For one reason or another, our house goes through a complete reshuffle. Like a typhoon that blows the contents of one room to another, transformations occur with a whirlwind mess until everything is calm and settled once again.
Right now, we're still in the thick of it.
My rational brain is telling me it's all for the good. That our change room is better suited to be Jeff's studio where he can utilise the space for his creative endeavours and have his speakers and whatever all in one place instead of scattered everywhere around the house.
My fashionista brain is still trying to reconcile and accept the tiny closet my collection of clothes have been demoted to.
I don't have that many clothes.
It's just that the closet is old-fashionably small which, for a house that was built in the 1960's, must have been massive already by that generation's standards.
Jeff offered to install LED strips to give my wardrobe an aesthetic appeal and quite possibly, ease his guilt. An electronic peace offering I accepted because ten years from now, this issue wouldn't matter.
Ten years from now he better be a fucking millionaire.
How Raven cried when I told her the treasure hunt was cancelled this year on account of our house being messier than usual. Also, I wasn't exactly in the proper mindset to conceive a string of clues with words that rhyme. I just wanted to sulk like a spoiled little brat.
"Does that mean you don't love me?" Raven asked, tears in her eyes.
"Please, mama," she begged. "I'll be very sad if we don't do it this year!"
And so the tradition continued.
I pat myself on the back for sparing my daughter from an Easter-related emotional trauma. Saved me money in future therapy.
Money I could use to buy more clothes.
*Raven at 7 years old
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