Self-Discovery While Living in A Three-Generation Household

Three months ago, we moved. We left our two-bedroom city apartment, for a three-bedroom suburban row home. This normal trek from city to ‘burbs is pretty common in Chicago, as changes in lifestyle and priorities make the suburban draws of safer neighborhoods, more space, and (overall) better public schools worth leaving the city for once you have kids. But as normal as that all sounds, our situation is a bit different. You see, we live with my parents.

One month before our lease was up, my parents’ lease on their city apartment was too. When they learned of our desire to move, they considered doing the same. The circumstances that brought them downtown no longer existed. Besides, they wanted to stay close to their grandkids. I mean, my boys are pretty great, so I can’t blame ‘em. 

Anyway, as our home search progressed, it became apparent that the market (at least in our price range) was tough, so, one day, my mom suggested, “Hey, maybe we should rent a place in the suburbs together.” I didn’t really take it too seriously. “Nah, we have time,” I replied, and we kept looking. House after house, week after week, we stayed optimistic. 

Then, it happened. We reached the limit. About six weeks before our move out date, having not found a house, my wife and I looked at each other, and I said, “Maybe we need to think about renting.” She said, “Do you think your parents would still be interested in something together?” Combining our resources would allow my parents to get as close to their grandchildren as possible, would allow us to live in a nicer home while we regrouped, while affording us assistance with the kids. So, I texted them, and quickly discovered they were in. Within a week, we had signed a lease for a nice row home in a great northern suburb of Chicago.

 

Overall, there’s been an adjustment, as you might expect. The biggest challenge for me? Making sense of my role now. Prior to moving in together, my parents were extremely supportive. In the beginning of my life as a parent, when I still worked outside the home, my mom watched my oldest regularly during the day. When I began staying home, my folks remained an important lifeline that I could count on. If I had to run errands, or occasionally meet with a client, I could always drop off my kids. I was lucky. Still, we lived separately, and I looked after the kids.

Now, those lines have been blurred. Don’t get me wrong. I’m lucky to have my parents at home. My kids absolutely love them, and they are helpful beyond any expectations one would have. Case in point, as I write this, my mom is hanging out with my youngest, and my dad is getting ice cream (or frozen yogurt, maybe?) with my oldest. To some degree, that’s created a personal problem for me concerning my identity, though. 

Before we moved in together, I was The Dad. I stayed home. I watched the kids. It was necessary that I did that. This gave me, and my role purpose. This joined me to the thousands of other stay-at-home parents. After we moved in, I became…conflicted. I’m still their dad. Nothing will change that. But some pressure has been taken off me. I have backup–almost always. 

In some ways, I guess I kind of felt like…I don’t know…a fraud? I know other parents are on their own. All day. All week. Week after week. They have no backup. The have no breaks. If they aren’t there for their kids? You know what, there’s no “if.” They are there for their kids, 100% of the time. They are entirely important. They are undeniably, unmistakably, completely responsible for the care and well-being of their kids. As I would sit and think of these amazing parents, the overly critical voice in my head would ask, “Am I that important, that necessary?” And that voice would answer, “Pff, I’m not in the same league.”  

The thing is, when I start thinking clearly, I realize something important: we’re not playing the same game. A friend of mine has a Teddy Roosevelt quote she likes to share: “Comparison is the thief of joy.” As people, and as parents, we all have our own unique game to play. So comparison is pointless. No, it’s worse! It’s counterproductive, and even damaging. 

That I have the help of my parents is not something to bemoan or be ashamed of, just because others don’t have that help. I have been given a great gift. My folks are still here, and they want to be involved in my life, and the lives of my kids. They want to spend time with their grandchildren, and they want to provide support for me and my wife. Is that a privilege? Absolutely. Is it something to be ashamed of? Absolutely not. Instead, I’m grateful. Exceptionally so. 

So am I that important? Yes! I’m still a husband; still a father; still a son; still a brother; still a friend; and I’m trying to live the best life I can–for my wife, my sons, and myself. That’s my game, and there’s no one to compare that to/with, because there’s no one else playing it. To the parents out there, on their own, I can’t imagine how you do it, and I salute you. To those out there who have help, I’m happy for you, and salute you too. 

As I continue on in my game, I need to stay focused, quit the comparisons, be the best me I can, and learn to enjoy the process. With each passing year, I become more and more convinced that’s what allows for true contentment and satisfaction, which, if I stop and think about it, is what I really want for myself, and my kids. I must live that, and I must model that for my boys. That’s my game. That’s my challenge.  

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