Clean Clothes On The Floor

I've been sitting at my computer, on my bed, for about half an hour. I'm looking at the huge pile of clean clothes on my floor, in two IKEA bags- three loads worth. For the past 48 hours, I've been picking clothes to wear out of said pile, and leaving the remainder on the ground. In bags. Now, instead of putting them away, I'm ordering swimsuits on sale from Victoria's Secret. 

Hmm. 

I should put those clothes away. 

*Gets out credit card to place order*

Wife Swap

I just watched an episode of Wife Swap and I loved it. 

For those of you who may not know, I'm not a big reality TV person. By that I mean I detest it, for the most part. I can't seem to turn it off when it IS on, but since I no longer have cable, I haven't had a problem avoiding it. Now, however, I'm sick in a hotel and I don't know the Pittsburgh channel lineup. And, as usual, when I saw it, I couldn't turn it off. This had the added draw of involving two drastically different sets of teenage girls: ones who had no freedom, and ones who were wildly out of control. 

It was just a great story. The parents who were too lax and gave their kids too much freedom against the parents who essentially jailed their kids, complete with no friends and video surveillance. 

It made me wonder: How, as a parent, do you balance? You want your kids to respect you, but they need the freedom to make their own decisions, including their own mistakes. I don't know how I'll be able to do it. 

Mom

I don't think it's possible to love someone as much as I love my mother. I don't think the human condition can handle or express it. It's a love that I can't. Try. Words aren't enough.

In the Dark

The hunger in my stomach is intense. It crashes, collides, echoes throughout my torso. It's the moment you realize that you're up way too late as a kid, when staying up super late isn't something that happens very often. You can't sleep so you walk around the house, trying to be silent, but every noise seems to echo, even the tiny sounds of your bare feet on the kitchen tiles (which are ten degrees colder at night, you decide).

The house looks different at night. It, too, has gone to sleep. The house in Dallas had skylights in most rooms, and they looked like eyes. I felt exposed, somehow, by all of those dark windows. As a child I would sprint by the biggest windows, crossing my fingers (but not sure what for). I only let myself walk at a normal pace on carpeted hallways with no windows.

I still remember how the rooms looked at night. Not full, well-rounded descriptions, but bits and pieces remain, like an unfinished collage in my memory. The slanted windows of Dad's office. The laundry cabinet in my brother's and my bathroom (When I was really small, I was convinced it would come to life). I remember the walkway around the living room, tiled in a stone I should call my mom to get the name of, when it's a normal hour, when she's awake. Green painted petals on my light fixture.

Sidenote: What specifically designates a chandelier? What does it have to have to be called that, as opposed to a light fixture or a lamp? Will look up later.

I find it odd that only pieces stick in my mind. I also find it odd which pieces in particular stick. Why the green painted petal on my light fixture?

My eyelids are tired.

I am still on hummus detox. My body is not happy with the drastic shift in diet. By that, I mean my body is not pleased that all I've ingested since returning to this country are eggo whole wheat waffles. But damn, they're so good.

XO.

Thunderstorms were a different story.

I went to Israel?

I went to Israel. It was amazing. As Matt said, it's frustrating to sift through your mental rolodex of adjectives in attempt to describe it and always come up short. Although if I'm honest, I prefer to think of my vocabulary as a magnetic poetry. Does that make my brain equivalent to the door of my dishwasher? Probably.