Have You Seen My Mojo?

In an earlier post I brought up the move-in with my folks at the age of 33. So I thought I’d take this moment to wade into those waters for a bit. Get out your floaties girls and boys.

Why did I do this? Three main reasons…two very closely related.

  1. Finances. Living is getting crazy expensive lately.
  2. Health problems. It turned out this was actually a minor health problem but at the time I was freaked and didn’t want to be alone. Which brings us to…
  3. I’m tired of being on my own.

I’m a young, relatively successful, single girl with a huge independent streak. But after 10 years of going it alone, I ran out of the required bravado. I’m referring to it as losing my mojo… that thing, whatever it was, that gave me the gumption to stand strong and independent while everyone around me was or became coupled.

So I’ve returned to the nest to rediscover my mojo. Of course, this living situation really crimps a few things. There’s much less privacy, more intrusion/nosiness from my folks, no dates coming back to the house (not really an issue anyway since there’s a boyfriend 3 hours away), and it’s awkward having friends over. I’ve also discovered the people who say that your parents regress to children as they age weren’t kidding (see example below).

But my folks place is a safe landing while I figure out the next steps in my life and rediscover my mojo. And I’m thankful for them. Really. Besides, a person can endure about anything if it’s temporary. Even parents. Right?

So I’m going to wring every opportunity out of this that I can. And the name of this blog is too fitting for this stage in my life. Pick up my mat. If that wasn’t a load of foreshadowing those many years ago when I picked the name, I don’t know what was.

Lucky for you (or maybe not so), while I’m learning to pick up my mat and walk again, I’ll bring you funny stories about my parents regression back to childhood. Here is installment #1…

Immature Parental Unit Experience: #1

My mom was making supper one evening and was experimenting with a sweet and sour pork chop recipe (I don’t recommend it) and somewhere in the course of her telling me what she was making that evening she said (uncertain about the recipe’s appeal) “well your dad doesn’t like pork chops.”

I was like Scooby Do going “wha?” We must have eaten pork chops every other week growing up so my dad not liking pork chops was a revelation to me.

My dad happened to be right in the kitchen when she said this and he asked “I d

on’t?” Apparently he wasn’t aware of this aversion either.

I don’t really remember what was said after that but soon we were all gathered around the dinner table

eating and my dad didn’t take any pork chops. Either I or my mom pointed it out and he says rather snottily, “Well I guess I don’t like pork chops.”

And. He. REFUSED. To. Eat. ONE. REFUSED!

He also pouted the rest of the night since he didn’t get any meat with his supper… even though it was his fault he didn’t eat any meat.

So my mom is re-imagining my dad’s taste buds and my dad is embodying an 8 year old. Good times.

Good. Times.

Have you returned to the parental nest after many years of independence? Are your parents regressing? Have you seen my mojo?

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