When I first started painting my nails,
it used to remind me that I was only a little girl.
I would sit on our kitchen floor at night,
where my mom spent most of her time.
I wondered if that kitchen was like her doll house.
So many possibilities to organize things; by color, size and shape etc.
Everything waiting patiently behind closed doors, waiting for that peek-a-boo.
It would be really easy to think that everything
-your kids, your marriage, your alarm clock that wakes you up so you can make breakfast for your husband before he goes to work-is all fake.
There was this huge wooden case with glass doors
where my mom put her teacups she collected.
It might as well be called a sarcophagus.
