Reverting . . .

What is it about returning to my childhood home that sends me straight back to infancy? Does anyone else experience this? I go to my parents' house for a relaxing weekend only to find myself acting like a fussy six year-old. You know, like dragging my feet when I have to do the dishes. And bickering with my brother. And leaving dirty dishes around like it's my job. It's horrible. I'm not really sure how to fix it but they say awareness of the problem is the first step. I can only hope.

It probably didn't help that my old room had been gutted and I was going through all my old belongings: spurs and cowboy hats from the horse show days, high school photos, a million during-class-passed-notes still intricately folded and placed in a cardboard box, fishing gear, Dr. Martens, and a box stuffed with things like yearbooks that you feel guilty about throwing away. My plan is to post some excerpts of these letters I found, I have a feeling they may be hilarious but I'm also worried they may be too embarrassing. I'll scope it out tonight.

My dad noticed this beautiful cedar box carved with pheasants sitting in the pile. It is a treasure chest in which I kept things like Cracker Jack toys and my piece of the Berlin Wall.
"Where did you get that?"
"Oh, you gave me that for Christmas when I was five. I remember being really disappointed because I wanted a My Little Pony Castle."
"And you still have it, and that My Little Pony Castle would be long gone."
This is true. There is a life lesson in this.