When I was a kid, presumably like most kids, I was obsessed with secret hiding places, forts, treehouses and anything that might remotely fall into the category. I remember poking at the walls of our house growing up, hoping I’d magically unlock a secret room like you see in the movies.
The closest I ever got to fulfilling this dream was the dingy, disgusting crawl space in my neighbor’s basement. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. Our older sisters used it as more of a torture chamber than a magical lair.
Fast forward 25 years. My husband and I purchased our beautiful, brand new forever home. And while there were no built-in panic rooms or secret libraries, there was plenty of space to make it our own. So, when we found out I was pregnant with our second child and we’d be moving our daughter into the guest room to keep the baby closer to the master, I decided I wanted to give my daughter her own special space—the one I had dreamed of as a child.
Our two-story house has three bedrooms and a total of four walk-in closets. You read that correctly, four walk-in closets. I know, I’m privileged. My husband and I have separate closets in the master bedroom—mine even has a laundry chute, which was also one of my childhood dreams—and there are walk-in closets in both of the additional bedrooms. Not to brag, but they are so spacious my two nieces and nephew sleep in the guest room closet—Nora’s new closet—when they visit from out of town. It was the perfect spot to build my dream getaway. Uh, I mean Nora’s dream getaway.
The next step, obviously, was to hop on Pinterest and hatch a plan. We decided on an indoor “treehouse” of sorts, an elevated reading nook with space to play underneath. To make it happen in a timely matter we enlisted the help of our recently acquired handyman.
Side note: everyone needs a handyman. The ladies love him ‘cuz he gets shit done and the guys love him ‘cuz he does the shit they don’t want to do. Marriage. Saver.
After three days of hired labor and more money than I’d like to admit in materials, the loft space with landing, frame for a crib mattress and a custom ladder were in place. My father-in-law, an amazing woodworker and retired engineer, was tasked with doing the finishing work on the treehouse. He added the front façade to the loft area, complete with a lookout window. I then spent the next weekend staining it the perfect shade of gray.
I stocked the room with books, toys, pillows and stuffed animals. It was the perfect hideaway for a young girl / soon-to-be big sister. I was so excited she’d have her own Pinterest-worthy space for when the baby comes and starts hogging my attention.
We unveiled the treehouse room to Nora and, despite her initial intimidation by the ladder, she thought it was pretty darn cool. That is, when I was in the room with her. She refused to play in her treehouse unless I was supervising.
See, our bedrooms are on the second story of our house and the main living area, where we spend the majority of our time, is on the first floor. When I asked why she didn’t go in her awesome treehouse more often, she said she wanted to be near mom and dad.
Well, that definitely didn’t go as planned.
It’s been several months since the treehouse completion and I’ve seen Nora go inside maybe a handful of times. After many hours and a significant monetary investment, to say I was disappointed was an understatement. Not only was I bummed, but I also felt pretty foolish. I was so sure this would be the coolest thing I could give my daughter. Apparently not all little girls have the same dreams. I did offer to switch bedrooms with her, but she declined.
As a fairly frugal person, I can’t think of anything I’ve invested a significant amount of money in that didn’t really pay off. But I suppose that’s just the unpredictability of children. There’s never a safe bet. Except maybe candy. Candy always wins.
As a marketer, I’m equally cautious. Before we recommend anything to our clients, we do our research, study our target audience and try to eliminate as much risk as possible. The goal is to maximize the ROI, the amount of return on an investment relative to the investment’s cost. In terms of the treehouse project, I’d say we’re in the red.
Unfortunately, contrary to what my 20-something self would say, we can’t always be right. Despite our best efforts to make wise investments in both parenting and business, we can’t necessarily predict the outcome.
I’ve seen clients invest hundreds of thousands of dollars in trade show booths that don’t really get much traffic, or put together elaborate flash mobs (remember those?) that no one really pays attention to. We can’t win them all. The best we can do is learn from our missteps and try to make better decisions the next time around.
That said, I am still holding out hope for this kick-ass treehouse. When our baby boy arrives in a couple months I’m crossing my fingers his hunger wails and smelly diapers will scare Nora into her own little suburban oasis in the sky (closet).
Marketing Like a Mother 