I don’t know if this is because of her recent obsession with Minecraft, a sudden fear of nuclear war, or a deep, unsatisfied desire to become a mountain troll, but recently my daughter presented me with several pages from her journal and a Very Serious Expression.
I was expected to understand the gravity of the situation from the marks she had made across several pages and provide constructive feedback beyond my usual parenting staples of, “Hmm,” and, “That’s wonderful.”
This posed a problem.
Because I think I would have had more success translating the Voynich Manuscript than whatever I was looking at.
After I had been staring blankly at it for several seconds, she huffed, removed the fluffy purple notebook from my hands and rotated it 180 degrees.
The new angle did nothing for its legibility.
With the exasperated tone I had previously assumed was reserved for preteens, she explained that these were the schematics for the new underground “secret room” she expected us to build in the back garden.
Well, I say us.
“Daddy works, so he’ll only be able to help on his lunch break and weekends. And I’ll want to play on my iPad. So you, Mummy…”
Wait.
What?
At what point did I qualify in engineering, construction, architecture or anything even remotely related that would make me adjacently qualified to project-manage such an undertaking?
Apparently, while I wasn’t paying attention, I became the principal contractor for a major subterranean infrastructure project.
While my brain was still rebooting from this revelation, she continued explaining the plans.
There would be bedrooms. Living rooms. A hospital. Two gardens.
Two.
Space for stores. Energy generation. Bathrooms. Waste disposal.
Honestly, I was impressed. It was more thoroughly planned than a lot of prepper bunkers.
She explained that the access shaft would have a ladder and a lifting mechanism so that the pets could be lowered down in their crates and harnesses. When I suggested stairs, I was informed that stairs would be completely impractical because of the space restrictions.
Obviously.
There isn’t room for stairs.
There is, however, apparently ample room for trees, chickens and a fully equipped hospital wing complete with X-ray machines.
When I asked where, exactly, she proposed putting this underground metropolis, she looked at me as though I were the idiot.
“Under the house and garden.”
Obviously.
Why didn’t I think of that?
I then made the mistake of asking who was actually going to build it.
She was very clear that she would “help, of course,” although presumably only when this didn’t interfere with her iPad commitments.
After giving the matter some serious consideration, she conceded that we might need to hire some professional assistance.
Ten builders.
For 70 days.
I don’t know whether to be more concerned that she thinks ten builders can excavate and construct a self-sufficient underground compound beneath an existing house in ten weeks, or that she apparently thinks I can fill in the gaps.
Finally, I asked the obvious question.
Why on Earth would we do any of this?
She blinked at me.
“Because it would be cool.”
And there it was.
The entire planning application.
The environmental impact assessment.
The business case.
Because it would be cool.
I feel this ranks only marginally above “because it’s there” as a justification for undertaking a massive engineering project.
No one is ever to teach my child the phrase YOLO.
Under any circumstances.
In the meantime, does anyone know where I can hire a digger?
Or the Paw Patrol?
Raising the Modern Fae 