They have a name for the club (which they will not reveal), a leadership (the eldest is the Big Boss), rules (which include no sleeping at club meetings), a password (stolen straight out of one of the Secret Seven adventures) and apparently a song (Firework by Katy Perry). They plan events like dance parties on Christmas Day (obviously without consulting any of their parents) and they have a clubhouse; a little gazebo at the base of our flats. On behalf of the club, Jordan petitioned for a tree house. We told her that if they wanted a tree house, they needed to find a tree first.
We toyed with the idea of buying a cardboard house for them from Groupon and making them split the cost with us. That way, they could paint it and decorate it as they wanted to.
Then, two days ago, walking past the recycle bin, I see movers deposit a box that could fit Packrat, myself and JED standing up in it. It used to contain one of those luxury massage chairs. Now, it was just empty and I thought that rather than spend money buying them a box, this box was much bigger. The only challenge was hauling it up to our flat.
Our helper yanked while I shoved, up 2 flights of stairs and me plastered against the lift wall with the box towering in front of me and blocking me entirely.
I told JED that I looked like an idiot hauling the box up when movers had so conveniently left it by the bin for recycling. But I also told them that that would be their new club house.
JED and associated members of the club spent two days decorating it and making it their own. I helped by cutting windows and doors for them.
Then, they painted, coloured and drew. They 'built' furniture out of the padding and cardboard beams that were in the box. There was a table, there were pillars and there was a roof awning.
|Evan, writing the rules of the club on the front wall.|
|Jordan putting on the final flourishes to her mural on the back wall.|
|Painting is hard work. Tea break in the club house.|
|Welcoming messages and warnings, side by side.|
|The club house. Fits five children with room to spare.|
Every free moment they get, our apartment empties and quiets down because they are all doing something in their clubhouse.
We thought it was all destroyed yesterday when the cleaners came round to jetspray the corridor. But the kind cleaner had laid their 'cardboard' pillars on the ground and raised their clubhouse onto them, thus rescuing it from the great flood.
We'll see how long this clubhouse lasts then I'll be looking like an idiot again as I haul it back down to the recycle bin though by then, the box would have been 'upcycled', from a box to a club house of sorts!