We Plan a Backyard ADU for the In Laws and Immediately Need More Space
It starts with my wife saying, “What if we built a little place in the backyard for Mum and Dad?”
I say, “That could work.”
This is my first mistake. Apparently, “could work” means I have approved a construction project, volunteered my lawn, and agreed to spend the rest of my life wearing proper trousers before opening the curtains.
We are discussing building an accessory dwelling unit, or ADU. A separate little home. Their own kitchen. Their own bathroom. Close enough to help, with enough space for everyone to stay independent.
On paper, lovely.
Unfortunately, our family does not live on paper.
The Word Separate Is Doing a Lot of Work
“They’d have their own place,” she says.
“Would they knock?”
“Of course.”
“Your mother currently knocks while opening the door. It’s more of a sound effect.”
She folds her arms. We have now entered the part of the planning process where every question is apparently a statement about how much I hate her parents.
I don’t hate her parents.
Her dad is a decent bloke. He lends me tools, then stands beside me explaining how I’m using them wrong. Her mum brings food, which is wonderful, until she begins identifying everything in our fridge that disappoints her.
I like them. I also like the interval between visits.
Apparently I Am the Only One Losing a Backyard
My wife sees a safe, comfortable home for her parents.
I see the spot where I drink a beer without receiving a performance review.
Both are valid visions.
We start looking at backyard ADU designs, and suddenly the conversation has floor plans. Windows. A porch.
Her dad wants a workshop.
Her mum wants room for a dining table that seats eight.
I thought we were discussing somewhere for two people to live. We appear to be developing a second venue for Christmas.
“Where will their guests park?” I ask.
“On the driveway.”
“Our driveway?”
There is a pause.
Apparently, I have asked another hateful question.
The Municipality Has Rules and We Have Vibes
I start reading Norfolk County’s additional residential dwelling unit guide. It covers zoning, building permits, and things such as parking and septic locations.
Finally. Someone else who wants answers before we order windows.
My wife thinks I’m looking for reasons to stop the project.
I think we should establish whether the property can accommodate another home before her mother buys curtains.
Too late.
She has samples.
Then we discuss money.
Who pays to build it? Who pays the ongoing bills? What happens if somebody wants to move? Who shovels the path?
Her dad says he’ll handle the snow.
This is generous, except part of the reason for the move is that he shouldn’t have to handle the snow.
We have designed a support arrangement in which the person receiving support is maintaining the infrastructure.
Then She Asks About My Mother
“What if it was your mum?”
And there it is. The nuclear option, deployed between a kitchen sketch and a discussion about drainage.
I say I would have the same concerns.
She says I wouldn’t.
I say my mother would knock.
She laughs for an upsettingly long time.
Fair enough.
The fight stops being about an ADU. Now it’s about who gets help, whose parents are welcome, and whether asking for privacy makes you selfish.
She is worried about her parents getting older.
I’m worried about becoming the only person on the property who has to book time alone.
Neither concern disappears because we pick attractive siding.
We Haven’t Built Anything and Everyone Is Exhausted
An ADU could actually be a good idea.
But we need to agree on money, visits, privacy, chores, and what helping each other means before we put a second house behind the first one.
Two front doors won’t settle an argument nobody wants to have.
My wife says we should keep talking.
I agree.
Her mum has started a group chat called “Our Backyard Home.”
I have muted it.
