Four stakes in the lawn. That’s all it looks like now. For my husband they mark out a project he’s been longing to realize for years: creating a barn-like living space using vintage timbers and beams which will connect to our current abode. For me- now that we are deciding to stay at the lake for good and therefore need to increase its foot print dramatically- it’s an architectural blue print signaling sanity. The lake house-for its abundant charm and pleasures can seem a bit cramped with two active boys and a husband whose erratic work schedule (sleeping often during the day after a night shift) means no clean cut solo time for me to work and essentially just be. For all our maternal and nesting instincts- I think women like to be alone at home more than men. I’ll never forget that thrill when my youngest son was at school for the first time until 3 o’clock. I hugged him tearfully good bye at his classroom door- then drove home as fast as I could. I then spent the next six hours as follows: walking around the entire house in my underpants while eating celery dipped into a jar of peanut butter. Wrote without interruption for three hours in my office. Took a 15 minute miracle nap in the sun porch. Gossiped with my best friend while on the treadmill up in my husband’s office, examined childhood treasures in each of my boys’ rooms, made some brownies in the kitchen (via mix of course), ordered a new bedroom rug while on the computer in the library and dreamily sorted through mismatched mittens in the mud room. For me, time spent alone doesn’t get any better than that: enjoying every delicious nook and cranny in your home. But now the nooks and crannies are vastly reduced. It’s a bit like living on a boat: there is no leave-your-socks-on-the-floor luxury. Eric needs an office and a bunk room where he can sleep in peace (as my office is now in our bed room- the largest and sunniest room of the house with lake views) He just doesn’t need his own space, I need him to have his own space. I need to feel alone here when I want, love him as much as I do. With rare exceptions-husband and wives need to be in separate and distinct spaces during the week days. My Aunt and Uncle have lived decade after blissful decade both at home and, for the most part, without full-time be-at-the-office jobs. And they couldn’t be happier. I don’t know how they do it. Something about their relationship DNA or because that’s all they ever did- be together at home. They dropped out of Harvard in the Sixities and drove a VW van straight across the country to the Pacific Ocean and built a house on the prettiest spot outside their windshield. And they’ve been there ever since. Maybe they take turns eating peanut butter in their underpants alone in the house but I somehow doubt it. Meanwhile, my friend’s Grandmother, who had for years been a homemaker and raised their children while her husband worked, suddenly within weeks of his retirement, got a job as a dental assistant. And trust me, it wasn’t for the pay check. And even if I don’t ever set foot in that new spacious barn (it’ll mostly be a garage and office for Eric on the ground floor and media room/play area on the top,) just knowing that it’s there will be enough.