What it’s really like to move your elderly parents into the family home. We gave up our bedroom for them and rowed over washing up, but I’d urge everyone to read our story before they waste this precious opportunity

When I tell people my living situation, I’m often met with a raised-eyebrow ‘rather you than me’ response.

After all, at 48, I have moved not one elderly parent in with me but two.

My partner Si, our children, Albert, nine, and twins Maeve and Edie, six, and I have lived with my mum, 79, and my dad, 85, for almost two years now.

Fifteen months of that was under the same roof, and the past six in a bungalow we built in our back garden in Huddersfield, West Yorkshire. They’re close enough that we can wave through the window.

I’m among the UK’s 1.3 million ‘sandwich carers’, who juggle caring for older relatives and bringing up young children. Though we have our ups and downs like any family, I’m lucky that I genuinely love spending time with my parents. And that Si has been extraordinarily generous about his in-laws taking over.

We met 12 years ago in London. I’d never thought I’d move home, but my unexpected pregnancy with my twins set my homing instincts – and desire for a family support network – in motion.

Plus, selling our three-bedroom London cottage meant we could buy a five-bedroom Victorian house up north.

My partner Si, our children, Albert, nine, and twins Maeve and Edie, six, and I have lived with my mum, 79, and my dad, 85, in a house up north for nearly two years now, writes Alison Taylor

The benefits outweigh the negatives of living with your elderly parents, the 48-year-old adds

So in August 2020, we took the plunge. My mum and dad were only a 15-minute walk away. They’ve always been active and independent, having worked their whole lives.

But living closer made me realise they weren’t getting any younger. Mum had already been ill, which tested us all. Dad did a fantastic job supporting her, as he’s always been in good health, but who knows what the future holds? We had the land at the new house, so I thought, why not build them a bungalow in our garden? Then there’d always be someone keeping an eye.

When I broached the subject with Si, he agreed. But would my parents sell their home of 30-plus years? Would they feel insulted?

Fortunately, they agreed. In January last year they moved into our house, while we awaited planning permission. Building began that May, and was completed this March. So what’s it really like living with your parents in your 40s?

When they first moved in, Si and I gave Mum and Dad our bedroom and moved into the attic. Let’s just say, our privacy became very porous. The one thing everyone asks is whether we still had sex – we did, but not very often. Sorry, Si. Having your folks around sort of kills the mood.

Meanwhile, Dad’s like a hypervigilant sergeant, while Si and I are happy to leave the washing up at the end of a busy day.

Alison’s father has thanked her for the company their living arrangement has brought

She believes family time is precious and feels fortunate they have the chance to be together

Dad and Si most recently came to blows over a garlic press. Dad, as chief washer-upper, resented how difficult it was to clean. I suspect it was the straw that broke the camel’s back after months of cleaning up after us.

I did miss them when they moved into the bungalow. Though, as I write this, Dad has let himself into our house, shouting my name. He has another job for me; for older people, it seems, working from home doesn’t count. It turned out Dad had tried to fix the sprinkler, soaked his trousers, ruined his ‘indoor shoes’ and hurt his shoulder. ‘I’m failing,’ he said somewhat melodramatically.

‘My body doesn’t work as it should any more.’ It hit me hard: I could tell he was gutted.

It’s tough having a daily insight into the realities of ageing. As Dad puts it: ‘There’s nowt for getting old.’ The merry-go-round of appointments, prescription runs and referrals is no joke, and though Mum and Dad do pretty well for their age, it’s hard to see them struggle sometimes.

But the benefits far outweigh the negatives. With Mum and Dad just steps away, the children drift between the two houses as if they were one. One evening at 8.30, I discovered they’d nipped over for ice lollies, which Granny happily doles out before bed.

Mum absorbs the invisible jobs: washing clothes, sewing on Girlguiding badges and airing out lunch boxes. The kids have their tea at theirs, which breaks up weekday mealtime monotony for me and lets us keep working. The help is invaluable, and I love that the kids have the cosy kind of care that grandparents bring.

Mum and Dad love being an active part of their lives. We eat together about twice a week, although anyone is welcome whenever. Dad thanked me for the company last weekend, which brought a tear to my eye. Albert joins Mum doing wordsearches, while Maeve loves watching Ben & Holly on TV with Grandad.

The problem with our culture is that we prefer to make our elders someone else’s problem.

Ours is a proper shared life, which is rare nowadays. Family time is precious and I’m glad I’ve realised this while we’re all still together.

Follow Alison on substack.com/@thesandwichyears