-the-box, Thomas the Tank Engine, etc], etc) without disturbing me.

A man can only dream.

2 thoughts on “On why I’m suddenly a fan of enormous houses”

  1. My 3rd and last daughter graduates HS next month. Then it’s off to college. That leaves myself, the wife, the cats, the dog, and the horses on a ranch in the middle of nowhere.

    Treasure every moment with your kids.

    I wish I had a smaller house with all my kids back 🙁

    1. I hear you. I’m not looking forward to the kids disappearing one day. They’re wonderful little tykes. I wrote that piece very much tongue-in-cheek, though, when my 2-year-old inexplicably hits a jet engine decibel version of B flat, about three octaves up, I do kinda think wistfully about having a private study.

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