I live with my mother, daughter, and granddaughter. 4 generations under one roof can get crowded, but it's special.

• I live with my mother, husband, daughter, and granddaughter in one crowded, chaotic house.
• It's difficult to adhere to everyone's dietary needs and keep the house clean.

I never expected to be living under one roof with four generations. My middle-class upbringing taught me that children grow up and move out of their homes to attend college, find jobs, and start lives of their own.

But here I am living with my 98-year-old mother, who has dementia; my husband, who uses a wheelchair; my 40-something daughter and her 20-year-old daughter; and two dogs.

The pandemic and various other circumstances transformed our quiet home into one bustling with the confusion of a great-grandmother, the angst of a teenager robbed of a traditional senior year, and a young woman trying to make peace with her past life.

The house can certainly feel crowded

Though we have four bedrooms, the square footage is small. The washing machine labors like an old man walking uphill. The living-room chair is a holding tank for unfolded laundry. There's frequently a shoe in search of its mate under the kitchen table or in front of a doorway.

The kitchen sink and countertops look like the inside of my mind; there's always way too much going on. I'm constantly cleaning up sticky food left in bowls, wiping up spills caused by my mom, closing bags of chips, tossing out half-full water bottles, sweeping, washing, and drying.

Food is our biggest struggle in the house

To add to the confusion, everyone's on a different eating schedule, and several relatives have special dietary needs.

My husband, who has diabetes, eats an early breakfast. When my mom gets up, confused about what time it is, she eats her first meal while my husband's eating lunch. My husband likes to eat an early dinner, at about 4 PM. At this time, my mom's eating her second meal.

My daughter seems to always be eating, while my granddaughter needs a gluten-free diet. She often takes her food back into the quiet of her bedroom, where she works on editing social-media videos, many of which feature our family.

Meeting everyone's needs is challenging. It takes a lot of patience, which, fortunately, I have in abundance. We need a second refrigerator, but, unfortunately, we don't own one. Plus, no one seems to follow the rule of adding to our grocery list when they eat the last cookie or finish the coffee ice cream.

I've started making soups, stews, and chili — meals that can be served for several days, whenever someone's hungry. It's not uncommon to find a container of something qualifying as a science experiment in the back corners of the fridge.

Cleaning has become my therapy

When my anxiety bubbles to the surface, I clean. I kill the dirt and grime. I scrub away the unwanted smells.

While I clean, I create a mental list outlining a future for each of my relatives.

For my daughter, I'm going to give her a place of her own, where her children can visit. It will be full of light and happiness — and lots of plants.

For my mom, I'd like to give her a quiet house in which to live out the twilight of her life. It will be a place where the family gathers for a Sunday dinner, reliving the days of my youth.

For my granddaughter, I see her making a name for herself while also making a difference. With her sharp mind and wit, she'll play an important role in the future of our country. She may even write a book about how she survived the pandemic, or perhaps a sitcom about our crazy family life. Because it does get crazy, with iPhones ringing, various songs playing throughout the house at the same time, and my mother constantly calling out my name.

But there's something special about having this time together

When we all gather for a movie or a special meal, I'm overcome with peace and gratitude.

I know my husband and I will survive this crowded house. When everyone has moved out — or, in my mom's case, gone to join my father — we may even miss the noise. I'll probably still hear footsteps echo through the hallway, laughter booming from the empty back rooms, and the crunch of a walker on the tile floor.

In the quiet of the night, we'll talk about back then, longing for the loud, crowded days when the house was filled with people we love.