As an adult living with my parents, I'm getting a taste of the domestic life. Certainly there are situations in which my psuedo-adulthood comes in handy. I can pick-up and drop-off my 10-year-old brother, Sam, at his sports practices, camps, and games. I can do laundry while I wait for the repairman to fix the icemaker. And I could probably cook a meal (emergencies only).
But overall, I think having another adult in the house is just confusing the system. Since both of my parents work and must travel for work, they have figured out a way to run things even when one (or both) is gone. Grandparents, aunts, cousins, and the parents of Sam's friends are all on speed-dial to help when schedules are tight. Upon my homecoming, I suddenly became the go-to girl. It's still a bit of a novelty to me. I feel like a responsible family member and a cool older sister. I don't mind little chore lists, and my brother and I get along swimmingly. I'm okay with Sam and House Duty, but the tricky part is how often the plan changes after I have rearranged all of my important daily events, like sleeping in and blogging.
Sunday night, my mom was standing in our kitchen finishing her presentation for the out-of-town business meeting the next day. Between mouse clicks, she was texting and calling people to see how Sam was going to get to and from basketball camp this week. I sat at the table, browsing unrealistic grad school programs, somewhat annoyed that she wasn't asking me lots of questions about my life aspirations.
After she tucked Sam in, I was brushing my teeth in the next room. She peeked in to say goodnight, and the best I could come up with was, "Wow, taking care of that schedule is a mess!"
She said to me, "This is my life every day."
So that is the domestic life. Squeezing in pieces of everything you need to get done, providing shelter and toothpaste for your ungrateful adult children, and lots and lots of driving.