From my parents' home, with love.

In a comic essay posted online, there was a scene where a couple raising children was arguing.

When the protagonists put their respective ideals of living into words, it becomes clear that both the husband and wife want exactly the same thing from each other.

1. When I come home tired from work, the bath is already drawn and dinner is ready.
2. While I am taking a long, relaxing bath, the children have already been fed and put to bed.
3. While I am lounging on my phone after dinner, the room and kitchen have all been cleaned up.

In other words, they were both expecting a life as if they were at their parents' home where their parents do everything for them!
...That was the punchline.

I don't quite get this punchline.
That's because I never had the experience of relaxing at my parents' home.

Since my parents passed away early, I never got to experience the luxury of visiting home and spending time relaxing.

In the first place, I don't even know how one is supposed to relax at their parents' home, or what that atmosphere feels like.
Even while my parents were alive, I was always acting like a guest, being overly considerate and bustling about.

Now that my children have left home, I have taken on the role of their parents' home.

The protagonists of the comic essay who dreamed of a life as if they were at their parents' home where their parents do everything for them.
I am reading it again from the beginning.

A kotatsu and a television. Baseball or sumo wrestling broadcasts left on.
A dining table lined with many small dishes, steaming hot.
A clean bathtub and toilet, and a mirror that is old but clear.
Being called out to, 'If you have laundry, bring it out,' and coming out of the room with messy hair, scratching my belly—.

I see.
parents' home—I'm starting to understand what that is.
...Parents' home is, to put it mildly, the best!

And so, this spring break, my child came home, saying, 'I want to take it easy for a while.'

Back when they left, slamming the door and listing all their grievances, I couldn't even imagine them coming back like this.

Once the plans were set, I immediately aired out their room, washed the curtains, and cleaned more thoroughly than usual.

During their stay, I enthusiastically chose seasonal ingredients and cooked with care.
I sealed away the usual instant foods and served one after another the favorite dishes they loved as a child.

My child doesn't look particularly happy, nor does our conversation get especially lively.

They just eat well, sleep well, watch the WBC on TV, and cheer for Shohei Ohtani's performance.

And just like that, their complexion looked a little better and their body seemed a little lighter than when they arrived.

On the morning of their departure, my child asked if they could leave some loungewear and daily necessities here.
Since they'll be coming back again anyway.

Sure. Of course.
Come back anytime.
Because this is your parents' home.

As I said that to my child, I realized that this was what I had wanted to be told myself.

I see.
So this is what a parents' home feels like.

To those who have a warm parents' home.
To those who have unfortunately lost it.
To those who never had one to begin with.

To everyone.
From my parents' home, with love.