Dad said they were going to build a cubby house. A real one, in the backyard, with wood and nails and everything.
Sophia got a piece of paper and a pencil and drew the plans immediately. The plans included three floors, a slide, a telescope, a kitchen, and a helicopter pad.
"I know," said Sophia.
Amelia drew on her piece of paper too. It was a very intense purple scribble. She was very proud of it.
The purple scribble became load-bearing, in its own way.
Dad had wood. Dad had nails. Dad had a hammer. Dad had, it became clear, never actually built a cubby house before.
"I watched several videos," said Dad.
"Were they helpful?"
Dad looked at the planks. "Mostly."
They got to work. Dad measured and cut. Sophia hammered — or tried to. The hammer was almost as big as she was. Most of her nails went in slightly sideways. One nail went in upside down, which shouldn't have been possible.
Amelia helped by carrying the same small plank from one side of the yard to the other, over and over, looking extremely purposeful.
Mum brought out lemonade and assessed the situation from a safe distance.
By late afternoon, it was done.
It didn't have three floors. Or a slide. Or a helicopter pad. The door was a bit small and the roof was only slightly crooked. One window was higher than the other because Sophia had helped nail it in.
But it was theirs.
Sophia stood in front of it for a long time, looking at it.
"No," said Dad.
"But it's ours."
"It is completely ours," said Dad.
They moved in immediately. Sophia organised everything — a blanket, her stuffed animals, two cushions, a cup for pretend tea. Amelia carried in the purple scribble drawing and stuck it on the wall.
That evening, they had dinner inside the cubby. Then they had dessert. Then both girls refused to sleep inside because it was dark and there were probably spiders.
They had dinner and dessert and then went to their actual beds. But they went to sleep thinking about the cubby house, which is almost the same thing.
