The structure dedicated to allowing my boy’s creativity to blossom has now become mine. When Brian boldly crafted the vision, I balked. To be honest, I felt that the original plans resembled an addition instead of a modest playhouse. I nixed the idea of cable because that wouldn’t allow them to build on their own childlike curiosity. It didn’t need heated floors because, well, it’s a playhouse and I don’t even have heated floors in my own home. Somehow the structure with its covered porch and quaint replacement windows outgrew my boys.
Long before I was writing, the structure sat vacant until I decided it would be a satisfactory office. Decorated with a clunky desk, I layered it with great intentions. Those intentions resided there where they grew lonely and tired. On occasion, when I was moved to set foot into my coveted oasis, I didn’t feel inspired. Nothing about the space spoke to me. Then one breezy June day a couple of years ago, I was nudged to clear out the bulky desk along with the empty intentions and repainted it. I brought in cozy chairs that had been banished to the basement. Added some personal items like a stylish lamp, photographs, and an area rug that gave it a cozy, cottage feel. There is a screen door that has a latch that rattles when it closes. The large Oak tree shades the structure from the harshness of the sun. When I am in there, I feel like I have been transported into a different landscape. In this haven, I can create, read, meditate, and, on occasion, I have been known to enjoy a glass of wine while catching up with a friend. When I walk into this space, it feels like a warm embrace. This little playhouse built to inspire my boys ended up doing the same thing for me.