Still room for tents

Just when I start to worry that my son is outgrowing fort building, I come home to a tent pitched in the living room.

 He emerged from the gauzy folds and informed me that he was the only one who could enter
 because he alone had an entrance bracelet (a la theme park), which he had re-purposed from the ring around a mayonnaise jar.
With relief, and wonder, I peeked inside. I relished being forbidden entrance.
Right now, the places where he doesn't want me to enter are right in front of me, in the middle of everything.  Someday soon, the secret places he will retreat to will not be so visible.


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