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Once I got past the mental shift from “I’m building my dream home” to “I’m building my first home,” I got to work.

I started by deep-diving into floor plans for narrow lots (trust me—there are so many online). We were incredibly lucky to have a builder who gave us a ton of flexibility. A lot of residential builders offer just 1–4 base layouts and then charge for every single tweak. Ours basically said: “Find something you like, I’ll send it to my architect for final drawings, and then the engineer will make sure it actually works.” A dream.

Pretty quickly, I realized the elevation was just as important as the floor plan—especially with a narrow lot, where the front view can be… tricky. Once I found this cute little Craftsman elevation that I loved, everything clicked. I was drawn to it because the board-and-batten exterior is both timeless and budget-friendly (a rare combo).

The layout was solid, but not perfect—which is where my Adobe Illustrator experience really came in handy. I was able to start editing, moving walls, adjusting flow, and slowly bringing my version of the dream floor plan to life.

And just like that, it started feeling real. 

In January of 2024, just a few months after moving back to Kansas City, I started house hunting. I was still recovering financially from my Boston era, but I also couldn’t bear the thought of living with my parents any longer than necessary. I was broke, lost, living at home, starting a new career, and training a new puppy—so naturally, I thought: why not add the stress of shopping for a home to the mix?

My parents have built five homes over their 30+ years of marriage, so when we found a lot in my DREAM neighborhood, we knew we had to jump. Except… it wasn’t one lot. It was two lots being sold as one. We immediately called my sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law to see if they wanted to claim the other half. They were just as excited as I was, and with that, Vaughn Corner Estates was born. (Fun fact: when you subdivide a lot, it officially becomes a subdivision—so yes, the city really did name our little corner that.)

Then came the hard part.

Luckily, our realtor—also a family friend—recommended a builder he trusted: Jack Fuller. He showed up with a clean truck and dirty boots, which I’m told is exactly what you want in a builder. We dove into the world of floor plans and aesthetics, pulling inspiration from everywhere. Each lot is 35 feet wide and 127 feet deep, which meant our options were more limited than we expected. Once we started getting into the city requirements—20-foot setbacks in the front and back (or 10 feet between the house and a detached garage + 3 feet from the back alley), and side setbacks of 8 feet on either side with a minimum of 10 ft between houses, unless the house was grandfathered-in —we realized our dream home would have to fit inside a very real, very skinny little rectangle.

My sister and I grew up in Toronto, so we naturally gravitated toward those charming old Toronto row houses. But that dream died a quick death the moment we got the masonry quote for a full brick exterior.

Suddenly, we were deflated and back at square one. We had made the classic rookie mistake: trying to build our dream homes on a starter home budget.

For five years, I lived in Boston as a fashion designer—chasing deadlines, chasing trends, and, honestly, chasing my sanity. I shared an apartment with two other girls (One was my best friend, but the third spot had become a transient cast of strangers from Facebook groups), all of us squeezed into a space with one bathroom with street parking and laundry in the scariest basement you’ve ever seen. Like, horror movie scariest.

And yet… I loved Boston. I loved the energy, the people who became my chosen family, the creativity buzzing through the city. But toward the end, I realized I was surviving more than I was thriving. Fashion doesn’t pay great, promotions felt miles away, and the work environment—while sometimes inspiring—was also full of long hours, low pay, and some truly chaotic personalities. Combine that with my living situation, and the burnout was burning brighter than my creativity.

Around that time, my dad mentioned an opening at his company—a corporate admin role. My parents told me I could come home, save money, pivot careers… even get the dog and the house and the actual work-life balance I kept daydreaming about in my tiny Boston bedroom.

It wasn’t a decision I took lightly. I was leaving the family I had built—the people who held my heart. I was stepping away from the career I’d dreamed about since I was six. And I was moving back in with my parents at twenty-seven. If you know me, you know my need for freedom is strong, so this felt like the scariest possible option.

But I also wanted more. More space. More stability. More life than work. A dog. A home. A future that didn’t feel so uphill. And none of those things felt possible where I was.

So… I jumped.

Fast forward two years, and I have the best dog on the planet and I’m building a house. A house. It still feels unreal to say. Life works out in ways I never could’ve predicted, but here we are.

This is where I’ll be documenting the entire process—not just the construction, but the transformation of a house into a home. And if you know me, you know “staying in” has never exactly been my brand… but I’m realizing that might have had more to do with the places I was living than who I actually am.

So let’s see if we can make this Unlikely Homebody feel a little more at home.