• My sister and I flew to Paris to meet up with our 78-year-old dad, who visits the city every year.
• I couldn't believe how different he seemed, from wearing linen clothing to speaking fluent French.
• This trip showed me new facets of his interests and how a place can truly transform a person.

My 78-year-old dad has had a 15-year love affair with Paris. Every summer like clockwork, he and my stepmom escape their New England home and make their annual pilgrimage to the French capital.

Even though my older sister and I have done our fair share of our own adventures, we had still never been to Paris. That was my dad's thing, not ours.

However, that all changed in 2023, when my sister and I flew into Charles de Gaulle to see what all the fuss was about.

The morning we arrived, we planned to meet our dad in the lobby of our hotel. It had been a few weeks since I saw him, and I almost didn't recognize him when he walked through the door.

He had a breezy linen shirt, leather sandals, and a scruffy 5 o'clock shadow.

For a man who wouldn't dare leave his New England house without a clean shave, my immediate thought was that something had gone wrong. He probably lost power, misplaced his razor, or found his way into a Montmartre absinthe bar.

My sister and I joked, "Is customs confiscating Gillettes nowadays?"

"It's the Paris effect," he replied, as if it were obvious.

He'd transformed into a Parisian local right in front of my eyes

In New England, I know my dad to be a few things: a down-to-earth parent, a woodworker by trade, and a meticulous professor. In his classes, he instills a love of hand-carved pieces and abstract chairs in a generation that grew up with Ikea furniture.

That particular version of himself is all I'd known — most of the time we've spent together has been where we've lived in the northeast.

However, as my dad has continued to visit Paris over the years, he's established new roots and, apparently, another identity — one that was completely unknown to my sister and me.

In Paris, my dad's L.L. Bean flannels were on sabbatical. Instead, he stuck with a mostly linen wardrobe, and shirts rarely ever buttoned to the neck.

As we walked around the city, he showed us his favorite spots, grumbled about the crowds, and scoffed at the suggestion of going to the Eiffel Tower.

I was thoroughly shocked when we went to a local café, and he ordered for us in remarkably good French.

Throughout the trip, I continued to gather new information about my dad, like his love of drinking thick red wines and wearing a denim chore coat from his preferred atelier. I also discovered that he pairs a stinky cheese with a long walk along the Seine and likes to take his lunch in the Luxembourg Gardens.

He seemed like a true local, and I was blown away by the person in front of me.

By meeting a different version of my dad, I remembered my own potential to become someone new

While we were in Paris, I felt like I had been reintroduced to my dad. I learned about more of his interests and frequented his stomping grounds, but I also met a version of him who exists only in that city.

I realized I had previously seen my parents as just singular characters in life, an isolated definition of who someone can be. However, seeing my dad in Paris confirmed for me that who we are is relative not only to our relationships but also to geography.

It felt special to connect with a new side of him as an adult, and this experience also left me reflecting on the year and a half I spent living in South Korea back in 2021.

After returning to the United States, I felt that something essential had changed in who I was, but I also felt that I had left someone behind. Maybe it was about time to reawaken that part of myself on a return visit.

I'm hoping to schedule another trip to Paris with my dad sometime this year. But regardless of where we are in the world, I can't wait to discover more of his interests and alternate personas — and maybe find other versions of myself along the way, too.

• I always daydreamed about living with friends, but at 28, I've only ever lived with my parents.
• There are downsides, but I've been able to save up to buy a house and become closer to my family.
• I've also learned many interpersonal skills that I'll bring with me when I move in with my partner.

When I was 16, living with my parents was a drag. It felt like they always wanted to know where I was going, when I was coming home, and who I was going out with.

I dreamed of the day I would move into a house with my friends. Shows like "The Bold Type" and "Girls" had me fantasizing about living in a tiny apartment in New York, hanging out on the couch, and ordering pizza for dinner.

I always thought one day, I would inevitably find myself in the right circumstances where I would move out with some friends or housemates — but at 28, I'm still living at home.

