First let me add the back story. Our daughter was coming home from college and we had to get her little brother moved out of her room and back in the big bedroom he shares with his brother. They are 14 and 16. After the 14-year-old’s paraphernalia was removed, I dusted, vacuumed and made her bed for her.
As I was working I heard my eldest son trying to talk his brother into moving into the loft for the summer. It went something like this: “It will be so cool!” “You will love it!” “We’ll move the bookshelves and it will be private!” “I will help you!” “Let’s go ask mom.” The 14 year-old wasn’t saying much as he moved his stuff back down the hall. They came. They begged. I am still on narcotics from the car accident two months ago. I am in no state of mind to be making life-altering decisions…. like giving up the homeschool/sewing loft at 11 p.m. thankyouverymuch. I told them I didn’t care. And I didn’t. And I went to bed.
Fast forward two and a half hours to a metal wheel sound waking me up in the dark of the night. Yes, it was 1:30 a.m. I stared at the ceiling and told my husband, “This is all my fault. That noise…. it’s a pulley. I taught him how to use pulleys about 7 years ago.” We got out of bed to witness THIS:
Our 16-year-old son had made himself a castle… in the loft…. way past midnight… with a drawbridge (run with a pulley that hung from a bike hook screwed into the ceiling) …. and crenals and merlons cut from cardboard. It WAS SO COOL that he decided to move in himself. I shook my head in dismay and confessed to my husband that I also taught him about castles…. and crenals and merlons. I asked my creative son what we should call him now. Obviously he replied, “King Austin!” Of course. Silly me.
The next morning, I questioned how long he planned to live in his castle. He looked at me with hopeful eyes and answered with a question, “All summer??????” Those were his big blue puppy dog eyes staring at me. Fine. Whatever. “You will be patching the hole in the ceiling in August.” “O.k., thanks, mom.”
This could have been worse, I told myself as I climbed back into bed. I’ve also taught him about catapults, guillotines, war trenches and fur trappers. Oh, it could have been WAY worse.
My Sister's Jar 