We've been living in Julie's parents' house for four months now. It's not as bad as some people might think, but it's challenging nonetheless. Really, the challenges of our current living arrangements have nothing to do with my in-laws. We get along just fine with Julie's parents and we'd be no better off living with my mom and dad. It's the living-in-someone-else's-house that's so exhausting. It's like living out of a hotel room, but without the maid service and breakfast buffet. You never truly feel at home. I can never find the stuff I'm looking for. I don't know where things belong. We operate on different schedules. We eat different foods. We watch different TV shows. And who knew it would be so awkward to stand in the kitchen at 1:00 in the morning wearing just your boxer briefs when your wife's parents walk in? (At my house pants have always been strictly optional after midnight. I thought that applied everywhere.)
But I certainly can't complain. I'm grateful that Julie's parents put up with us. I'm relieved that they don't seem to mind grape juice stains. I'm happy the kids have a great place to live. And I'm absolutely excited about the new house that will await us at the end of this extended stay. As is usually the case, our "problems" aren't problems at all. They're really just the evidence of the truly fortunate lives we live.
And living in someone else's house even has it's benefits. Just ask Jameson how awesome a bubble bath is when you fire up those fancy bathtub jets.