Low energy parents

Last night, just before Tom and I settled onto my parents’ lumpy couch to watch “The Wire“*, my dad said, “Aren’t you going to put the laundry on?”

He stood at the doorway of the laundry room, just off from the living room, and indicated towards the overflowing basket of dirty clothes I’d set there that morning. There was also, unbeknownst to him, a large pile of dried, clean clothes waiting to be folded in the dryer.

“No,” I said. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Is all that clean or dirty?”

“Dirty.”

“Then why don’t you just put the laundry on now? And then just hang it up to dry right before you go to bed?”

Remote and bowl of Doritos in hand, I gave my dad a searching look. How could he, after six months of living with us, not know that every night, once the kids were finally asleep, we had a precious two to three hours of kid-free free time before we were meant to head to bed? Why in the world couldn’t the laundry wait until tomorrow?

“It’s cheaper to do it now,” he said. “The electricity costs less.”

My mother, a profligate gambler yet always in favor of saving a few cents in other ways, happened to walk by. “Just do it now,” she said encouragingly. “I’ll hang the laundry up for you while you guys watch TV.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “I don’t need you to hang up the laundry for me, but we also don’t need to save like ten cents.”

“Where do you think money comes from?” my dad said.

I looked at Tom who ought to thank his lucky stars every day he doesn’t understand Chinese. My parents, thanks to double barriers of language and culture, maintain a certain level of formality with him, whereas Tom’s parents maintain this with all of their children because they have basic respect for their children’s time and interests. Real white people “who is Confucius” stuff. He was reading his phone, having already changed into his pajamas and was clearly in wind-down mode.

“Bah,” I said. “I’m tired. The kids are finally in bed. I will do it tomorrow.”

“Chuh,” my dad said, his signature sound of disapproval. He looked at Tom in his pajamas and then back at me.

“Your guys,” my dad said now in English. Tom raised his head. “Your guys are always tired.”

Tom chuckled, tiredly. “Well, the guys are tiring.”

“I’ve never seen such low energy parents,” my dad said. And then to me in Chinese, “I’m the oldest guy here and I haven’t stopped all day.”

Scenes of my father napping on the couch and falling asleep sitting up in his chair while watching TV – things that happened at least twice a day came to mind – but mostly, he was right. Since living with my parents, Tom and I have let certain things go.

My dad grocery shops, cooks, and does much of the post-meal cleanup. Cleaners come to the house every two weeks and despite things having broken at a steady rate since our arrival, we haven’t really had to coordinate or handle any of the repairs. The other day Tom and I offered to cook dinner, but when my dad asked us what, we were at a mild loss. It’s been so long since we’ve had to think about meal prep.

On top of that, thanks to increased driving and sitting around the house, our physical muscles have also atrophied. This became clear in December when, in Virginia, we met up with friends for drinks and karaoke and I could barely get through Chappell Roans “Pink Pony Club” without becoming incredibly, embarrassingly winded. Like, red-faced-huffing-and-puffing-barely-able-to-utter-“I’m-winded” winded.

We’re not totally useless. We’ve helped both parents with their share of digital password resets and other IT issues, doctors appointments, email composing, and the occasional heavy lifting (mostly Tom). But those situations are hardly endorphin-releasing.

“Your guys need to exercise,” my dad said, shaking his head. Instead of shouting back, “You need to exercise!” I dimmed my eyes in impatience. Gangbangers and ill-tempered police were waiting for me.

It’s always easier to shout advice at other people, but of course my dad was right. We did need to get in shape, both physically and life administration wise, and soon, because that same morning we signed a lease to an apartment closer to the kids’ schools. Our intent is to cut down on our daily commute while we search for a suitable house, make time for things like exercise, and of course, regain some of the independent living skills we’ve all but let go of since moving in with my parents.

But for now, we had precious few hours and a show to watch, featuring people who also didn’t have time for exercise but with far more motivations (and problems) than we had. I turned the TV on. My dad sat down in front of his iPad with a mug of tea and started watching some Chinese propaganda, but not before courteously turned the volume down from VERY LOUD to merely loud. The laundry sat patiently behind him. It could wait another day.

*As usual, I’m catching up on prestige TV a few decades later.