The older I got, the more apparent it became to me that I liked living with my family, and I didn't feel a rush to leave. Now, I'm preparing to move into a new house with my soon-to-be husband, and I'll never get to live that girlhood dream.

I have no regrets about how things shook out, though.

I've been able to save money and learn invaluable life skills

Admittedly, in some ways, living at home has given me less freedom: Blasting music at midnight is a no-go, and often everyone's trying to use the kitchen at the same time.

What I've lost there, though, I've gained in financial flexibility.

While my friends have faced rent increases, power bills, and other household expenses, I've been able to save money throughout my 20s. Because of that, I could afford to get my degree — and even to purchase the house I'll move into soon.

I've also been able to spend extra money on passions like traveling the world. Having the disposable income to book a holiday at the drop of a hat is a privilege I wouldn't have if I were paying rent here in Perth, Australia.

Along with saving money, I've been able to hone my conflict-resolution and communication skills.

Agreeing on who gets to use the washing machine on which day or who burned the good pot in the kitchen can lead to many an argument. I've learned lessons on picking my battles, letting things go, and most importantly, cooperation.

I know now that some arguments aren't worth having, and it's better for everyone's relationship if we try to meet in the middle.

Best of all, I've become so much closer to my parents

When I was a teenager, I moved mountains to keep secrets from my parents. I wouldn't even tell them what I bought at the supermarket, let alone share the deepest parts of my life.

Generally, we've never been the type of family that uses our words to express ourselves, something I've attributed to our Asian background. Living together as adults, though, has brought my parents and me closer in ways I wouldn't have seen coming when I was a bratty 16-year-old.

We're intrinsically part of each other's everyday lives. We talk over breakfast, vent about our workdays, and send each other funny pictures of what our dog's doing. With time, this led to us connecting about deeper, more "adult" topics, from work and relationships to faith and finances.

Now, I find that I share almost everything with my parents. I turn to my dad for advice when I need support, and whenever I have a smidgen of news, my mom is often the first person I want to tell.

There are times I wish I lived on my own, though

I would be lying if I said that it's always fun to be a 28-year-old living at home. There are times when I wish I could host my friends for dinner, or that I could paint the living room a color of my choice. (For what it's worth, I'd choose a warm yellow.)

As accommodating as my family is, at the end of the day, I do often feel like I live in someone else's space. I crave the feeling of coming home to a place that I decorated myself, where I can leave dishes in the sink or have a late-night snack without waking anyone up.

I know that this setup isn't forever. Soon, my partner and I will get married, and I'll have to get used to living with someone new.

However, when we do move in together, I know I'll be bringing skills I've learned from nearly three decades of sharing a home with the people who know me best. I know how to have difficult conversations with people I love, how to compromise when we don't always agree, and when to just let things go.

I may have missed out on having my own place in my 20s, but I gained skills — and a true friendship with my parents — that I never expected, and wouldn't trade for the world.

• Living with my aging mother changed how I understood her worries.
• I realized I had started treating my college daughter the same way.
• Parenting and caregiving have become mirror images of each other.

I bounded upstairs to retrieve the laundry basket, trying to tack on one more chore before losing the day to my remote job's endless emails and Zoom meetings.

As I picked up the strewn-out clothes — this is why my husband's a software engineer rather than a basketball player — I noticed my phone screen light up. It was Mom. She's away visiting my sister for a few weeks.

"Are you OK. Send me a message you are OK," her WhatsApp text read.

The lack of punctuation in her text is not just a reflection of her not being a native English speaker, but an echo of her anxious personality. Above all, it's a symbol of her new reality, a universe where I, her firstborn, unwittingly find myself center stage.

My mom used to be independent

When Dad died in India almost a decade ago, I didn't want to deal again with the agony of having an aging parent thousands of miles away, and I insisted Mom move in with us.

The last time I'd lived with my parents was at 17, when I headed to college 1400 miles away, after which life took me around the world and eventually to California and a family of my own.

As Mom and I started to reacquaint ourselves, I grappled with watching my once-strong, independent mother become vulnerable and dependent, a result of biological aging exacerbated by geographical and cultural upheaval.

