How to survive a family visit
It’s Saturday morning and I’m dashing out of my condo to pick up carrot juice. I have family visiting and my dad is on a health kick.
I know you’re probably thinking: “How on Earth could she forget to stock her fridge with carrot juice?”
Luckily, there are four places to get cold-pressed juice in the neighbourhood. It’s one of the perks of living the downtown condo life; no food trend passes us by. We’re well juiced.
I deliberately choose the one farthest away for today’s errand.
I need to work in little breaks when family comes to stay in my 700-square-foot condo.
Hosting guests is never simple when you’re short on space, but it requires extra-special planning when family members visit.
“Your aunt and uncle are driving up from Illinois and we’ll be coming to Toronto,” my dad announced a couple of weeks ago.
I knew immediately what that meant. Family Code of Conduct ensures anyone is welcome to stay with you, regardless of the circumstances. My family doesn’t understand restrictions such as roommates, privacy or a lack of spare beds. They don’t do hotels.
I don’t bother arguing anymore. I roll up my sleeves and start executing the “Condo Owner’s Survival Plan for When Family Visits.”
The first order of business is to convince my roommate to move out for a few days so no one has to sleep on the floor — especially me. This time all I had to do was describe my aunt and uncle’s symphony of snores and she quickly found somewhere else to stay.
I need to be able to sleep in order to keep up an enthusiastic demeanour about going up the CN Tower — again — with aunt Helen. I’ve been up there 17 times the past few years. The trick to surviving the weekend is to keep everyone busy with tourist attractions, walking around the city to the point of exhaustion and spend minimal time cooped up in my condo on top of each other.
After that, I begin a week-and-ahalf of deep cleaning. There can be no cutting corners when laser-eyed relatives descend. The condo needs to be sparkling. Baseboards need to be polished, couch cushions need to be vacuumed and rotated. The illusion of a perfectly neat and orderly space helps to ward off prying questions about when I’m going to fully grow up, get married and buy a house in the suburbs.
Eating in isn’t an option without space for an adequate dining-room table. So the next step is to narrow in on suitable restaurants for dinner. Although there is a plethora of dining establishments at my doorstep, I can’t just wing it. Making the right choice requires legwork.
I draf a list of questions and begin making calls. Do they take reservations or do we risk having to wait in line? Do they play music? How loud is it in there? Do they have TVs on the walls? Do they have chairs with back support? Is there a good enough amount of space between tables? Are there dairy-free options?
I can usually find one or two restaurants in the city by going with whatever hostess hasn’t hung up on me.
Then I head downstairs to my lobby to sweet-talk a security guard into giving me extra visitor parking passes. It’s crucial to everyone’s peace of mind that uncle John just leaves his car in the building’s underground garage for the duration of his stay. Out of sight, out of mind. That way we can reduce the number of discussions we’ll have about the cost of paying for parking in the city and why anyone would want to ride their bicycle down here.
So with all that in order I slow my pace on my way back to the condo and take a swig from the bottle of carrot juice. Not bad.
I need to remember to add it to the survival plan. Thanksgiving is right around the corner and company is coming. Alexandra Slaby is a television producer with CTV and has worked as a news producer with CBC. After work, she attempts to produce her own life by running marathons, travelling and spending too much money on cauliflower, kale and Pinot Grigio. Alexandra can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.