"I live with my parents."

When I got the job at Hardy Girls, we weren't sure whether I was going to be working more in Portland or Waterville (75 miles away from each other). We had to move out of the dorm and it made sense to move in with my parents until my work plans became clearer. Four adults and two small ones lived in a converted camp for nine months. There were pros and cons.
Beautiful scenery...Sullivan's crib in our room.
15 minute commute for my mom... 45 minute commute for Jared.
Remote and private... no city snow plowing or close grocery store.
Extra help with kids... sharing a wall with my parents.
Lake-side living... tiny camp kitchen and non-insulated camp walls.
Over the summer, the adults sat down and talked about our options. We talked about everyone's responsibilities, the challenges of all being under the same roof with kids and how we could do better at communicating. We decided to continue living together.
People find this weird.
Generally women find this more "acceptable" than men. They laugh and commiserate over needing extra hands with kids. Often, I'll hear, "In other countries, that's really popular. Good for you guys." But they still think it's weird. Jared gets lots of sympathy for being forced to be around his in-laws. People assume he's held captive with no say. He generally shakes it off and sympathizes back with a, "Sorry your in-laws suck, I like mine."
Despite this, we found a house with two master bedrooms and the McCannells have taken over the upstairs. Everyone has carved out their own space. We actually have our things out of storage so it's nice to sit on our couch again and use our silverware. Jared reigns over the kitchen, enjoying cooking for more people and especially my mom who has more adventurous tastes than my dad and me.
Are there issues? Of course. There are always issues when you have roommates, even ones you love. Maybe especially ones you love. I'm sure my parents wish they could sleep in without hearing tiny feet running over their heads or into their room. I'm sure my mom wishes there were more clear countertops and less Legos to step on in the middle of the floor. I'm sure Jared & I wish the TVs didn't have to be so loud. I'm sure my dad wishes he wasn't ganged up on about a pellet stove mishap. I'm sure Jared wishes sometimes he wasn't around his in-laws. These things are bound to happen. And sometimes they feel bigger than others. Sometimes we talk about them and sometimes we shove them down and go to our respective rooms to read by ourselves.
But, as much as I generally like our arrangement, I still feel funny telling people. In my mind, there's a big difference between, "I live with my parents." and "My parents and I live together." I find myself saying "inter-generational household" like a big word people throw into conversations to show you they read. A preemptive argument for its value. And then I think, "It's none of their business." But that's usually something we say when we worry about someone's response or it's something we're a little embarrassed about. Which I'm not. I don't think. Although I am writing a blog post about it so...