I draw the line at bathing with cats

We live in a collective household.

We live with a housemate, of eighteen years.

We live this way intentionally, with the belief that the nuclear family is a outdated middle class construct that brings society down, and besides, we need extra help with childcare.

Originally there were more of us, but they faded away over the years, until it was just Rolf and me, and we sort of dribbled along, living in a sort of smug self satisfied haze, thinking that mortgages were for suckers.

We loved our big, beautiful, shabby NW apartment, with it's box beam ceilings, bay windows, and that empty extra bedroom was perfect for goofing around on the new thing the Internet.

Who needed more housemates?

Who needed a house?

We had a giant three bedroom apartment that we adored, right in the heart of the city.

Then it happened.

Our beloved home went condo, and suddenly we were out on our asses, looking for a place to rent that would accept our geriatric pets.

Buying a place started to seem like a really good idea.

Then I met my partner, who would become the father of my children, and eventually my husband.

He signed on for the long haul with me, and that meant accepting my wacky socialist ideals and my housemate.

The hunt was on for an ideal place, where three cranky privacy freaks and one impending baby could all live together in relative peace.

We chose the biggest thing we could find for our meager dough.

Thank goodness, because while I am deeply devoted to sharing resources, I am not a big fan of close quarters (sorry Hallie), or small spaces.We picked a big old rambling house with lots of rambling rooms and space for people and animals to stretch out in. I sometimes think I picked the house simply for this light-filled room, but could I have been that silly?

When we added children to the mix, the notion of privacy for me, like most mothers, went right out the window.

My husband still gets 45 uninterrupted minutes in the bathroom each morning, because that time is essential to his mental well being.

Me?

I get five minutes to brush, shower and shine, and lately, I have to kick the cat out of the tub.

sigh.