Ostensibly, she didn't see me differently, though, peppering me with questions that would have made sense 30 years ago: "Where are you going?" "Why aren't you eating enough?" "When did you get home last night?" They come from a place of caring. Although sometimes my annoyance is obvious.

I realized I do to my daughter what my mom does to me

"I'm fine. I was out for a walk when you called yesterday. I'll call later," I texted Mom back.

"I just talked to you yesterday afternoon," I said out loud to the phone. Only Siri heard.

As I waited for my work computer to power up, having lost the laundry battle, I picked up my phone and texted my daughter away at college in New York.

"Good morning, my child. I miss you. How are you? Call today."

My modus operandi these days is to blame everything on my hormones, a middle-aged gift that keeps on giving. Misplaced keys, names that elude you when the person is in front of you, vanishing nouns when you're desperately trying to explain something, all collateral damage thanks to hormones.

Two hours later, in the middle of a meeting to discuss metrics on how many code defects were resolved, the irony hit me. I did to my daughter what Mom had done to me. I laughed out loud, and I'm sure my coworkers must have also thought, "Hormones!"

I'm turning into my mom

My daughter jokes about it all the time. When my husband and I visited her a few weeks ago, I sensed the edges of exasperation on her face and voice, as she grabbed the phone from my hand and took control of a family selfie, a skill I'll never master. "I don't miss Paati (grandma) now," she said, as she handed me the phone back.

Already gifted with tall genes, she has further increased her stride length living in the city. I almost jog to keep pace with her as she turns around and smiles, "Keep up, marathoner!" Was it only 10 years ago when she'd cling to my leg at the sight of strangers?

During spring break, when she was at home, I headed out for a Costco run. Mom reminded me, for the fourth time, to pick up Pepto Bismol. When I asked my daughter what she needed, she told me she'd go shopping on her own.

At dinner, when I made roti and dal, my daughter stood by me in the kitchen, finely slicing scallions to garnish her high-protein salad, as she delivered a TED Talk on macros and nutrition.

I watched her, spellbound, the same way Mom watches me when I explain digital scams and that not all WhatsApp messages that begin with PLEASE READ CAREFULLY need to actually be read.

As I put away laundry, I have a dawning awareness. I recognize all of my mom's clothes, but I wouldn't be able to pick out my daughter's clothes in a laundromat. Some days, I wish I could press pause on the universe. To a time when my mother needs me less, and my daughter needs me more. When Mom wouldn't need me to pick her outfit when we go out to dinner. When Mira would let me go shopping with her. But those moments pass. Thank you, hormones.

At night, I text my daughter again, "Hellooooooo." Unironically. It's the law of the universe. A mother needs her daughter. Who am I to question it?

• Last year, I went through a difficult breakup, lost my job, and moved back home with my mom.
• At first, returning to the city I grew up in made me feel like a failure.
• Surprisingly, reconnecting with the community healed me and inspired my next career move.

At 36, I had everything I ever wanted.

I was a senior communications leader at one of the world's biggest entertainment companies, earning a title and salary that I had worked my entire career to get.

Not only did I have my dream job, but also an amazing group of friends and family, a healthy relationship, and a passport that was getting stamped almost monthly.

I felt like I was finally creating the life and family I always wished for. Until, suddenly, everything changed.

A breakup and a layoff forced me to reevaluate my life

After returning home from a girls' trip, my partner of four years and I had a hard but necessary conversation, and ultimately decided to end our relationship.

Although we had our ups and downs, we seemed to be working through things, and I never thought our struggles would ultimately end in a breakup.

Because we had been living together, I was forced to pack up my belongings at my partner's home in Florida and move to my mom's condo in my hometown of New Orleans — the best financial option and a way to be close to my family when I needed them most.

Luckily, my job allowed me to work remotely as long as I visited the New York City office once a month, so moving states wouldn't be an issue.

Plus, my mom and I are close, especially since I'm an only child, so I was excited to live with her again. But part of me still felt like a failure returning to the city I grew up in.

However, I looked forward to spending meaningful time with her — something I hadn't been able to do since moving to a different state.

