You can’t beat a good fort.
It was still early in the morning and I was already involved in a running battle with Daughter Number Four. She kept sneaking upstairs and – very quietly – I kept calling her back down again. Herself was still asleep, as were Daughter Number One and Granddaughter Number One: with us as temporary refugees from Culture Night.
Don’t misunderstand that. Daughter Number One is a big fan of culture. (Granddaughter Number One is yet to express an opinion). It’s just that their apartment is in the centre of town, and all that culture can get a bit noisy. It can, occasionally, result in pools of vomit outside their front door.
Arguably, Daughter Number Four’s expeditions up the stairs were also motivated by an interest in culture: specifically, the sub-category of architecture that covers fort-building. Daughter Number Four loves a fort. She has built on several locations around the house, but the upstairs landing is prime real estate.
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Like most architects, Daughter Number Four likes to do a lot of planning; and she was insistent that the Happy Meals be consumed in the fort
Because of the availability of door knobs, drawers, various other anchor points and the use of some precariously balanced books, Daughter Number Four can here fully express her architectural vision: two rugs suspended across the hallway. The interior is fitted out with pillows she unscrupulously robs from other people’s beds, some teddys and a Peppa Pig deck chair. It looks rather like a Bedouin tent. She can spend hours in there.
There are some right-of-way issues. The fort blocks off the landing, which, on this morning, would have left Daughter Number One and Granddaughter Number One marooned in their bedroom. It took a few attempts to explain this to Daughter Number Four, but she eventually agreed to delay construction.
Her early morning enthusiasm was due to this being a Saturday. After the swimming/dancing/kung fu lessons, a friend was to be collected. They would swing by McDonald’s, then come back to our house for a play date.
Like most architects, Daughter Number Four likes to do a lot of planning; and she was insistent that the Happy Meals be consumed in the fort. It would, she maintained, make the food super-delicious.
[ Seán Moncrieff: A young man stood in front of me. He wanted to have a fightOpens in new window ]
[ Seán Moncrieff: I’m more boring in person than some people expectOpens in new window ]
Whether this was the case or not, I can’t tell you. Daughter Number Four didn’t say: because whatever happens in the fort, stays in the fort. It’s a no-parent zone.
Her urge to create a pretend home within the perfectly good home she already has is an intriguing one. Obviously, it helps her develop all sorts of creative and problem-solving skills, but when she disappears into it, it is also a form of escape: a sort of Narnia that she has created, but just as importantly, is able to control. During the pandemic, there was a lot of fort-building. When she and her friend crawled in there to eat their food, they could have been anywhere. Though I suspect France. She mentions France a lot.
Since the arrival of Granddaughter Number One, I keep thinking about the humdrum aspects of time
Then again, adults do something similar. We try to answer our children’s questions with something approximating authority, while stuffing back the dark knowledge of just how little control we have over our lives. Adulthood involves purposefully ignoring it. You wouldn’t be able to get up in the morning otherwise.
Instead, you focus on what you can control, and take those small wins. After dropping Daughter Number One and Granddaughter Number One back to their thankfully puke-free front door, I headed home, but swung by Woodies on the way. I had to get some paint stripper and a countersunk drill bit. I could tell you why, but I want to keep you awake before the end of this article.
Since the arrival of Granddaughter Number One, I keep thinking about the humdrum aspects of time. When did I first listen to that record? When did I first get on the Dart? How old are those shoes? I wondered when I first visited this Woodies, and realised that I’d been going there for decades. I’ve been building forts for most of my life.