The ratio of individual Lego pieces to children at our place is about 4,573 to one. I’m pretty sure we didn’t have that many to start with. I’m kind of worried that they’re somehow fulfilling the Biblical command to be fruitful and multiply.
No matter how many times I try to hide those colorful little rectangles, they keep popping up, usually right in the path of my cold feet. Cold feet and hard plastic are not a good combination. Neither is having only three tables to build things on and four boys. Space is at a premium around here and they’re forced to carve out their own square footage and defend it faithfully.
To their credit, Legos seem to be the one toy that my boys (even the four-year-old who long ago told me to sell the “baby” Legos) can use without fighting about THE rules. Well, actually that’s not true either. They have devised some sort of distribution system so that they all have an equal number of wheels and guys and if someone swipes something, beware - it’s Lego mania.
As I’m writing this, the entire kitchen table is covered in creations - cars, strange pagoda-looking houses, some sort of tower with elephant heads on top, a music studio complete with round discs to resemble CDs and a few random unidentifiable blobs of color.
While they enjoy Lego construction, they do not seem to be capable of Lego collecting at the end of the day. I’m pretty sure they’re not colorblind, so I can’t figure out why the every-color-of-the-rainbow pieces aren’t visible to their eyes when I announce clean-up time. It’s as if their eye sockets only see things a foot off the ground. Perhaps some sort of Lego-induced disorder? Maybe the bright colors affect their vision and their brain.
When I finally lose my patience with the pieces, I swoop in a Lego-frenzy and pick everything up - banishing it to the far reaches of a dusty closet. The Lego-free house last about four days before some desperate, Lego-starved boy braves the darkness and possible spiders in a closet with no lights to pull out the 20-pound container.
And before I know it, they’re stockpiling again, worse than some of the hoarders I’ve seen on TV. One boy has been begging to purchase more - with his own money even! They’re usually so tight-fisted with their dollars, you can’t even pry tooth-fairy money out of their dirty palms to put it in a piggy bank. I’m amazed that a simple building block can out-do much fancier, battery-operated toys.
I should probably be grateful they are using their imaginations to create models of their future houses (with bathrooms and toilets even!), trucks and trailers and other odd shapes, when they could be frying their brains on video games. They seem to be content to spend an entire afternoon constructing, designing and occasionally crying when something breaks. But, they immediately start all over again and then proudly show off their creations. “Mom, look at this!” “ Mom, can you make a sign that says: Sports Shop”?
Welcome to Lego La-la Land - where imaginations run as bright as the colors and the pieces always go together, even if something’s missing. I wish real life could do that sometimes.
I don’t know how many times I fret about this or that piece of my life not fitting together where I think it should. Often, I can’t seem to see the missing piece that’s right in front of me.
Good thing there’s a Master Plan created by a Master Lego Designer. He knows which pieces go where and will sometimes put them in place for me. And sometimes, He’ll even start over if something topples.
That’s a Lego Land that has a little less La-La.
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