My oldest grandson is living here temporarily. He had been splitting rent with a roommate, but he, his roomie, and a girl friend became a triangle that was hard for him to put up with. When his personal goods started disappearing and a checking account was set up in his name that he knew nothing about, leaving him to pay for checks he didn't write, he needed to get out of the situation. I told him he could crash here until he gets things on an even keel.
I gave him the cold, hard facts of living here, and set a few rules:
He can't keep pit bulls here. I don't want another dog in the house, and I don't want a pit bull running loose in the neighborhood. I'm sorry he's had to give his two dogs up, but I've stood my ground.
I don't want to have to cook for him. Now I know, that sounds pretty harsh for a grandma, and truthfully, the boy could use some fattening up. But I'm used to fixing mine and Cliff's healthy little meals, and I never cook in the evenings when Cliff's at work. We limit meat and desserts, and eat a considerable amount of non-battered fish and sugar-free Jello, not the kind of fare most young people crave. If there's plenty of what we're having and he wants some, he's welcome to it. He isn't terribly picky, so about half the time, he eats leftovers from our noon-time dinner when he gets home from work.
Tentatively, I've told him he can stay until July 31. However, if I see he is putting money back, and if he isn't rocking my little privacy boat too much, that may be extended.
He'll pay me a certain (very small) amount to help cover his food costs.
Those are the rules.
He's twenty-one, so he doesn't have to tell me where he's going or keep a curfew. He's been doing his own laundry on Saturdays.
Last night I introduced him to the Lean, Mean grilling machine, and he made himself a double-cheeseburger from some frozen hamburger patties he got at work at a bargain price. He consumes a lot of peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches. You'd think I was raising monkeys here, because we're going through over 10 pounds of bananas a week. The grandson isn't the only one eating them; my granddaughters, Cliff, and myself all like fruit.
It's been three weeks, and except for one crazy incident, my grandson has done fine so far.
Wish us all luck.