On the weekend I turned 44. I like how that sounds as it runs off my tongue. I like the feeling of getting older. It wears well with me.
I was well celebrated on the day, hosting a tent cubby party at my home, open house, no stress, bring something to share, enjoy, laugh yourself silly. People seemed to respond to the fun, frivolity and escapism that building a tent in my lounge room created. My 12-year-old daughter and my husband built it secretly over giggles the night before, and I and visitors decorated it on the day.
The idea came from a few movies I’d seen. The Holiday, where the widower Dad built his girls this great princessey palace to go to when they wanted to think of their mum, and Lemony Snicket when the children were needing to feel safe and think of family. I loved the idea of this little safe, happy space, transformed from whatever reality you needed a rest from. It is similar to the concept of the Wendy house in J. Barrie’s Peter Pan. A place of restoration, regrouping and recovering. We could all do with a bit of that.
My day was extra lovely, but even better, was the day after, when the cubby remained and everyone had gone, to school, to work, to life. While my daughter was sleeping I enjoyed a couple of hours to myself and it was the cheapest form of therapy I’ve had in some time. Enchanting.
I shed my stale skin and knew what next steps I needed to take… and today I took quite a few of them.
We all need to go to the Wendy House sometime.