I live above my in-laws. And the truth is, I never thought that would be the case.
I knew that I would marry and spend my life with Brett within weeks of meeting him, all at the wise age of 15. And with that, I also somehow conjured up this situation where we owned a house immediately and had money to buy things from the Pottery Barn catalogs that I drooled over.
But here I am, sitting in my upstairs home, right above my mother-in-law's den. I can hear them shuffling chairs about and the dogs walking on the wood floors. At night, we can hear the Law and Order/NCIS/SVU/Solve-this-murder-in-this-city shows that boom from their surround sound system. And honestly, at this point, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Every time our living situation comes up in conversation with a new person, we're always asked if it's separate from their space .YES! We have a separate entrance, we have locking doors, we have our own bathroom, kitchen, washer and dryer, and even our own coffee maker (Brett's boss once asked if his Dad made his morning coffee....tsst).We can even go days without seeing our landlord. On other days, it's nice to be able to just run downstairs and chat. Our apartment is, in my opinion, comfortable, home-y, warm, and just right.
Some people think we're crazy, and I probably would have agreed two years ago. But their generosity and willingness to help us out as we save and pay off debt is pure love, and I am truly grateful. It's definitely more of a community feel, which I know I'll miss when we do move out. Until then, I find comfort in the nightly murder mystery murmer from below.