The Olympic Games might not be due to start until next month, but for me they started late last year.
About six months ago we moved in with my parents. About two months before that, so did my brother and sister-in-law. And while this property might total around 8 acres, the house wasn’t exactly designed with six adults in mind.
This is the first time I’ve lived with my family for about ten years. I’m super grateful this is something we can do while we look for our own property, but I was thinking the other day how much this living situation is like a cross between competing at the Olympics and completing a half marathon.
Hear me out.
Each of the three couples is a team. They represent their own countries, but also have their own individual pursuit within the Olympic games.
The mornings are a bit like the 100m sprint. No, the 110m hurdles. Generally it’s best if you can get to the kitchen for breakfast first, but not everyone is Usain Bolt. Or whoever a good hurdler is. And if you are ever so slightly late, and knock over a hurdle, it throws the entire race off. It’s like you’ve kicked your hurdle across the track. There’s waiting lists for bread to go in the toaster, the fridge is blocked, there’s no hot water left in the kettle. You’ve thrown the whole dynamic out. But if you get there first, the metaphorical gold medal that is an empty kitchen is yours.
You also need to have the agility and the grace of a gymnast. It’s gone from one cat taking up residence in the house to a second one, as well as three strays that have arrived and taken up residence in the barn. If you can’t jump, leap and flip around the cats at your feet you’ll have at least one unhappy feline and probably a number of scratches to go with it.
There is a diving element as you open the fridge door and try to dive in with accuracy to find the food that actually belongs to you. You’re one step closer to that gold medal if you avoid knocking things over, or out of the fridge completely.
Dinner time is much like rowing: there’s a lot of strategy involved. Do you start quickly and get to the food first, knowing you have the full array of the meal available to you, but also having to ensure you leave enough for the rest of the family? Or do you hang back and make your move at the end, hoping that there’s enough left and then some, so that your conscience is clear as you pile your plate a little higher with the food the rest of them didn’t want?
Then there is the bathroom, which I a-liken to fencing. It’s part tactic, part knowing your opponent and part speed. You have to know when the bathroom is likely to be in use, and for what purpose. You also have to be quick if you want to get in first, or there’s no telling how long you’ll be waiting.
So how does this compare to a half marathon as well?
Moving back in with my family is an experience, that’s for sure. It looks a lot different to how it used to, but that’s the beauty of it. This is a unique opportunity that not everyone gets at this age and stage in life. We get to have regular family meals, all sat around the dining table. We learn more about each other: the favourite tv shows, the highs and lows of work. We exist in the house as equals, all going to work each day, cooking meals, cleaning, coming and going as we please, doing laundry. (No Mum doesn’t do our laundry for us).
It’s hard to accurately describe the joys of our living situation, but I know in years to come, despite the frustrations, unavailable bathrooms, and kitchen traffic jams, we are going to look back on this time with fond memories and probably a lot of laughter.
And so just like a half marathon, at the end of it all everyone gets a medal.
“And then I thought to myself, ‘What's the point of cleaning if my family is going to keep living here?’” – Anonymous
That’s all for now,
Jordyn x
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