I spent all yesterday at my parents' house. We had this deal where I would dedicate an entire day to cleaning out my closet in my old room, and they wouldn't randomly give away my old baseball cards to St. Vincent de Paul.
I like going to my parents' house because even though it's familiar, it's very different from the way it was when I lived there. Since I moved out, they've been making the place over, one room at a time. We're talking extreme stuff, like knocking down walls. So when I'm there, it feels just a little bit like being in a stranger's house where you get to raid the fridge.
The current project is the master bathroom, which is completely gutted. There's just plywood, drywall and a few pipes sticking out of the floor. I think the marble ledge for the big shower is coming in a couple weeks.
And from the sounds of things, my room is next.
My parents had always thought the closet was simply STUFFED with my clothes and didn't believe me when I pointed out that at least half of those things were castoffs from various other family members. So when my mom saw the tiny pile of "give away," the other tiny pile of "store," and the three dresses I took home with me ... well, she was just SHOCKED.
Once when she was checking up on my progress, my mom started asking what I was going to do with the stuff in my dresser. And the posters on the walls. And the books - three cases' worth. And the stuff that was already in the attic - did I want to keep all those clothes? Did I even know I had clothes in the attic? Because I do - the attic is just STUFFED with my old clothes.
Looks like I'll be spending another Sunday in Milford soon.