It felt nice slipping into our old routines: watching our favorite "Real Housewives" episodes together, grabbing lunch, being each other's plus-ones to sporting events, and recapping our days in person instead of over the phone.

I was so grateful for every moment we shared together, but I didn't think I'd stay there much longer than six months.

That all changed when I was laid off from my job. Full of shock and uncertainty, I was faced with the reality that, for the first time in my life, I didn't know what would come next.

Suddenly, I was stuck at home, unemployed, and staring at a future I couldn't map out.

Reconnecting with my community inspired my next career move

Thankfully, severance and unemployment benefits gave me something I had rarely allowed myself before: time.

As I sat with myself, I realized I've spent almost my entire life searching for that next title, promotion, or accomplishment.

The layoff forced me to face the truth I had been denying: it was time for a change.

So, instead of rushing to recreate my old life, I decided to lean into the one I had. I decided if I was going to be in New Orleans, I was going to truly be here.

After exploring new parts of the city, attending local events, and trying new fitness classes, I started to see my hometown in a new light.

When I used to visit the city as an adult, I never thought I could be happy living here again. However, I never had a community to rely on, since I had grown apart from my childhood friends and was never in town long enough to truly reconnect.

Now, a year and a half after moving back, my life looks completely different than the one I thought I wanted. I started a business, established a flourishing group of old and new friends, built a personal brand, and discovered a passion for community-building that I never knew existed.

Most of all, I found something I wasn't expecting: I love living back in New Orleans, and I'm really happy.

The city gave me space to heal and rediscover myself after one of the hardest chapters of my career.

I'm not sure if my time living at home will be permanent, but for now, I'm content and hope to continue to blossom here until the next adventure calls me.

Overall, returning home didn't ruin my life — it's helped me rebuild it.

• I lived with my parents for six years, until they decided to retire and downsize a year ago.
• I loved living with them and decided to move in across the street from their townhouse.
• This year was hectic, and the quality time, shared grocery costs, and pet day care were so helpful.

When I first moved in with my parents in my late 20s, I did not expect the arrangement to carry me into my mid-30s. I stayed because, although it was different from what anyone in my social circle was doing, I was surprised by how much we all enjoyed it. In this house of three adults who cared deeply about one another's well-being, my life was better than it had been in a while.

The best part, for me, was the interdependence — coming off of two years living by myself, even being able to say, "Could you make me a sandwich, too?" or "No problem, I'll get your headache meds from upstairs!" felt refreshing. I also appreciated the opportunity for unscheduled quality time and the sense that I was never completely alone.

I felt like I'd uncovered a secret, and I wondered what other iterations of housing and community I'd been missing out on. I decided to edit an anthology on the subject, which became Living, Together: Reimagining Community in the Age of Disconnection. When my parents wanted to retire and downsize after six years of, well, living together, and I had to look for my own place again, I kept everything I learned from the book's stories in mind.

Moving out of my parents' house, I imagined I'd settle in a more walkable neighborhood than the one they chose. When a townhouse opened up across the parking lot from theirs, I was reluctant to look at it. Surely I couldn't go from living with my parents in my 30s to living mere steps away. But the more I thought about it, the more I liked the prospect of continuing the casual hangs, resource sharing, and emotional support that have enriched our lives.

It's been almost a year since we became neighbors, and I think it was a great move.

We have more privacy and flexibility than when we lived together

When I lived with my parents, it was sometimes difficult for them because I needed quiet while working. Now, I can have that at my house, and my parents don't have to worry about the volume of their TV shows or phone calls.

We also don't typically stop by one another's houses constantly and unannounced, even though we live so close and have each other's house keys.

I avoid the single-person grocery curse, and they save money by sharing, too

The bane of my existence as a single person living alone is food that rots in the fridge. Lunch meat, melon, fresh mozzarella — I somehow can never eat it all.

This is the first time I've lived alone and been able to share groceries because my parents live so close by. It ensures food and money don't go to waste for either of our households.

