Almost 3 years ago, we moved out to the country. We bought a roomy, old farm house that was built in 1911. It has 3 bedrooms, 4 if you count the little alcove upstairs. I thought it would be perfect for my daughter. She could have her own space and at 10 years old, might like having a spot far from her 2 older brothers.
We built it up and convinced her it would be a special place for her to nestle. I even bought her a lovely metal fire escape that would stay outside her window, hanging on the ivy-covered pine tree should she ever need it. We had an answer for every wrench she threw.
Being the social gal that she is, she didn’t enjoy being sequestered from the rest of the family….especially at bedtime, in the dark, all night long. Her room was the only upstairs living quarters in the house. She began sleeping on the couch almost immediately.
We tried to talk her into sleeping in her room. No. She would have none of it. Fire. What if there was a fire? What would she do? The lovely fire escape didn’t do much for her security.
I let her practice. She (and her brother) climbed down from the window and up again. Several times a day. They got really good at it and fast.
“No. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
After about two years of fire escape practice and couch sleeping, her oldest brother finally grew tired of the rigmarole and traded rooms with her. He’s the one that likes a little privacy…not to mention a couch minus a little sister at night.
Locke, my middle son, says I scared her with the fire escape. Maybe so.