Google+ Bree Bronson's Babies: At mom's and dad's

Monday, March 25, 2013

At mom's and dad's

When we renovated our house last year we ended up living at my parents' for three months before we could move in to our own house. Before moving there we had been living in Sister's (whom we kicked out to her boyfriend's place) flat for four months. The whole year was an interesting experience because we lived in four different places during the year. (Son still asks at home regularly "do we live here?".) The most interesting part was still to live at mom's and dad's.

Mother and Father invited us to stay with them at the very beginning of the renovation. They were really sweet and just wanted to help of course. We thought still we would save everyone's nerves by living at Sister's place although it was more expensive for us. Sister ended up selling the flat - our plan C was to move to my parent's. So we ended up moving there because we really had to. It had been over thirteen years ago for me. And this time I had two kids plus Husband with me.

I was slightly terrified at first. I consider myself as flexible but Mother had been irritating me for some time already. Husband has never been friends with Mother. I need my own space. Mother is a control freak. There were millions of things in the house that were dangerous or that the kids could break. And an old dog who had been ill and slightly cranky. And we really didn't have a choice. Hence I decided not to think about the worst case scenarios at all.

Quite soon after we moved I noticed how everyone took a certain role in the house. There was the family with parents and two kids. It consisted of me, the kids and Father who spent time with us as soon as he came home from work. There was the single guy (Husband) who was never around. And then there was the isolated old lady: Mother who spent all her time in her room sleeping or surfing with her computer. It went surprisingly well. It was actually, funnily though, the first time ever that I had a dad for the kids that participated all the time. Although the dad was mine. When I needed to escape I took a long run. (In case someone was wondering how I found motivation for marathon training.) The dog solved the issue by dying one week after we had moved in.

So what did I learn? We do adapt if we want to. It's a lot about motivation. Now though when looking back at the time at Mother's and Father's house - I don't know how I survived really. I don't want to do it ever again.

Do you have a similar experience? What was your survival method?

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