SLEEPERS

'Only three more sleeps,' my stepson said on Tuesday. And then yesterday, trying hard to contain his excitement, 'Only one more sleep!'.

This is not our youngest child eagerly awaiting his birthday; this is my eldest stepson, all six-foot-six of him, counting down the days till he moves into his own house. And today’s the day.

He’s 21 years old and has moved out before: once, to his mother’s house full time a few years ago, and then for a short stint sharing a house with a mate, before courageously taking off to work and live in Darwin at the end of last year. However, a few months later he returned with shattered dreams and a close encounter with his own mortality, to the safe harbour of our almost full-to-the brim house.

When a prodigal child returns after experiencing the big, wide, adult world, it is not out of desire, but of need: the need to save money, the need for safety, for shelter, or the need to mark time until another independent opportunity surfaces.

I remember needing to move back into the family home when I was a single mother in my 30s, in between one financially and emotionally disastrous relationship and the next. Living once again with my mother was a humiliating last resort, and turned out to be both regressive and regretful.

Once again I had to account for any absence, be home on time, eat everything on my plate if I wanted dessert, hang out the washing, feed the chooks… In other words, to become the girl that had left home more than a decade prior. I despised the imposition of rules after I’d had worldly tastes of freedom and responsibility on my own terms for so long. I was a few days short of resorting to pigtails and skipping on the front veranda when I found a house to share with a friend.

My indignity, of course, was immature and unreasonable; after all, it was my mother’s house, not mine. I know that now, but I was clueless and careless back then. (Hindsight and wisdom are great companions, but always arrive too late.)

So before my six-foot-six stepson moved back in after his adventure, my husband and I, in the need to be pro-active about an inevitable shift in family dynamics and pecking order, prepared a ‘List of House Rules’ that we gave to all the children, giving us and them the opportunity to agree, disagree, negotiate, and clarify rules that, in the past, had only been verbally expressed. It also gave Six Foot Six the chance to change his mind about moving back home.

To paint a bit of a picture of these rules – so you don’t think Steve is Captain von Trapp, nor I Julie Andrews – here are a few examples: Hang up used bath towels; If you make a mess in the kitchen, clean it up; Ask permission for friends to stay over; and No smoking on the property (Six Foot Six was the only smoker and has since given up, thankfully).

One rule in particular worth elaborating on, and which may appear very ‘von Trapp-ish’ to some, but which has saved the day – and our sanity – on more than one occasion over the years, is this one: ‘When a boyfriend/girlfriend stays the night, they are to sleep on their own in a spare room or bed’. We have good reasons for this rule, and have had many passionate discussions in the past with some of our older children over such. Here’s what we told them:

Reason Number One: This rule is to convey that a sexual relationship is not to be taken lightly or snatched up at a whim – especially as an adolescent/young adult – and that being sexually active comes with responsibility, respect and a certain amount of sacredness.

Reason Number Two: We have young, influential children living here who look up to their older brothers and sisters. Whether the older children like it or not, they are the younger ones’ role models. If we had no rules about who sleeps where and when, then so it would follow with all the other children as they got older.

Reason Number Three: We have too many children already. We don’t want to have to feed more, care for more, worry about more. By relegating guests to the guest room and not their lovers’ bedrooms, they remain guests. Guests don’t overstay their welcome (generally speaking!); guests also treat hospitality with gratitude and respect.

Reason Number Four: Because we said so, that’s why. And because this is our house, and this is our rule.

This ‘sleeping’ rule has worked in our favour, compared to some other families. Some have permanent live-in boyfriends and girlfriends, with no sign of either child or partner moving out. Why would they? The rent is cheap (or free), they have home cooked meals, and sometimes, if they’re lucky, they even have their own personal laundry service. I even know of a middle-aged, widowed mother who moved out of her own home because her son’s girlfriend wouldn’t!

When I ask other parents about their own ‘sleep’ rules, many of them say that if they didn’t allow it, they would worry about where their children 'did it’! Safe sex, in this instance, is more about location than lubrication. Do they really think their child will ‘do it’ in a gutter full of AIDS-infested needles somewhere? Or up against a wall in a dangerous dark alley? The list of locations for creative and safe sexual expression is endless.

We figure that if our adult children want to have a permanent sexual relationship with someone, then they can experience the responsibility and commitment that goes with that by moving into their own place. Until then, if they want/need to explore their sexuality and sexual expression, they can do it where we used to when we were growing up – which didn’t include in the family home.

We have our list of family rules for many reasons: for safety, consistency, respect, and functionality, as well as to promote communication, responsibility and fairness between all of us. We also want our children to be fully expressed adults out in the big world, and by keeping our ship tight and perhaps restrictive for our teenage and adult children, they will more readily see the benefits of moving into their own place and space where they can live their own independent lives.

Today, being ‘No More Sleeps Day’ for my stepson as he plans his independent life with great enthusiasm, reminds me that it’s only two thousand, two hundred and sixty five sleeps before the youngest of our nine – potentially – leave home.

But who’s counting?