Designing A House For An Ordinary Day

And if the house works well on those days, everything else will follow.

A comment from a subscriber, Claire, on my last post, along with a recent conversation with my dear friend Milly, inspired today’s piece. It’s about what our first family home has taught us about storage, children, mess, and the difference between designing for ordinary life rather than those easily imagined, but far less frequent, “perfect” moments.

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It’s easy to design a house around a good day (windows open, sunshine pouring in, children outside) the harder test is an ordinary one.

Working with our new house; its draughty windows and awkward corners has made us think and plan differently, helped too by three years of hindsight from our house in London.

With some distance, it’s become obvious that many of the decisions we made in our current house belonged to a very specific moment in time.

When we moved in and set to work we had one child who wasn’t yet walking and wasn’t yet joining us at the table. We made choices that felt thoughtful then...but only briefly.

There is the sweet but wildly expensive celestial wallpaper we wrapped Fred’s room in when he was eight months old. Lovely. But already almost outgrown.

When we renovated the bathrooms we prioritised a massive bath at the expense of building in proper storage. Loo rolls, toiletries and practical boring things are now hidden in baskets or piled into the back of wardrobes and require excavation each time.

And then there is the banquette bench.

The idea made total sense: push the table closer to the wall to gain more floor space, make the room work harder. Jozef, our lovely carpenter, built it beautifully. It was upholstered in Guy Goodfellow’s Olive Sacking. It looked great.

It now sits permanently within arm’s reach of Quinn’s highchair.

We are those people watching hawk-eyed as mango-covered hands drift towards it. When friends come for lunch, any children sitting there are placed on tea towels first.

Meal times don’t feel quite as relaxed as we imagined.

It’s a small thing, but surprisingly instructive.

Children don’t stay still. Life doesn’t stay as it is when you make the decision. Yet so much of how we thought about our first house assumed that it would.

What changed

So this time we’re trying to think a little further ahead. And not just design easy days.

What does it look like when everyone arrives home wet, muddy, tired and hungry at 5pm on a Tuesday in November, and everything needs to happen at once?

What does this look like with children who are bigger, louder and constantly moving through the house?

What does it feel like when we’re ten years older too?

More and more, our decisions are being shaped by things we barely considered last time: not how the house looks on its best day, but how it feels on a completely ordinary one.

That feels like a much better place to begin.

Not a perfect house, but one that feels relaxed, lived-in, loved, comfortable and easy.

What we’re planning differently this time

1. Surfaces that can be used properly

Things that can handle food, pens, paint, knocks and toy cars being dragged across them. We don’t want to spend our lives protecting surfaces, using coasters or asking children to be careful.

2. Furniture that isn’t too precious

It all has to be comfortable, hardwearing and age well - things to sink into, not tiptoe around. If something feels too “nice”, you usually end up using it less.

3. A proper threshold

Somewhere to arrive and unload properly: coats, boots, bags, balls, pinecones, enormous sticks. Especially on wet days. Without this, everything spills into the house. (Our current soaked buggy / dripping coats / narrow hallway setup is character-building.)

4. Space to move through, not just sit in

The children (right now) don’t sit still, they orbit. We’re thinking about routes through rooms and places they can play nearby without being directly underfoot.

5. Some separation, even in open spaces

Will loves light and flow. I also love a door that closes. Noise contained, and the ability to leave something unfinished and come back later.

6. Places to retreat to

Not necessarily whole rooms - just a comfy chair or quiet nook. In a busy house, ten minutes tucked away to reply to a message or read a chapter feels important.

7. Storage that reflects real life

Enough space for the things that always build up: laundry, shoes, spare bedding, drying clothes, bulk-bought loo roll, dishwasher salt. If something doesn’t have a place, it slowly takes over. (My mother-in-law is exceptional at this. I am a student of her systems.)

8. Designing for winter, not summer

How a house feels at 4pm in January matters more than how it looks in August. We’re thinking about lighting, warmth (single glazing = lots needed) and where everyone gravitates to when life moves indoors.

9. Materials that improve with wear

Things that look and feel better slightly softened and worn-in rather than worse. So the house can grow older with us instead of feeling worn-out.

10. A house that doesn’t require constant attention

I think this is the main one; we don’t want to feel like we have to manage the house. It should cope with a bit of chaos, hold a house full of weekend guests, and be all the better for it.

What have I missed? What’s one thing you’d do (or not do) next time that only experience teaches you? I’d love to hear.