While I was in the living room, A. rearranges all of the furniture in the house. She swaps H.’s bedroom with ours, puts everything into new and impossible configurations, and then when my back is turned, she does the same thing in the living room. I ask what motivated this and she explains that it was just time for a change. The closets overflow with clothing that I don’t recognize. It’s like a thrift store exploded, oddly colored (and discolored) clothes that have been out of fashion for years — nothing I’ve ever seen A. wear. I mention that if it’s time for a change, perhaps we should purge the closets as well. So out come the trash bags.