All In the Family

It's been a very long time since I've shared a house with family members, whether related by blood or by choice.

Three years ago I dated a man for four months. He spent a handful of weekends at my house, during which we would grocery shop, fix California BLTs for lunch, and watch sports on television. (Okay, you know me too well. He would watch sports; I would do needlework or work on a beading project or play with databases on my laptop.) But it was nice to have someone around. I've missed that connection.

Suddenly I'm part of a family again and I have to relearn those family techniques. I have to remember to say good night to family members when I retire to my quarters; I have to consider the needs of other people; I have to occupy my own space, not everyone's. For example, one of my self-assigned tasks is laundry. When I live alone, I shop for groceries when Rudi is out of cat food. When I live alone, I do laundry when I run out of clean undies—maybe every two weeks. In a family of four (now five), that strategy is unacceptable. If I don't run a load or two every couple of days, the basement explodes with laundry. I have to do what needs to be done, rather than what I feel like doing. It's a bit of déjà vu all over again.

It's fortunate that Ty and Jaci and I have done this before, successfully. The learning curve should be shorter.