Fucking Forts

The wonder childhood is truly exhausting, and at times remarkably messy.  Of course you want to honor your kid’s imagination, and cultivate their creativity – yet then you are predominantly responsible for cleaning up their “inspiration.”  Yeah you can make them “help,” but the ratio of comparable productivity is about 187:1.

Recently The Munch has gotten really interested in building forts.  As much as I know the shit show I am in for when she is determined to erect one, the nostalgia of this concept overwhelms my rational mind.  I distinctly remember the satisfaction of crawling into a pillow fort when I was young, and that sensation of feeling complete in my secret den.  It is this magical moment where you are the master of your own enchanted cavern, and the outside world becomes a distant reminiscence of illusive memories.

Even though I can relate to the intense satisfaction of crawling into a fort, they fucking suck so hard.  You have to take apart and move furniture, and then find every blanket in the house to be used as “walls.”  Then I get insanely into the complexity of the structure, and The Munch and I argue about construction strategies.  Hey, even if she is going to get me to help, I am going to have a fucking opinion about it okay?!

forts-blog-(i)