They help me care for my cats

My 2-year-old cat spends half the day at my parents' house playing with their cats. They all have a blast, my senior cat gets much-needed rest, and I can focus on work without kitten energy around. One of my friends asked if she could drop off her energetic cat and 1-year-old son at the Rosen Family Day Care!

My senior cat has also developed chronic health conditions that make me uneasy leaving her alone for long. When I know I have to be out for more than a few hours, one of my parents checks in on her. I'm not sure what I'd do without that option, and I know they enjoy being able to visit her frequently.

My parents have been a big help during a busy year

My parents' proximity has made a world of difference, practically and emotionally, in a year where I've had tons of extra work related to my book's publication. At least one night a week, my mom arrives with leftover ziti or salad; she understands I have a lot going on, and these efforts make me feel cared for.

While I've had to decline more plans than I'd have liked to this year, I've been able to maintain the routine of having dinner and watching TV with my dad almost every Tuesday night. Even when we're tired or we start late, we make it happen because it's a 30-second walk!

Similarly, when I only have a short time to socialize, I can pop over to my parents' house for dinner (and to trim their squirmy cats' nails or weigh in on a technology mishap). When free time is too tight to see friends, my parents being so close has ensured my mental and emotional health haven't suffered.

For however long it lasts, I'm glad I'm here

I learned from working on my book that the key to reaping the benefits of communal living is flexibility. I'm aware that this is a season of my life, and I'm open to whatever living scenarios the future may hold.

Sometimes I wish I lived in an area that's within walking distance to coffee shops, libraries, artistic experiences, and friends. But I made this decision to live so close to my parents based on what I felt I needed at the time. It's been helpful, meaningful, and fun — and that was during a tough, busy year.

I'm looking forward to what the future of being neighbors with my parents will bring.

• My family of five moved in with my parents earlier this year.
• It took my parents a bit of an adjustment period to get used to us in their space.
• Now, they don't want us to leave.

When my siblings and I moved out of home in our late teens and early 20s, my mom really struggled with the empty nest syndrome. Even years later, when we were getting married and having babies of our own, she would talk about how much she missed her four kids.

Never in a million years did she ever think any of us would be back living at home as adults. But as fate would have it, here I am, age 41, living with my mom and dad, along with my three kids and husband.

In January, my family of five moved from country Victoria, Australia, to the Gold Coast, my hometown. To save money, my folks offered us the bottom level of their double-story home. For the first couple of months, they were overseas traveling, and then in March, our multigenerational living story began.

I'm not going to lie — it did take time for my folks to adjust to sharing their space. After all, they had lived alone in the family home for 20-odd years. Suddenly, there were boisterous (and often messy) kids tearing around, and two extra adults in the house.

However, after setting a few ground rules, we soon got into a nice daily rhythm, and they are now genuinely loving having us around. The other day, my mom even said she didn't want us to leave.

I know that my folks are the ones doing us the favor, not the other way around. We haven't had to pay rent for four months or worry about buying furniture after the interstate move. But funnily enough, I think my parents are also benefiting from the multigenerational living arrangement in various ways.

More security and safety

My parents are doing pretty well for their age, but their health has still declined in recent years. I think having my husband and me around has improved their sense of safety, as we can offer care and assist during emergencies.

The other day, my 81-year-old dad took a tumble at the top of the stairs. Ordinarily, my 77-year-old mom would have had to heave him up on her own or call my brother or sister to dash over. But because I was downstairs working and heard the thud, I ran upstairs and checked he was OK.

Likewise, when my mom deteriorated rapidly from a bacterial lung infection recently, my husband and I made the decision to call an ambulance. I'm glad we did, as she ended up staying in the hospital for a week. If we weren't around, my dad would have had to deal with the situation on his own or call my siblings to assist.

Built-in companionship

We try to give each other plenty of space, but we still spend a lot of time together throughout the day. Every morning, I have tea with my dad, and during my lunch break, I eat with my folks. We also share nightly meals and chat about the day's events.

When us kids left, I think mom struggled with grief, loneliness, and a loss of purpose. But now, their home is filled with laughter and grandkids. My parents don't get a chance to feel lonely, and they are still very much needed.

