The fairy house was finally complete. It was a magnum opus when it came to projects-done-with-small-children. We started with grand plans; we had watched “TinkerBell and the Great Fairy Rescue”, and had a vision. Unfortunately, the visions of young granddaughters and their ‘just a little bit old’ grandmother were not the same.
I knew immediately, after the dog-poop complication (refer to “Clap! Clap your hands!”), whatever aspirations I had of a cute fairy-style villa were just not going to happen. The bits of paper on the floor confirmed that conclusion. The fairy house was put aside for about two weeks, while I recovered from a bad cold, and deeply held aversion to the memory of the dog do-do. When I put the house back on the kitchen table, it was with a determination that was akin to completing a black-ops mission.
The girls were excited, and they got those scissors going, while I scouted through the house for anything, anything at all, that would make this house have some glamor to it. I mean, aside from the Disney-cute box, all the work we had done looked for all the world like I had dotted the thing with glue and held it behind a wood chipper. I came back to the table with some empty toilet paper rolls, a few bright ribbons left over from Christmas, and assorted broken barrettes.
It all came together in a rush. The girls got distracted with a new educational game on the old Mac, Mommy came home, and I scooped up all the destruction on the floor. It was raining buckets, so we couldn’t take it outside. Mommy put the now-glamorized house back in its old resting spot until it was a drier day.
Well, today when I was with my girls, the house had been out in its fairy-enticing spot in a tube of the play structure for about a week. Cautiously, we tiptoed out to the fairy house, whispering & hushing all the way. We looked the fairy house over, looking for clues—any clues—that fairies had been visiting. Maybe they had slept in the bed? Maybe they used the coffee table? The girls searched my face for my grown-up assessment of the state of the house: occupied or unoccupied.
Liar, I am such a liar. God forgive me, please. But, looking at those earnest faces, how could I not say, “Well, I do believe that the fairies have been here! Yes, indeed. It looks like they have moved some things around…” The girls ran back into the house, whooping and hollering, “Grandpa! Grandpa! The fairies were there, in our house!...”
If any fairies had been around at that point, I am certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that they would spend tonight there on the bed made from some tissues and parts of a shoebox.