“I’m more adaptable than I am flexible, I think.”

This was my confession to my BFF today over lunch. I was telling her that my daughter was considering rejoining a committee that took a lot of her time, energy, and attention. My response to my daughter had been, “So, what are you going to give up?” I said I was worried that she was over-extending herself.

 My friend asked the hard question, one I needed to hear, “So why didn’t you finish the sentence?” I was confused.

“She’s an adult, so why is it your concern?” she said. “What you really want to know is, will you expect me to pick up the slack when you’re too busy?”

My friend’s astute question was one I needed to hear and answer, because my daughter and I both live in the same three-generational house. Five years ago, we began searching for a house that could accommodate my husband and I, as well as their family of eight. Four years ago, we bought a house together. It had four bedrooms upstairs, and large main floor, and an unfinished basement with ground-level windows in which we designed and built our own apartment. They moved in February 2020. We followed in April. Covid closed much of the country shortly thereafter. Their two oldest returned home, and our adult son was left hanging when apartment/roommate plans didn’t pan out.

Five sisters shared three bedrooms and a bathroom. My daughter and husband had an ensuite, minus their walk-in closet, in which the youngest, a boy, slept in à la Harry Potter. Our son lived during Covid in the guest room of our basement apartment. John and I went from empty nesters to sharing a house full to the brim with 11 people.

Many still speak about the isolation and loneliness of Covid, but we can’t really relate to that scenario. Since normality returned, our houseful has flexed from nine, down to seven, and back up to eight. Plus, we’ve added two dogs. My daughter and I share the dinner planning and cooking, while the others do the dishes afterward. We all take care of our own laundry. A common conversation each evening is about which cars need to be accessible first in the morning.

Back to today’s conversation with my friend. It takes work to live together—in happiness and health—no matter how many of you there are. Even between only two people, relationships are seldom 50/50%, but go up and down a sliding scale depending on who needs a little extra grace today or this week. We have to think beyond ourselves alone and see/hear others and their needs and desires.

The life in the last six weeks had been hectic, and I have been cooking more than usual, plus had two extra grandkids over during a school break. My “wet-blanket” response to my daughter’s thoughts about adding to her present schedule was more about me than about her. It doesn’t mean that my concerns aren’t valid, but that I had framed them as though she was thinking only about herself. I am willing to adapt as needed, but I realize that I am not willing to permanently flex my wants-needs-schedule. That is the true basis for conversation.

Communication—honestly and clearly—is a must have in our household. We have talked since then, and my daughter is still in the process of decision-making on this issue. Whatever happens, we will work things out—we always do. If toes get stepped on, we say-and-act-out “I’m sorry.” And we work to avoid the toe-smashing as much as possible.