Earlier in January, I decided 2020 was my year for setting boundaries. So, this morning, I told my mom that she wasn’t allowed to talk to me before 10:30 a.m., citing a need for boundaries and a lack of coffee.
Yup, I’m a fully grown adult millennial who has chosen to return to my childhood home for a quarantine of indeterminate time during the spread of the novel coronavirus. And I promise, I used a kind, considerate tone when telling my mom not to ask me her incessant questions. After all, she oh-so-kindly drove into Williamsburg, Brooklyn, two Thursdays ago to bring me back to the Long Island home where I previously resided for 18 years, all so I could avoid public transportation amid the rampant breakouts of COVID-19 in New York City.
I brought with me two suitcases and a few totes, stuffed with my Tempur-Pedic pillow, a stack of leggings, a scented candle, lots of full-size skincare products and my beloved Drybar dryer brush, in addition to most of the contents of my fridge, freezer and pantry. The food part, it seemed, was wholly unnecessary, as I’ve learned that my mother is something of a doomsday prepper. She had seven cans of Trader Joe’s bruschetta on hand, was already equipped with 36 rolls of toilet paper and had four gallons of oat milk already chilling in the fridge. And this is just normal inventory for her humble abode.
Here’s what else I’ve learned about my mom since basically moving back home: She requests that her pots and pans are double washed (first with Bar Keepers Friend and a second time with dish soap), she actually wipes down the stove after every use and she’s a big fan of catching up with her friends multiple times a day on the phone—shout-out to our paper-thin walls.