Sweats for Christmas, but make it fashion. Merry Christmas Eve! I’m writing this in bed from my “childhood” home, a setting (and notion) that would garner instant sentimentality points if it weren’t so misleading. I am very much so spending Christmas at my parent’s house, but the truth is, it’s only been two years since I moved out… a six-minute drive away. I haven’t earned the right to pull the card of romanticized childhood just yet. Still, few things are more idyllic than returning to the house you grew up in. I haven’t ventured far but I can’t help but feel like a stranger in what was once my room: most of my things are gone and I’m unpacking my overnight bag as if I were staying at a hotel—gingerly placing toiletries or clothes in the gaping spaces where my most beloved stuff once were, but no longer are—while familiarizing myself with the lavender walls once more. The bedspread is mismatched (borrowed from the guest bedroom to accommodate my one-night stay) but the moment I crawl into bed, there’s an undeniable return of warmth and déjà vu. For years I sat in this exact spot—both strategic and comfortable in setup—to stalk…