Marriage with Training Wheels

"Where are you two living?" It's a question I get at least 3 times a week. Now quite frankly, and perhaps for good reason, living in one's parent's basement is somewhat of a distasteful option for some folks. I am always quick to point out to these people that the basement apartment has its own kitchen and exit. I fail to mention that most of the time we keep the doors open from the downstairs to the upstairs, in fact we can't close one of them because Stephen has inserted some pull-up bar on the door frame to encourage spontaneous flexing of muscles as we enter and exit. Unfortunately, I am not encouraged, rather I just duck my head a little more unless I've been slouching and then I walk right under perfectly fine and almost forget it's there. I also fail to mention that we are usually invited to come up and eat when my parents have Grandpa or Aunt Becky over (which is about twice a week), or that when my mother has made too much food because she never really has gotten out of the habit of cooking for eight, leaves us a little something too. (Actually I think it's because she feels bad for Stephen whose previous eating habits of burritos and hot sauce, have not changed significantly with marriage). I keep silent every time about how, in my attempt to be domestic,when I have no idea what in the world I'm doing I always run upstairs and ask my mountain mama, or that it's she that tells us when we don't match and need to iron our clothes. I don't insert into the conversation, that for rent we do yard work (especially if they've seen our yard of late). Now there are the individuals who sympathize with my decision, and most hardly agree, that in this economic time of trouble, living with one's parents is the financially wise thing to do. I nod my head, and say that it sure is convenient. Yet, even to these people I don't tell that I quite enjoy remaining in my role as daughter as I take on the new role as wife. I find pleasure in knowing that, though I cling to my husband, I can still leave a few empty glasses around in the computer room so that my dad doesn't miss his mess-maker too much. In fact, I feel in a way that I am experiencing marriage with training wheels. I know, eventually my parents will kick us out, but in the mean time I don't mind the smooth ride.