My family of 6 moved in with my in-laws while our home was renovated. It was stressful, but so good for my kids.

• My husband and I became “boomerang kids” when we moved in with his parents and our four kids.
• This was a temporary move, but it’s led to bigger life realizations for me.
• I’m surprised that part of me misses living under their roof.

In 2024, my husband and I decided we would get a loft extension.

We’d been saving and planning for years. Finally, our daughters —ages 8, 10, 12, and 15 — would have their own bedrooms in our London home.

But there was a small issue: We could only afford to proceed with the project if we moved in with my in-laws for the duration. The premise sounded like a dysfunctional reality show: “Survive the in-laws and win the house of your dreams.”

We were all dreading it. Not because we don’t get along, but because we do. But it’s taken nearly two decades and too many “lost in translation” emotional collision moments (I’m a native New Yorker; they’re British with a capital B) to get here.

I love my chaos

I secretly love the chaos that being a mom-of-four brings, but when you move that chaos into someone else’s home and your mess becomes something you’re constantly aware of, it can feel suffocating. especially when there’s nowhere to escape and every room serves multiple purposes. The random nook with a printer and desk transformed into a bedroom for my 10-year-old, for example.

My husband has three full siblings and three half-siblings, so there was always a rotating cast of characters in and out the door at all hours. It was fun but relentless, making basic things like bedtime or trying to work from home feel impossible.

By 9:30 p.m. most evenings, it wasn’t uncommon for my husband and me to be passed out in bed while his parents were out to dinner with friends or at a show.

Getting used to different ways of living

Having to adopt a completely different routine took a toll on all of us. We were exhausted from waking up earlier and commuting to school on public transport (usually only a short walk away). We occupied a blurry line between “house guests” and “long-term residents,” and I was always worried about causing extra stress for my in-laws.

For example, at home, I’d never worry about leaving a dirty breakfast bowl in the sink, but living with my in-laws, that seemed rude. It felt like I was either cooking, clearing up, doing laundry, or doing dishes from the moment I woke until I went to bed.

Even groceries, which typically took up little mental real estate since I’d get a weekly bulk delivery to save time, money, and stress, became something to negotiate most days. I didn’t want to risk my in-laws’ goodwill by using their food, but they had limited storage capacity in their fridge and cupboards.

I struggled a lot those final weeks, and it forced me to accept that I couldn’t keep overscheduling and pushing myself so relentlessly. I would eventually collapse, and that awareness scared me sufficiently to get back into regular therapy.

Benefits of living with in-laws

But the good far outweighed the bad. I think we were all surprised by how those few months brought us closer than all those years before ever could.

My kids transformed. When we moved in, the older ones couldn’t navigate a Tube or train journey; within weeks, they were competent, confident solo travelers. My 10-year-old taught herself to knit, crochet, and use a typewriter she’d found abandoned on the street, and my youngest, who’d always been a bit nervous around her grandparents, spent most evenings curled up and giggling in their laps.

I also felt really looked after: my in-laws asked questions about my plans, my writing, my frustrations. It felt cozy and parental, which is huge considering I haven’t had parents since my mother died 20 years ago.

I was so moved by their concern for me that on occasion, I retreated back to teenage behaviors, like that time I snuck out one afternoon to get a tattoo and didn’t tell them.

The housework took longer than expected, and we ended up staying with my in-laws for nearly five months. Grateful doesn’t begin to cover it.

We’ve been back home for five months now, and it’s wonderful. But sometimes I do feel nostalgic for those nights in the kitchen together, the atmosphere so full of love and laughter.

My father-in-law always tells me how much he misses us. Earlier this week, I mentioned the kids seem older than they did a few weeks ago when the academic year began.

“The kids really grew up when they were living with us. That was the best thing for them,” he replied.

I couldn’t agree more.