Rewind

So.  I feel like I have become that typical stereotype.  I am living with my mom.  Again.  Here I am laying in the same bedroom that I spent my childhood in.  Where I broke up with by first boyfriend over the phone.  This is where I celebrated my fifth birthday.  This is the house where I walked from to go to school.  I'm back here.  This time, with my family.  Here we all are, crammed into the same bedroom that I had nightmares about monsters in.  Sleeping in a bed in the exact same spot where, when I was 8, I swore I saw Superman out my bedroom window.
After moving out when I was 18 because I knew everything and had a life plan that was sure not to fail I never thought that I would end up right back here.  With my Barbie dollhouse right back where it was when I got it for Christmas when I was 7.  I'm not sure what's more humiliating.  The fact that I need my mommy to help me take care of my children or the fact that the couch that we paid exactly $0 for is sitting in a storage unit, unused.  I guess the bonus to this is that I have figured out exactly how much stuff we really need to get buy.
Side note:  I will be busy selling most of my stuff on the thrifty local Facebook yard sale group.