Household help and shared responsibilities

Being a double-story house, Mom and Dad's home takes a lot of energy to maintain, especially for two older people. But having two extra adults taking care of the property has eased the burden on my folks.

My husband handles most of the yard maintenance and any heavy lifting, while I cook, do housework, and assist with tech issues. I really didn't want to create any extra strain on my folks, so we are trying our hardest to be of value to them.

Everybody wins

Overall, multigenerational living has been deeply rewarding to both us and to my folks. It has injected vibrant new energy into our old family home, created extra support for my parents, and made us feel like we are 'part of the village.'

I'm sure there are times when my parents long for a bit of peace and quiet, or when they want to scream after sitting down on the couch, only to find a Nerf bullet or stray Barbie arm poking into their backside. But there have been so many unexpected upsides, and I'm really glad I returned to the nest, 41 and all.

• My 70-year-old grandmother has been one of my biggest fashion inspirations.
• At 23, I still draw on her lessons as I get dressed, whether I'm wearing something casual or formal.
• She's taught me that clothes should be comfortable, practical, and confidence-boosting.

In many ways, my grandmother raised me.

We spent countless days together, and her face is at the center of some of my fondest childhood memories. She's one of the greatest influences in my life, shaping everything from how I see the world to how I dress.

Even as a 23-year-old, I admire her sense of style. Throughout her life, she's built an elegant wardrobe that draws from trends without necessarily following them.

At 70 years old, she continues to inspire me. Whenever I open my wardrobe to choose an outfit, I carry one of her invaluable lessons with me.

One of her core beliefs is that accessories should add to an outfit, not overwhelm it

I love accessories, often throwing on chunky jewelry, layering bold pieces, and stacking belts on my hips. Although my grandmother appreciates outfit embellishments, she's taught me to approach them with intention. They should add to an outfit, not overpower it.

For example, she isn't afraid to incorporate a pop of color — as long as it matches her accessories, from her bag to her shoes to her belt.

She's also strategic about her jewelry, choosing pieces based on her neckline and hairstyle that day. Her go-to earrings? Versatile medium-sized hoops, which are big enough to be visible under a range of hairstyles without dominating a look.

Now, my favorite everyday earrings are silver hoops. Every time I put them on, I feel like they brighten me up.

Although I play around with maximalist, trend-forward pieces, I stick to my grandmother's rules when I want to look elegant and timeless.

She taught me that walking with confidence can upgrade an outfit

My grandmother has always told me that picking out beautiful pieces is just the first step in putting together a great outfit. The way I carry myself when I'm wearing it can make or break a look.

I have vivid memories of her instructing me to walk in a straight line with my shoulders back, stepping with one leg in front of the other. I felt like I was balancing books on my head.

Over the years, walking with confidence has become second nature, whether I'm wearing a dress and heels or a sweatsuit and sneakers. She was right: It does make my clothes look better.

Even when my grandmother has dealt with health issues that affect her movements, she's always followed her own advice, walking straight with her head held high and shoulders back.

Her wardrobe is built on staple pieces that are practical and make her feel good

My grandmother has never been one to experiment much with clothes. I'm hard-pressed to remember a time when she wasn't wearing simple garments like straight pants, sweaters, tight long-sleeve T-shirts, or loose short-sleeve T-shirts.

She found her practical, elegant style when she was in high school and stayed true to it through every stage of life.

She gravitates toward easy-to-wear pieces that move with her and fit her body well. To her, clothes are meant to be worn, so they have to look and make her feel good in order to secure a spot in her closet.

For the past five years, I've focused on emulating her wardrobe. Every item I buy has to look good, feel nice on my body, and be practical.

When she layers, she makes sure the pieces complement each other

My grandmother has taught me that layering well requires more than throwing on multiple garments and calling it a day. The pieces have to be harmonious.

She has a way of looking elegant even as she combines unlikely pieces. When she's cold, I see her drape a long wool coat over her shoulders, throw on a pair of leather gloves, and tie a silk scarf around her neck.

