I have to be honest— I don’t enjoy being in our house when it rains.
Overall, I am a big fan of the rain, as is Adam. We were both raised in Florida, so the appreciation of a good thunderstorm is pretty much engrained within us. But here in our Venice cottage it kind of, well… sucks.
When it pours, it’s not the temporary loss of our outdoor square-footage that gets to me. While we LOVE and use our outdoor spaces, we could make-do without them. Similarly, our outdoor furnishings and accessories aren't much of a hassle in the rain. Almost everything we have outside on a day-to-day basis was created for all-weather use, from the couches to the rugs, and so forth. We only have to pull a few items inside, such as the basket rack on the front stop, some toys, and a few miscellaneous decorative accents. (Of course if it’s predicted to be stormy for a stretch of time, we’ll gather all of the outdoor cushions together and toss a tarp over them.)
It’s within the house that I experience a headache from the wet weather.
More often than not, there’s little to no entryway space in a tiny home or apartment. This doesn’t bother me most of the time— there are so many creative and beautiful entryway hacks, and I never, ever want more room by our front door… except when it rains.
If I lived in the countryside I wouldn’t care. At my childhood home in North Florida (where my parents live on several acres of live oak forest), the worst thing we can track in is mud. But here in a crowded city that tends to flood every single time it rains, there is so much industrial, man-made filth at our feet every time we enter the house during a storm. The entire stoop becomes a puddle and is useless. As such, we have to try our best to remove our shoes (and West’s shoes), clean the paws and bellies of both pups, and keep all the evidence of the rain confined within the 10” stretch of floor between the front door and our living room rug. That wouldn’t be so hard if it was just one person walking in empty-handed, but we are like a traveling circus most days, balancing each other as well as boxes, the camera + laptop + diaper bags, client deliveries, leashes, groceries, and so forth.
Once all feet and paws are clean and the bags are down, the rest is much easier. We simply hang damp clothes from curtain rods, and put wet shoes and umbrellas in the shower. (But it becomes a minor juggling act again when one of us wants to rinse off in there.)
There are a few handy organizational tools we could use to help us make this process a bit smoother, but we deal with the rain so infrequently here in sunny SoCal that I’ve opted to forego acquiring them. (I’ve shared some via this post’s product links in case anyone is looking for compact entryway solutions.)
There is no one-size-fits-all solution to such tiny house hiccups. And our situation is by no means applicable to most small spaces— it’s merely OUR reality, as a family of 3 people and 2 dogs living in a nearly 100 year-old mini bungalow within a major city.
Clearly none of this is a legit hardship— we’ve pretty much shrugged it off for years now. And with people all over the world struggling with REAL issues, this is all ridiculous of me to even think, let alone publish via my blog. But, as always, I’m sharing this information in case it helps anyone who is considering moving to a small space.