My Shed

It has been a difficult year.  Harry, my 11 year old son, discovered explosives during last year’s summer school break.  8 weeks of apologizing, to neighbors and friends, when their garden sheds had been blown up.  Using my scant savings to reimburse their loses.

Harry spends every other weekend with his very well off father.  But, did he blow anything up there?  Of course not.  Harry is too enchanting when he is with his father.  Two peas in a pod.

He just didn’t care.  His dad said he could work for him when he leaves school and his dad said school work isn’t relevant to the workplace.  I admit I was stumped when Harry asked me if I used algebra on a daily basis in my job.

So, in desperation I brought myself a shed and made a deal with my little devil.

If Harry came in from school and completed all homework, he could have the house to himself on Wednesday evenings from 6pm until 10:30pm

To begin with it was a learning curve.  I made sure that I had left a healthy dinner and snacks for Harry and his friends.  These were never eaten so now Harry cooks everyone junk food.

Originally, Harry just brought his two best chums home, but tonight, by 6pm, there were 6 pubescent boys.  Harry isn’t home yet so they are enchanting me with tales of their sporting prowess.

The minute Harry comes in I will hide in my shed.  Each month I have been buying myself a little shed gift.  It now has carpet, a comfortable chair and small work top.  An extension cable runs through the garden and powers my kettle, microwave and lamp.

A good friend put in a little window that faces my rose bush – not the house, I don’t want to know what goes on.

At 10:40 I go back into my home.  So far, it has always been clean – all rubbish taken outside.  A few breakages have happened but these have been declared and apologized for.

Harry always greets me alone – friends have never overstayed – and he always gives me his. Harry smile.  The same smile I loved in his father.

There is only one downside.  Several times I have met parents at the school and been acknowledged as, “the woman in the shed.”

A small price to pay for our harmonious, happy home.



5 thoughts on “My Shed

  1. May your shed become a place of refuge and growth for you! Anne Morrow Lindbergh, aviator and mother of six, always had such a place in the many homes where her famous husband’s career took them. She called each of these tiny places her “Little House” which is what I have already come to call our own newly-built shed. I think you have made a wise decision.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I will tell you the story I tell all women I meet who are having a hard time with their difficult child:

    My (then) 12 y.o. neuro-atypical son burned down the house of his great grandparents while we were visiting.

    Let me backtrack.

    I have 3 sons. My husband’s grandparents live about an hour away from us, and one afternoon I took them with me to visit. While I took grandma & her sister to the hair salon I got a call from my oldest son to come back RIGHT AWAY because there was a fire and his brother was missing.

    Grandpa and his brothers had been playing Monopoly in the living room and he got bored (ADHD) so he went wandering. He found some candles in a bedroom and when he couldn’t get it to light, he chucked the still hot matches under the bed, which was where they stored things and the bedspread was old and polyester…. 🔥🔥🔥

    Now when Harry misbehaves forevermore you can think of my story, smile to yourself and say, “at least he hasn’t done THAT!!”

    Liked by 1 person

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