What is it about parents that the older we get, the more they drive us mental?? Speak to anyone you know about being at home with parents and family, and generally 90% of your peers will agree that Family Time, can be Stress Time.
Most people I know find the whole going home to Ma and Pa thing, a pain, costly, tiring and draining. For some lucky few, its always a great visit when you see them, no arguments, no stress and generally a hassle free time. But for us not so lucky few, it can cause a stress like no other.
I have been living away from home since the uber-mature age of 18, living by my own rules, in my own houses and doing my own thing. And you know that once you make the leap of faith and fly the coop, everything changes. You being at your family home can never be the same as it was growing up. The dynamics of it all are completley different. Its oddly enough, no longer really your home. Its the house that you go to every so often, but you can't exactly go home for the weekend and lounge in front of the telly demanding cups of tea. Or hibernating in your bedroom for whole Saturdays, demanding cups of tea. Oh no, now you have to actually engage your parents in conversation more taxing than "No, I don't want carrots". Now you have to tell them whats happening in your life. Almost treat them like your peers, or people you live with in your flat share. They're real people now, not just Mam and Dad.
I have a penchant for opening the fridge when I am bored. Perhaps on the off chance that something exciting might have been secretly put in there when I wasn't looking and I can now eat it or look at it. I root around in cupboards for no reason, just to happen upon something of interest. I do this in my own house, just for the craic. However, if I eye up the fridge on one of my excursions to the kitchen, before my brain even sends the message to my hand that I want to open the fridge door, I am greeted with the suspicious question of "What are you looking for in there". Its almost like one of those horror/thriller moments from films. You quietly stalk your way down the darkened hall way in the middle of the night. You are creeping around, no lights on but the flashes of lightning from the thunder storm outside guide your way. The audience can see the shadow of a figure in the kitchen, staring at you, but you haven't noticed it yet. Your just about the reach the gleaming white handle of the fridge, you take one last look over your shoulder to make sure you haven't been followed, and when you turn around, the flashes light up the face of your Mum standing in front of the fridge asking "What are you looking for in there", Freddie Kruger hat and stripey jumper optional.
They ask you what your doing all the time, even though you are doing what you would normally do in your own house, just....ya know, stuff! I like to potter about. Its my thing. My National Sport if you will. We all have one, and my area of expertise is Pottering. And I do that a lot in my own house. I think of things, and mooch around and in and out of doors and rooms and just generally being seen around the house. But its something that I get in trouble for at home. I'm always questioned on what I'm doing. Always. And its something as hassle free and unsuspicious as pottering, but its viewed with some kind of witchcraftery wariness by my parents. Ha, yeah, as if she can be doing something as innocent and walking around for no reason. To quote the Tom Waits weird-fest song "Whats she building in there....." is what creeps into their heads.
If I so much as stand up from the table in the kitchen, I am asked to stick on the kettle and make tea. Even when I am leaving the room, "Just stick on the kettle there".
But the worst thing of all about going home is something that a good friend pointed out to me a while ago. As soon as you step foot inside the front door of your home house, you instantly regress back to your place in the family. My sister is the oldest: strong willed, was made do things I was never asked to do, would look after us if Mum had to do things, be the second in command. My bro is the classic middle child (I hope you don't mind me saying) slightly detached from the rest of us, does his own thing, and likes attention. I'm the youngest, the baby bear. I'm crafty, have learned from older siblings mistakes, some might say a wee bit spoiled, but I say I just get what I want with minimum fuss, a bit of a charmer by times. And as soon as we go home, that's who we become. We slip straight into our roles with minimum fuss, that its like we were never away. Mum and Dad become parents again, and have to de-fuse our petty sister-brother-sister arguments (you know the ones) and sometimes become quite strict.
But you know, despite all the stress of travelling all the way home, being given out to for slight things (leaving a glass of water in the sitting room at night, big no no apparently!) going back in time to being 8, to have to eat whats on your dinner plate, to have to keep your room tidy, and have to ask Mum for a tenner because you spent all yours on booze the night before, you secretly love being at home and looked after.
And they like the chance to be needed again.
