Matt and I went in with my dad and step-mom (that’s Zadie and Nana to Simon) for Simon’s birthday present this year and got him a playhouse. My thought was that he could use it outside for another month or so, and then we could rebuild it in our basement once winter set in. I thought he would enjoy having a little house to his scale, and I assumed his little friends would like it as well.
We may have been slightly too successful for our own good. Simon does not like his house, he loves it. As do his little friends. In fact, they all like it a bit too much for their own good… and mine. Simon loves the house so much that he talks about it and wants to be in it nearly every waking hour. His friends made a bee-line to it at his party Sunday afternoon, too. Alas, Simon loves it in a rather proprietary way. He did not want to share it with Christopher, Sophie, or Leah. He only barely condescended to play in it while they were gleefully coming and going.
He didn’t want to leave it to eat cake. He didn’t leave it to open presents. (We opened half last night; the other half are still on our dining room table.) And yesterday, the minute we pulled up the driveway from school, Simon started talking about his “howse” and pointed meaningfully towards the back yard. When I tried to join him inside, I thought he’d think that was a great game. He didn’t. He shook his head vigorously and indicated I was to stay outside. His meaning was clear: It is his house.
I’m really hoping he’ll let someone else in at some point. We did buy a house big enough for several kids, after all. Also, if he continues to spend all his time alone in a small house in our back yard, I’m going to worry that he’s setting himself up for a career as a hermit. And “man of the hermitage” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.