Her base is always simple and cohesive, creating the perfect foundation for a layered outfit.

I've never been a big fan of layering clothes, but I use the same approach when choosing accessories. I start with a plain base layer before adding small, complementary pieces. I put thought into each one and consider how it works with the overall look.

My grandmother knows that wrinkles can ruin even the most stylish outfit

Growing up, my mom often insisted that I iron my clothes — later, I learned that the advice stemmed from my grandmother, who often shared it with her when she was young.

After all, even the best outfit can look messy if it's wrinkled.

In my family, crisp lines and smooth sleeves symbolize self-respect and elegance. Now, I follow their advice and never leave the house without ironing my clothes.

This 'as-told-to' essay is based on a conversation with Juli Ford, a 57-year-old real estate agent and certified senior advisor based in Massachusetts. It has been edited for length and clarity.

When my children were young, we saw my parents all the time.

We lived very close to each other in South Plymouth, Massachusetts, and my parents always helped with the kids. From the time they were born, Wednesdays were Grammy and Grampy Day.

My dad got sick in 2005. When we learned in the summer of 2011 that he probably didn't have much time left, we talked about what life would be like after he was gone, including where my mom would live.

When he passed in December 2011, my mom was not ready to live with us. At 68, she had never lived on her own. She'd been with my dad since she was 15.

Then, in April 2015, a house in Pembroke, Massachusetts, about 30 minutes from South Plymouth, came on the market. The second I saw it online, I thought, "Oh, this is perfect."

The house had a beautiful in-law apartment

The house is 4,300 square feet, and the basement is about 800 square feet. Upstairs, there are three bedrooms and 3.5 bathrooms.

My mom fell in love with the home's basement apartment. It's full of beautiful natural light. It's one bedroom with a den, a full kitchen, a fireplace, its own laundry, 1.5 baths, its own outdoor patio, and two entrances.

We made an offer within two days. We bought the house in April 2015 for $630,000.

My mom had no interest in ownership. Instead, she made a financial contribution toward the down payment equal to what she would have paid in rent for the next five years.

She also gave us money every year for utilities. Last year, she started making a bigger monthly contribution to help cover household expenses. She essentially has not had to pay rent for 10 years, and as the house gets older, the cost of maintaining it grows.

It was a dream when we first moved in

My mom helped me a lot with my kids, especially with their schooling. My kids were 10 and 11 when she moved in, and they were homeschooled. We drove around a lot because we were going to museums and other activities in Boston. She sometimes helped with driving, and she became their English teacher because her first career was teaching English.

Grammy Wednesdays continued when we moved into the house, and my kids, who are 20 and 22 now, would go down and visit her on their own.

My mom has exceptionally good boundaries. I'm sure we did things differently than she would have done with our kids, but she's always been very good at keeping her opinions to herself.

My mom is still independent, but needs our help now

At 82, she's a bit less independent than she was 10 years ago because of health issues. Still, she has privacy: I don't know everything that she does all the time, and we can go days without seeing each other. Other times, we see each other a lot more often.

We have had a few medical emergencies with my mom, so I got in the habit of keeping my phone next to my bed. There have been a few times that she's had to call me.

I cannot imagine how much harder it would be to be a daughter of an aging mom if we weren't in the same house. I would be so much more concerned about her being alone and getting lonelier. It would be more time-consuming for me if I had to go somewhere else to support her.

The house gave us other financial benefits

In the beginning, the only financial benefit I really thought about of combining households was that we could get a nicer house than my husband and I could afford on our own.

Around the time we got this house, my brother's family went through a foreclosure after his wife had been hit by a drunken driver and had a traumatic brain injury. They had a lot of housing instability during that time because she was unable to work and had massive medical bills. They were not sure where they were going to live.

Because we combined households with my mom, we were able to tap into the equity in this house to help them. We took out a home equity loan and bought a small, lovely house, and rented it to them. We weren't really making any money on it, but the rent was paying the bills.

Within two years, they recovered their credit enough that they purchased the house from us. They were able to rebuild their financial well-being in that house.

