Write about your dream home.
My dream home isn’t a mansion. It’s not a marble-everything, cold-and-echoey architectural digest situation.
It’s a three-bedroom house with a beautiful kitchen and just enough land for dogs to run like they pay the mortgage and a chicken coop I will absolutely romanticize on Instagram.
Recently I was watching this woman on TikTok — as one does when you’re “just resting your eyes” at 10:47 p.m. — and I realized something very important:
When I have the money to build my own kitchen, I am stealing approximately one million of her ideas.
She has a Blackstone built into her kitchen. Built. In.
She has a stove.
A double oven.
And a Blackstone.
The audacity. The brilliance. The breakfast potential.
Imagine hosting and just casually saying, “Oh, I’ll throw that on the Blackstone.” That’s wealth. That’s peace. That’s hashbrowns done correctly.
I want that energy.
But beyond the kitchen (which will absolutely include a deep country sink because I love a deep sink — I want to be able to wash a stock pot without creating a tidal wave), I want a library/office. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Or at least two full walls covered in books like I’m either extremely well-read or extremely committed to the aesthetic.
And Hector and I have already discussed the theme of the house: Alice in Wonderland.
Not Disney. Not cartoon mushrooms and teacups everywhere.
More like… dark wood. Whimsical. Slightly enchanted but grounded. The kind of house where you feel like something magical could happen, but it’s also practical enough to store paper towels.
I want odd furniture. The kind that looks like it absolutely should not go together — but somehow does. No matching sets. No “living room bundle, 15% off.” I want a velvet chair next to a carved wooden table next to something that looks like we found it in a traveling magician’s attic.
Speaking of magician — Hector is a literal magician, so obviously there will be subtle playing card details tucked around the house. Nothing cheesy. Just little nods. A framed vintage card deck. Maybe a heart or spade worked into hardware. Whimsy with intention.
And in the kitchen? A clock permanently stopped at tea time.
Because if we’re committing, we’re committing.
I want bright colors. Warm colors. Jewel tones. A house that feels alive. A house that feels like us.
And it’s so funny to me that this is what I want now — this eclectic, whimsical, slightly chaotic blend of my personality and Hector’s — because when I was growing up, my dream house was… aggressively normal.
I wanted a plain yellow house.
An enclosed wraparound porch.
A porch swing.
And when shiplap had us all in a chokehold? Oh, I was ready. I wanted shiplap in every bathroom. In the kitchen. Probably emotionally, too. I wanted the farmhouse look. The country sink (which, again, I still want — don’t get it twisted). Soft neutrals. Clean lines. Joanna Gaines could’ve walked in and felt affirmed.
And honestly? I still love that look.
But somewhere along the way, my taste stopped trying to be universally approved and started feeling more… personal.
Now I want character. I want a house that looks collected, not purchased in one afternoon. I want a place that feels like two creative weirdos live there — one who reads too much and one who can pull a coin from behind your ear.
A house with space for books and magic tricks.
For dogs and chickens.
For dinner parties on the Blackstone.
For tea time that never ends.
Three bedrooms. A beautiful kitchen. A little land. A lot of color.
And just enough whimsy to make it feel like we built it exactly for us.
