I have fond memories of various different hideaways I had as a child.

There was the banana tree in the back yard of my great-grandma’s house where my brother and I had our own “personal” branch each, along with other branches which had specific functions and uses. 

We’d sit in that tree and make noises at the business people in the adjacent office parking lot.  We thought it was such fun to make monkey noises and watch them try to figure out where they were coming from.  (Of course now I wonder how I would’ve reacted as the adult and not the silly child in the tree.)

There was the attic space (in the same grandma’s house) where we created our own “apartment” complete with bedrooms and a living room (all of which had their own repurposed furniture that had been stored up there)

We spent many happy hours playing in the attic. I remember being devastated when we finally moved out of that house, knowing that my attic hideaway was going to be gone forever.

My mom and step-dad have temporarily moved home (while they are renovating theirs) and the girls have found some new hideaways here in the new house.

There’s the attic space above the front porch that they have turned into their “apartments” (hmmm… sounds familiar)

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Their daddy set them up with little carpet remnants and lamps to light their spaces.

 

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  They each had their “apartment” with separate entrances in each upstairs bedroom, but they could visit each other by crawling across the attic space to each other.

 

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And so it goes – the circle continues.  Two more little girls finding imaginary worlds and secret hideaways in the most unlikely of places – and yet finding entertainment and joy in the simplest of things.

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