So the other day my youngest and I were stuck home alone. I can't remember where everyone else was, but I'm sure they were having more fun than we were. "What should we do?" my kid asked. I had been wondering the same since the day I realized it would be just me and him for an entire Saturday. It's been a long time since I've had only one kid to entertain, but these days it's happening more often. And while in my younger years I often thought that I would lose my mind if another baby took up residence in my womb, it's been quite handy to have given my little critters playmates in the form of siblings. Instead of me having to play Hot Wheels with my son for hours on end, he could coerce his little brother to play with him instead. 

But here's the problem. When you have your first couple of babies less than two years apart and then take a breather for three years, the caboose kid gets left out of quite a few things. Plus, when you have all boys, they are not interested in mothering the baby as I'm told girls are, so you get no help, only thinly veiled resentment. Through the years I've impressed many people with my excellent reflexes, but I have to be honest. The only reason I can catch things whizzing by or at me is because of how often I had to dodge toys my toddlers launched at my head while I was breastfeeding their baby brother. 

The caboose kid doesn't always realize he's getting the shaft, though. And maybe that's because he doesn't see it that way. With his brothers out of the picture, he gets time alone with me, and sometimes with his dad, too. Sure, he may not be invited to go see Avatar, but at least he gets my full attention for three hours. And for now, that seems to be working for him. And for me too. While the older kids ease into the cynicism that comes with old age, the youngest still enjoys going for nature walks, telling knock-knock jokes, and sleeping with stuffed animals.

So what to do on a Saturday with an eight-year-old? Why, build a tent, of course. In your front room. 

As a kid, I would spend many happy hours making forts by draping blankets over the pool table. That stopped when we moved to an apartment and didn't have room for a pool table anymore. But I never quite got over the delicious feeling of mystery as I crept into my blanket cave and disappeared into the darkness, the muffled sound of the television filling the silence with a warm familiarity. In later years, I would hide out in my closet, which was not as good as a fort, but still served its purpose. I could read without disruption, escape my family without being too far from them, and sometimes pretend that I was camping without having to deal with bugs. 

But we don't have a pool table, and our closets are full with other things. We do, however, have thin rope and an old duvet cover, all of the necessary items for tent-making. 

With Jake supervising, I strung the rope between a window frame and a doorway. Then I ripped the duvet cover in strategic places, threw it over the rope and voila! Jake had himself a tent. He dragged the couch pillows inside, rigged up a front and back door with old sheets and clothespins, found himself a good book, and disappeared. 

"Can I sleep in here?" he asked me that night. I said sure, it'd be like camping. Only warmer, and with less bugs. And so, for the next week, this is where my son lived. He dragged all of his stuffed animals inside. He asked for a small lamp and his alarm clock, too. Many nights I would pass the tent on my way downstairs and see the shadow of his little body crouched over a book. In the morning, he'd stagger out with wild hair and sleepy eyes, smiling to himself for no particular reason. He was one happy camper, much happier than the time we all crammed into a four man tent and spent seven miserable hours laying in the dirt on sloped ground. But that's another story best left untold.  

After awhile, I forgot the tent was there. It had become so much a part of the room that my eyes failed to see it as an imposition. But then, we had some visitors, and when I led them upstairs I realized there was nowhere for them to sit. Two chairs anchored the tent and the couch cushions had become Jake's bed. Clearly, the tent was in the way. And so I finally took it down. 

Yet although it's tucked away for now, the tent is not forgotten. Or at least its purpose is not forgotten. As I sit here writing, I've thought about Jake's closet. There just might be a spot big enough for a pillow, a small lamp and an eight-year-old. And if I move a couple boxes, there might be enough room for me, too. 

Comments

[Susan Hayward]

Laura, You can borrow my closet anytime. Just warn me first.

[LauraB.]

I remember when I shared an apartment in my early 20's, the closet was my favorite place to be when I was reading - especially my scriptures. It felt like I was escaping to somewhere adventurous, leaving all of my cares and worries behind. I miss that closet.