Journal - 07/11/2012

Why am I so fucking over-stoked and so fucking excited about building my kids a playhouse?

I can’t seem to shut up about it!

I was trying to figure out why I have such an obsessive amount of pep toward this project at 4:00 this morning when I was still awake sketching some more preliminary exterior blueprints of it; and then again from 9:00 this morning through 12:00 noon while I was drawing diagrams of the wall frames, floor base, roof, etc.

I finally figured it out though.

Well for one, I tend to get very wrapped up and involved in my kids’ interests, and just as elated as them when it comes to something they are looking forward to with eager anticipation.

Then I had a little flashback moment as my eyes wandered from the rough drafts and diagrams on my computer screen….

I remembered all the times that I had lived with my father during my childhood, and all the disappointments I experienced, and all the loneliness and nothingness I felt increasingly over the years, during my time spent there.

My dad would always start with, “Sweetie, we ought to build a tree house for you!” or, “Girly how would you like to put a playhouse in the yard?” We would talk in length and detail about what kind of tree house we would build, or where we would put it, and how it would be designed, and how we could “engineer” the process of building it. I loved flipping through his collection of architecture books, even from an early age. I loved dreaming up my dream castle; my fairy house; my tree house; my magical fortress hidden in the trees. As soon as I had the idea in my head that we were going to create and build my very own “sanctuary,” it was all I ever thought about. Filling countless notebooks and drawing pads with sketches of my ideas and visions for this project, imagining what it would be like when it was completed, picturing spending warm summer nights camping outside in a place of my very own – it consumed me.

My dad and I brainstormed all kinds of ideas and designs together – turrets, balconies, towers, a slide, swings, a drawbridge door, a loft, windows with flowerboxes, a home-made moat; all kinds of girly storybook fairytale princess dream playhouses! I envisioned myself sitting in my castle, peering at my kingdom through my window as the sun began its ascent at dawn. I could hear the frogs and crickets and birds. I could smell the cool morning dew on the leaves and the grass. I would sit there quietly peeking out my window at the faeries zipping around my flower garden, reclining on morning glory petals, eating milk and honey out of little seashells – and then as the midnight blue sky would begin to brighten, one by one, the faeries would zip off, darting into the forest and through the branches and leaves, until they were just tiny specks far off that I would hope to see the next morning.

Anyway, we never built a playhouse. I never got to see my coveted tree house, castle, kingdom, fortress turn into a material reality. All it ever was was a repeated broken promise, a disappointment, a “never-gonna-happen,” and something that I would eventually forget about, but remember and dissect the significance of it in the future.

I have wondered why my dad never built that with me, year after year….

I have amused the idea that maybe he is bipolar, and on his fanatically happy and obsessively ambitious benders he would make all kinds of promises that he would never keep.

Maybe he just didn’t believe in himself, or in his abilities. Maybe he is just the kind of person that cares one minute and not the next, whether or not he has a mental disorder.

We lived at so many different addresses in so many different towns and counties throughout Vermont and Maine; I don't think I could possibly name all the towns we have wandered, let alone how many dumps or rooms-for-rent we have inhabited....

Of course, I have outgrown the obsessive fantasy of having my own dream fairytale kingdom castle playhouse anymore. But since having my own kids to make memories with and to devote everything I have to give to – my own childhood memories act as a guideline in my mind of all the things I will never ever do to disappoint, neglect, hurt, or alienate my children.

I will always follow through on promises I make to my children, pinky promises or not. I will never break my word, my promises, or my plans with them. I will never lose my temper with them, although I may at times feel frustrated, I will always be patient and loving and understanding. These memories of my childhood are my eyes to the world that children see, and the things that children want and need most of all, which is not any material possession.

So why am I so thrilled and motivated when it comes to this project of building a playhouse for my kids? I think I am proud of myself and what I am capable of. I will not repeat the same mistakes of the past with my children. I am capable of keeping my commitments to my children. I am following through on something I have always wanted to do, that my children will enjoy, and that will give them memories to cherish in years to come. I am putting all my free time, and all the effort and energy I can eke up into it. I am proud of all of this, and I am looking forward eagerly to my children being proud of their dream playhouse, and proud of me for committing to doing it.