When I moved into Hotel Mom again last August, I was looking for free accommodation. I had flown from New York to Germany to be maid of honor at my sister’s wedding, and since she and her family don’t have room at their Munich apartment, I moved into my childhood bedroom about an hour north — just for a month, I thought.
However, while waiting for my visa extension to be processed, I decided to stay with my parents. It became a five-month stay that felt like being at an all-inclusive resort — I didn’t pay rent or for food, and not only did my mom cook amazing meals, but my parents also sometimes took me out for dinner. I got plenty of exercise, either through a gym membership they got me or by spending time with them outside, and my mom even occasionally did my laundry. But the best perk? I became besties with them in the process.
The experience was also eye-opening for our relationship. They’re both retired, and though they were 72 and 66, they’re fun and modern. We had some incredible bonding moments, and I wouldn’t trade the time for anything.
We adapted to each other’s routines
I quickly adapted to their slow morning routine — since I kept working EST hours, and Germany is six hours ahead, my alarm was replaced by the scent of my father’s strong coffee wafting up the stairs. Every day, I joined my parents reading the news and doing crossword puzzles, often for hours.
It was a hot summer, and my dad and I share a love for cycling. We would take 50-mile bike rides around the picturesque Bavarian landscape, stopping at a lake or going to a beer garden for a cold one. My mom joined occasionally.
One morning, my mom was reading the local paper and mentioned that an EDM festival was coming up in Munich. Ecstatic, I got tickets for myself and my childhood best friend. The day before the festival, my parents and I pregamed in the kitchen, and my dad played my favorite music from his Spotify. He was shocked that I was like a human Shazam, able to identify every song and DJ just from the first few beats. It was unforgettable.
There were three-course lunches and deep conversations
During lunchtime, I would be working. A soft knock on my bedroom door meant my mom was serving three-course meals that could rival any fine-dining restaurant in New York. “Another gourmet meal,” my dad and I agreed. I reciprocated by cleaning the kitchen most days and cooking my own recipes for them.
As summer turned into fall and winter, my mom lent me some of her coats and jackets — I had just brought summer clothes. I also took a few trips around Europe to see some friends, and my dad picked me up from the airport or drove me to the train station every time.
We argued, but we also recovered quickly
Of course, like with any roommate situation between parents and children, there were also full-blown fights. One happened during an airport pickup: I was returning to Munich on a delayed flight from Oslo late on a Sunday night, and my parents had insisted on picking me up on their way home from Vienna. But we couldn’t find each other. I have zero navigation skills, and my parents were tired four hours into their drive, so I ended up having to consult airport security to guide me to my parents’ car on the other end of the airport.
To make matters worse, we took the wrong turn on our way home and drove around aimlessly for another half an hour. We screamed at each other in the car while my mom was trying to navigate. But when we got home, we had some German Brotzeit (bread, cheese, and meats), caught up about our respective trips, and all was forgotten.
We also had time for deep talks, and they helped me figure out logistics. My mom and I went out for drinks and to the movies several times and confided in each other about fearing death, impostor syndrome, or family dynamics. My dad took me to the bank to figure out my financial situation.
My relationship with my parents has changed for the better
I felt so safe, like I was back in the womb. But I was also an adult roommate who went and came as I pleased — to an all-inclusive resort with free car and laundry service, a food-filled fridge, and daily hugs.
Earlier this year, when I attended another festival in Buenos Aires, my mom sent me a video of my dad raving to a German DJ in the same kitchen. I cried tears of joy.
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