But slowly, those green fences started migrating. They were no longer confined to the mansions and began popping up around the modest homes.

First, a split-level around the corner was sold. Next thing we knew, it had risen two stories higher, announcing itself with the kind of elegance you could spot from several blocks away.

Then, a friend’s house came down, and in its place rose a swoon-worthy edifice. She’d told me her plans were simply to add a ground-floor guest room and bathroom to accommodate visits from an elderly relative. From the looks of it, she could host an entire nursing home wing now — stylishly, of course.

Another friend weighed the pros and cons of gutting her place. She was considering giving up her cleaning help to fund it. I nearly signed up to be a cleaning lady right then, because if that salary covered the transformation of her modest duplex into a gleaming, multistory stunner, I’m in the wrong line of work.

Excuse my cynicism.

All these families were (are?) “normal.” Middle-class. Some even klei kodesh. But when enough “normal” people start upgrading, the baseline shifts. The bar creeps higher. And what once seemed extravagant suddenly feels standard.

“It’s a great starter house,” the seller told me when I first looked at my house.

“Excuse me?” I didn’t actually say it out loud, but I was definitely thinking it. Starter? Lady, this is my starter and my ender.

Sure, it was snug. The kids’ bedroom was so tight there was barely wiggle room between the two beds. And there wasn’t an eat-in kitchen, something I’d insisted was nonnegotiable at the beginning of my house-hunting journey. The dining room table sat practically on top of the couches, so during Shabbos seudos, the sounds of the kids playing blended right into the zemiros.

Fifteen years later, I sort of see what she meant. Some construction would go a long way here in the Steinmetz abode.

Because what I didn’t realize at 30 is that as children get older — and bring home their spouses and children — the house somehow needs to grow, too. Who knew “empty nest” actually meant “overflowing nest during Yom Tov visits”?

Deciding if we should expand took hours of conversation with my husband, endless spreadsheets, and the kind of number-crunching that gives me a headache.

The conclusion?

“I don’t know how people do it.”

So we decided on a modest project. Something that fit our budget, our projected expenses, and the beautiful package Hashem had already gifted us.

No green fences in front of our house just yet.

Still, it’s one thing to make a responsible decision. It’s another to live with it. Sometimes, it’s hard walking past those rising mansions or even a humbler renovation, knowing our finances can’t stretch that far. Especially when “that far” is starting to feel like the new normal.

The other day, my three-year-old had a full-on meltdown because her older sister got a new pack of markers and she didn’t. I sat her down and explained, “Not everyone gets the same thing. Everyone gets what is right for them.”

Right?

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 979)