When I tell people that we have moved in with my mother-in-law, most of them kind of laugh and smile the same way my buddies do when someone announces they’re getting a vasectomy. The reasons may be sound and logical on paper, but every married man still kinda cringes. Fortunately, I sincerely enjoy my mother-in-law’s company so our recent cohabitation until July should be relatively painless.
(For those just tuning in, the wife and I sold our condo a few weeks ago and we close on a house in Easton on June 23rd – knock on wood. In the interim, my mother-in-law graciously offered and/or surrendered to putting us up at her Carver home in the interim.)
In the blog, I was inclined initially to call the wife’s mom the “M.I.L.” but then I realized the name may be confusingly similar to “M.I.L.F.” and that’s just plain dangerous territory. Instead, we’ll go with “Nana” and move on.
Yep, so we’re living in Nana’s basement. If you told the wife in 2000 that she, her husband, and her firstborn child would be living in her mother’s basement by 2010, I’m pretty sure she’d think that something went terribly wrong. After a few weeks, though, it’s been pleasantly successful in my opinion. The change in scenery has resulted in a lot of changes for all involved.
For example, Nana’s house has transformed from a meticulously clean home straight out of Martha Stewart to a childproof day care center overnight. Her stairway is now a labyrinth of child gates. Her kitchen tablecloth and floor have souvenirs from every meal that G eats. Nana’s living room table was replaced by a tent in the shape of a green frog complete with roll out tongue. Sippy cups and plastic sporks have taken over her cabinets. Total bedlam, as you can imagine.
As for me, the biggest adjustment (besides not openly farting in three weeks) has been an overhaul to the daily schedule. Wake up is 5 a.m. (don’t cry for me Argentina) so as to avoid traffic on Routes 3 and 93. Dinner is at 6 p.m. on the dot, which is the greatest sight (besides my fam) after getting home from work. After sundown, I wear my headlamp to get around because Nana doesn’t use lights in her house unless she’s hosting guests – and now we’re technically housemates. Lastly, my bedtime is around 9:30 p.m., which makes me feel like I should be watching “Golden Girls” or “Matlock” with an earpiece connected to the TV.
Besides one major faux pas on my part (I flushed the toilet instinctively after a wake up pee, which activated the septic pump and woke Nana immediately – whoops!), we seem to be settling right in. Gigi is loving her new digs and all the attention from her Nana and Pep. The wife is happy to spend so much time with her clone, I mean mom. I’m beginning to like this “All in the Family” thing. Maybe we should drag this living-in-the-basement thing out a little longer.
Well, gotta go. The light’s just went out. Is it 7 o’clock already?
(Editors' note: Thank you very much Nana. We very much appreciate you letting us disrupt your life for the next two months!)