|My mom and me in Scotland.|
I suppose I could also say, "I am staying the week at the house I grew up in."
It's always a little weird being here... Everything is smaller than it used to be. The yard isn't as big as it used to be, the old tree-house isn't quite as far into the tree.
The one thing that doesn't fall into this category is the loft.
My mom's house has three floors... one is halfway basement, one is the main floor and the last, the top floor, is half loft. Last night, after I ran up the stairs and scolded my Albown soundly for trying to climb onto the loft rail I took a good look at the drop down into the living room below.
It was a lot further than I remembered. Which is saying something because when I was a child my brother and sister and I used to jump off that very rail and land on the couch below.
We were insane.
The mother in me cringes in horror at the idea of my own children trying such a thing, but my mother hadn't known that's what we were doing. We'd wait until she was off doing something, like taking clothes off the line, and then we'd climb the stairs and do our jumps.
Eventually we broke the couch.
Yes, I'm pretty sure I would lay down my woman's wrath if I ever caught my children doing that.
Especially after standing there looking down the ten odd feet there was between the two floors. I'm pretty sure the mother in me scolded the child in me. It's not often that I use my mom tone on myself.