My middle-aged woman life inside a bachelor pad with two young, sports-mad uni students | Rebecca Whitfield-Baker
Forget Golden Bachelor mansion glamour – middle-aged mum Rebecca Whitfield-Baker exists in the weird twilight zone of sharing a home with two young adult sons.
Forget the glitz and glamour of life inside the $120m Golden Bachelor mansion, for the man cave I’ve found myself residing in as a middle-aged woman bears no resemblance to it.
Mine is more uni-house-meets-bachelor-pad-type-abode; rather than imagined understated style and vases with sweet-swelling posies (or red roses) in my 50-somethings, I am surrounded by sports balls, stinky sports wear, wet towels, sneakers, dumbbells, massage rollers – and more sports balls.
And did I mention a fridge that no matter how many times it is filled, is always empty?
Or the OJ carton I’m too scared to pour a glass from, having seen it picked up and chugged from one time too many?
Then there is the outside lounge with no space for sitting since becoming the preferred storage spot for oversized cricket bags and the clothes left where they’ve been stepped out of, presumably to be stepped back into at a later date.
Of course, I should have seen my changed living arrangement coming – perhaps even planned for it – but I didn’t. Almost a year on from my youngest finishing school, I’ve still not quite got my head around this new parenting phase.
The one that sees me living under the same small-townhouse-with-single-bathroom-and-one-living-area roof as my two young adult sons, who are at that glorious point in life where they’ve really not a care in the world.
For them, life’s good – as it should be in your late teens and early 20s; they’ll happily take out the overflowing bin or unpack the dishwasher if asked to do so but otherwise seem blissfully unaware of it.
Sure, they’ve both got part-time jobs and are each at uni – one first-year, one in his third year – but beyond that, it’s all about sport (watching, playing and team chats), favourite podcasts and YouTube channels which mostly involve non-stop sport talk or weird food challenges, with names such as Pitchside and Calfreezy.
Long gone are the precious quiet moments unwinding on a school night with my favourite Lifestyle Channel home renovation show and a glass of red when the kids have gone to bed. These days, more often than not, it feels more like I’ve stepped into a locker room than home-sweet-home, despite the abundance of pink decor.
I’ve even acquired a new nickname, progressing from “Mummy Bakes” to a variation of what my kids’ teammates call each of them on the sports ground due to a certain solid physical attribute they’ve inherited from me.
While I appreciate them feeling so comfortable around me, there are some conversations I really don’t need to hear.
I’ve recently raised the idea of setting some new “house rules” given the gold star system that ruled our household’s smooth running for so many years (granting bragging rights rather than any actual reward) has long been defunct – and seen through.
You see, as relaxed and happy as my two “roomies” may be, it is evident to me we do need to establish some new cohabitation protocols. As a start, here’s a list of my pet hates:
EMPTY toilet rolls stacked on the toilet brush. Toilet seat left up. Toilet door left open, while on the toilet.
EMPTY, or near-empty food packets left in the fridge or cupboard, meaning they’re overlooked on the shopping list.
TOOTHPASTE tubes left on the bathroom sink despite not having a drop more to squeeze out.
EXCESSIVELY long showers with footy, horse racing or videos blaring from a phone.
EMPTY water bottles left where they were last drank from, to magically refill.
NEW milk carton opened when there’s still plenty in the old one.
DIRTY washing that appears in the basket, just after you’ve put on the last load for the weekend.
STINKY, wet sports gear or gym towels that have been forgotten and left in a sports bag in the back of a car for several weeks dumped in the laundry.
SIMILARLY, mould-covered afternoon tea containers that suddenly appear at 10pm on a weeknight that have been left in a cricket bag over winter – or a week of stinking hot weather.
BULK purchase bags of protein powder taking over the limited cupboard space.
NO ice in the freezer ice cube tray for my sneaky vodka; used instead to fill the ice bath.
THE placing on the ground of my strategically-placed, decorative cushions.
BALLS of all varieties – from golf, to tennis, soccer, basketball and footy – left trip-risk haphazardly around the house, including at the bottom of the stairs.
In truth, I’ve no desire to live in a reality TV-like mega mansion, I love “my boys” to bits and really am grateful they are happy to still be living at home – mindful of the fact too soon they’ll be moving out.
Still, if only the used toilet rolls could be popped in the recycling bin. Please?
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Originally published as My middle-aged woman life inside a bachelor pad with two young, sports-mad uni students | Rebecca Whitfield-Baker
