So, it has been a long time since I haven’t lived with roommates of one kind or another.

Even before my leg-breaking car accident I’d moved back in with my parents… as so many in my generation have been forced to do. My boyfriend lives with his roommate, and between him and my father keeping either of the two kitchens clean is nearly impossible.

That’s not to say I’m a stickler for cleanliness, but when it’s not me making the mess I can’t help but feel a little extra miffed.

I mean grease on a stove is not something you’re going to get away from, but clutter is just in the way.

My father is particularly bad about it. I mean, for him counter space is just storage for anything he doesn’t want to find a place for at this particular moment. Boxes, food, tools all of it just in the way and not going anywhere anytime soon.

The biggest problem that causes is causing everyone but him to feel like they aren’t really welcome in the kitchen. I mean, if that’s his goal then it actually works really well. Since moving back in with them I’ve cooked maybe a dozen meals total in the kitchen I grew up in.

And at Doug’s house, well it’s a whole different story. Having two men, three when I’m there, living in a house can have challenges of its own. Thankfully the boyfriend and I are not the type to cause too much of a disturbance. We make a bit of a mess like anyone else, but we’re pretty good about keeping things tidy.

His roommate, Jeff, is a great guy. He’s funny, kind and thoughtful in a lot of ways. However, he also has a tendency to leave things until later. Often we show up at his place to find a counter of dishes, a table covered in empty seltzer cans and a trash that’s needed to be emptied for two days.

Doug, however, is not like that at all. I often find myself embarrassed by my own cleaning standards, because he is such a tidy guy.

While the man can cook quite well, he mainly leaves the kitchen to me. Yes, this may be the result of me being a total control freak once I’ve entered a room with a stove, but I’m not that bad about it that someone else can’t share the space with me.

No, I think there’s a different reason he steps back in the kitchen. He knows I love to cook. More so, he knows I love to feed people. If my legs were back in working order I may well have sought out a job in a kitchen by now… even if I do make a better server than cook.

Despite the fact that I mainly do the cooking in our relationship, I can’t do nearly as much as I’d like to due to our current situation of living between two households. Half the week we’re at my place, the other half we’re at his.

At one, mine, the kitchen counters are so covered in things it’s nearly impossible to use them without an hour of reorganizing, at his it’s just a bit messy.

Let’s be honest, you can only clean up after someone else's mess so often before you don’t’ even want to touch it.

Recently we’ve been trying to figure out our finances in the hope of getting a place together. It’s not going great, but we’re trying. Rent keeps going up and up and no matter what we do it just seems harder and harder to find a place in both our price ranges.

That doesn’t stop us from looking, or hoping to finally get our life together moving. I mean we’ve been together almost four years now.

He’s been with me through a car accident. I love him despite his grumpiness. We’re both ready for that next step, but it’s been hard to make it happen.

Difficult or not, we’re both excited for our own place and our own kitchen. Me so that I can keep all my nice kitchen gear safe, tidy and organized. Him for the idea of home cooked meals more often than takeout.

I’m not sure when it will come to be, but with my parents finally making their move to Florida in a few months I feel like we need to get moving on moving.