We used the proceeds from the sale to buy a vacation property in Vermont, which we turned into an Airbnb for four years. When we sold it, we paid off our kids' student loans.

We were all able to build wealth because we combined households with my mom. We feel so proud and grateful. It's not something I saw coming 11 years ago.

I see multigenerational living as one of the most compelling solutions to our elder care and affordable housing crises. Bringing families together around this is really an underutilized solution.

• Every December, I travel with my mother-in-law and wife. This year, we took a trip to Charleston.
• Encouraging my mother-in-law to help plan led us to experiences we wouldn't have found on our own.
• We built the days around what she could handle and took turns picking activities and restaurants.

My wife, Cece, moved from Texas to Australia 12 years ago, but we still head back to the US every Christmas.

While we're home, the two of us take a trip with her mother, Liz. Liz's partner, Pete, doesn't like to travel, so this annual December trip is her primary holiday.

In the past, we've headed to Nashville, Seattle, and Washington DC. At the end of last year, we spent four days in Charleston and had a wonderful trip.

We picked activities at Liz's pace and took turns choosing experiences

Over the years, we've learned that Liz enjoys a trip more when she can help shape it rather than just show up for it. So before heading to Charleston, I had a visitor's brochure mailed to her in Texas.

The day it arrived, she called with a list of things she had already researched and wanted to try, including a Gullah Geechee tour to learn about the history and culture of the descendants of enslaved Africans who settled along the Carolina coast.

Bus and walking tours were available, and we chose the bus even though I would've preferred the latter.

It was important for us to consider what would be most sustainable for my 75-year-old mother-in-law when booking activities. Riding the bus meant Liz could arrive at lunch with energy instead of blisters.

Throughout the trip, we also took turns selecting activities so no one felt left out. My choice was a cocktail-making class, which is also indoors and offers plenty of seating.

Liz drinks a little but would never have thought to book a class like this herself, which is another perk of taking turns: You get to try things you never thought you would.

The class ended up being just the three of us at a bar with a 25-year-old instructor. We learned how the Old Fashioned got its name, what makes a good bartender, and that Liz pours generously. Her first attempt overflowed.

By the third round, Liz was jiggling the shaker like a professional and informing us she was keeping up with "the young kids."

The instructor even invited her behind the bar. She posed for the camera, and we sent the video straight to Pete. He replied: "Oh boy. She's really loving this."

Liz also chose for us to visit the Charleston City Market, a stretch of local vendors and artists that has been running for centuries.

We'd planned to stop for an hour and stayed for over two as Liz watched sweetgrass baskets being woven, bought Christmas ornaments, and talked to every artisan who'd stand still long enough.

I walked ahead and checked my watch several times, but tried to stay patient. Liz had taken a whole cocktail-making class she'd never have picked herself, so two hours at the market felt fair.

Each of us got to choose a meal, too

Over our four days, we each picked a meal to share. Liz chose Lewis BBQ, partly because it's run by a fellow Texan, which she felt was a good sign.

She takes barbecue seriously, and the brisket was the real test. Her wide post-bite smile told me the barbecue had passed.

I took us to Southern restaurant Poogan's Porch one night so we could order shrimp and grits, something I'd never tried.

Cece chose to get breakfast on our last morning at Callie's Hot Little Biscuits. We ordered a range of sweet and savory bites, and Cece and I managed to take down one biscuit each.

Liz had two and a half and immediately bought a box to take home.

In the end, a few things made the trip work

Encouraging my mother-in-law to plan from Texas meant she arrived at our destination already invested with ideas we'd never have found on our own.

Picking activities at a pace that suited everyone, like the Gullah Geechee bus tour and the cocktail-making class, meant no one was worn out by dinner — and taking turns meant nobody got dragged through someone else's idea of fun for too long.

At the end of the trip, Liz flew home to San Antonio with biscuits, cocktail recipes, and Christmas ornaments. Her partner said she looked like she was having the time of her life in the photos and videos we sent, though the cocktails are still a work in progress.

We've already begun planning this December's trip, so I should probably send a new brochure to Liz soon.