My new roomies. Picture taken in 1972.
“Before we were dating.” SCANDAL.

Today, my husband and I are moving in with my parents. We are 29 and 30. Yup. Can you guess how proud I am of my life right now?

Actually, I’m excited about it. Not because I just love the thought of being grown adults, with almost three college degrees between the two of us, both with full-time jobs, but not being able to make it on our own (without accumulating even more debt if that is possible). Not because I love looking back on the past 10 years and seeing all the bad financial decisions that got us here. Not because the economy has helped anything at all.

I’m excited in a glass-half-full kind of way. (This is also the mindset that makes being a Navy wife a bit more bearable.)

Starting today, our expenses will be greatly reduced. We can start attacking the monkey on our backs that is our debt.

Starting today, we are taking a giant step toward eventual home ownership.

Starting today, I actually have hope that I will be a homeowner before the age of 40. That I’ll be able to have kids before I reach “advanced maternal age” and raise said kids in a house that we own.

And other perks that come with this decision: my commute will be cut in half (sadly The Sailor’s commute will be longer but he’s looking for a new gig anyway), we’ll be much closer to many of our friends (including some of my best friends), closer to my brothers and their wives, and closer my super adorable niece. And closer to my parents. I’m lucky enough to have a great relationship with my parents. (Sure, I’d rather enjoy their company from the convenience of my own place within a 20-minute drive, but whatever.)

And a small part of me is excited to get back to my roots. Even though the town I grew up in is vastly different in 2011 than the what it was in the 1980s. (Not in a good way.) But it’s home.

But you know what’s funny? Since we’ve started telling people that we are moving in with my parents, I have been so surprised how many people (my age) replied with something like “oh yeah I live with my parents right now” or “I did that for awhile” etc. And none of them have said they regretted it.

And at the end of the day, I know I’m lucky this is even an option. My parents could have sold their house long ago and be living in a condo big enough for just the two of them. Or I could live in another state and wouldn’t be able to do this without quitting my job. Or they just could have not offered to let us move in. Or we could have a bad relationship or something else to make the thought of living with them unbearable.

Or my mom, a known cat-hater, could have said we could move in, but we’d have to get rid of Olive. She is actually letting the cat live in her house. I never thought I’d see this day.