House Guests Mean You Can't Get Naked

My inlaws recently stayed with us... for ten. whole. days.

My problem isn't actually with my inlaws, they're lovely country folk who would give you their last chook, or whatever it is that country people give instead of the shirt off their back.

They're about to embark on a three month grey nomad journey up North. Where abouts up North I'm not entirely sure, because neither are they. They've got a caravan and they're not afraid to use it. So they stayed with us on their way through Perth so they could see Tricky for his birthday.

Tricky absolutely adores them; he will race over to his Pop and motion that he wants a horsey ride, then toddle over to Nanna and reach up on tip toes with arms outstretched until she picks him up, then snuggle in to the side of her neck. He'll do it again and again and again and again and I know they melt inside every time.

I think they're pretty awesome too - while they were here, my Father in Law paved the massive pathway at the side of our house that has been just sand for years, fixed our gutters and dug in new soak wells; and my Mother in Law spent the whole time on my iPad playing Chicktionary kept the house spotless, hung out our washing and cleaned up after me while I prepared the food for Tricky's parties.

Plus they were our free babysitters too, allowing Map Guy and I to go to the movies together for the first time in ages where we saw Water for Elephants - where I spent the whole time wondering if I was seeing nipple or sparkles. PULL YOUR TOP UP REESE WITHERSPOON!

So why am I complaining?

Well, living with anyone is hard. Even friends or family. Especially for ten days.

Map Guy and I know each others routines; he's the morning showerer and I'm the night showerer - there is no "do you need the bathroom" talk at our house, we just know. Whilst it doesn't look like it to the outside observer, there is an order in our house, a way we do things, unspoken rules that have just established themselves over the years. It's not a rut, it's a groove.

So, whenever anyone stays, no matter for how long, the groove isn't so groovy any more.

But if I'm completely honest, the main annoyances that I have when I have to share a space with someone are less to do with whose turn it is in the bathroom and more to do with the fact that I can't walk from there to the bedroom naked.

It's the little things, that mean nothing but have a major impact on my day, like the necessity to actually get dressed in the morning rather than slum around in my PJs until Tricky's morning nap, and the pressure to eat a healthy lunch lest they discover my fetish for cream cheese on toast (hey, it's the low fat variety and it's a source of calcium, bugger off).

So I got up, I got dressed, I ate a more varied diet, I even made sure I didn't walk around starkers. Well I did for the first few days, after that I went back to normal (well, except for the nudey runs) because they're my inlaws and they already know I'm a fan of lazy mornings.

If it was for any longer, I would have gone stir crazy (well, crazier), not because of who it was, but because it was anyone at all. Even if it had been my parents, my closest friends, strangers or any of the crew from The Tasmanian Babes Fiasco, I would be cracking right about now. I neeeeed my space. 

Have you had to share your house with someone? How did you cope? I mean, what did you do when you needed to fart?  

P.S. Yep, I've been a bit more careful with my words this time because I don't want my inlaws thinking they over stayed their welcome. They don't have internet access for months, so the likelihood of them seeing this is slim, but ya know, I don't wanna cause a cafuffle. I'd have them back any day just to see Tricky's face light up when they enter the room... and to get more paving done.

P.P.S. PULL YOUR TOP UP REESE WITHERSPOON!!!