Chick House and Dude House
There are many differences between a Chick House and a Dude House.
One of the things I got to do on my recent trip was visit my two young adult children in their respective digs in Northern and Southern California. Being a parent is the single most challenging and rewarding thing I’ve done and getting to know my kids as they’ve passed through various life stages is… well, it’s just fabulous, fascinating and fun.
My daughter picked me up and I spent a few days with her before my writing retreat in Mendocino (more on that later) and we bought her the car I’d promised her for college graduation. Blood Orchids paid for it!
We went out for fancy drinks at a “speakeasy” bar called the SingleBarrel where the waiters interviewed us on our drink preferences and then created what they thought we should have—and, sipping my green, tart, delicious Monarch cocktail, I realized I’d never actually gone to a bar and ordered a drink before. Another new experience!
On my last night in California, my daughter and her roommate had a “pajama party” for me—we macked down chocolate fondue, painted our nails, played with the dogs and wore jammies as we watched a chick flick.
It was heaven.
I also flew down to visit my son in SoCal. “Having a barbeque for you, Mom,” my boy said, throwing a muscley arm over my shoulder at the airport. “I want you to meet the guys. I’ve told everybody how awesome you are.”
I was flattered by this, and by the HUGE pile of assorted meat he’d bought for the occasion: there were steaks, chicken, bratwursts, and pork chops. He has five (count them—FIVE) twentysomething dude roommates in a sprawling house with a TV the size of a Hubbel space station monitor—and he has a dog I fell in love with, a Corgi named Waffles.
(I love dogs, and I love that my kids love them too, and each have their own. Yes, I have grandchildren—four-legged, hairy grandchildren!)
The five roommates multiplied into more people, and we drank assorted things from red plastic cups, told stories and watched funny movies, and I slept on the couch in the common room under bedding borrowed from my son’s bed (a last minute discovery was there was no extra, and he “took one for the team” and gave me his.)
In the morning we took beach walks, and went Glock shooting.
It was heaven.
I can’t help, however, contrasting the differences between the Dude House and the Chick House. Here are some things I noticed:
- Dietary choices. Dude House majored on meat and alcohol. Chick House majored on fruit, chocolate and… oh. Alcohol.
- Aesthetics: Chick House decorated. Dude House furnished.
- Cleanliness: Chick House was cleaned prior to my visit. Dude House may have been cleaned by former tenants, but discussion is still ensuing about that, along with finger-pointing as to whose job it was.
- Activities: walking dogs, beach walks, movies, eating out were wonderful at both places, and interesting conversation was a constant.
The great thing about being a parent is that, just when you think you have it all figured out, it all changes again. For now, I’m loving being a mom who gets to come and be a guest and, for a few days, participate in my children’s Chick and Dude Houses.