My youngest son, age 8, is a Lego addict. He is willing to admit that he’s powerless over Legos. This is an expensive habit. Needs to be fed often. I don’t get it, but then chocolate is my drug of choice.
Yes, members of my family have spent hundreds of dollars, satisfying his Star Wars Lego fanaticism. His latest kit is an extravaganza my sister spent at least $50 bucks on, but the joke is on me. Seems it’s payback time for the multi-piece toys I naively gifted her children with, a decade ago. Alas, there are over a gogillion pieces in his latest set for my new puppy to chew.
New puppy you ask? Yes, long story, but I digress. Anyway, ever since my little darling has endeavored to build the Star Wars Deluxe Battleship with the triple phaser stun guns (ages 9-14) this is all I hear these days:
Him: “Mom! I can’t do this!”
Me: “Yes, you can.”
Him: “Mom!! I’m not 9 yet! Come and help me! How do I start?” He is staring dazedly at the directions.
Me: “Gimme the manual.” Hmmm.
A HALF HOUR LATER
Me: “Okay. Look, I think we might have better luck if we sort the pieces.”
Him: “I don’t know how.”
Me: “Like this. Dark here, small here, etc…”
AN HOUR LATER
Me: “Son? SON! Where are you?”
Muffled voice drifts from somewhere far away. Perhaps from the trampoline outside?
Him: “Are you done yet, Mom?”
Me: “YES! GET YOUR BUTT IN HERE AND BUILD YOUR SUPER FUN STARWARS LEGO BATTLESHIP THINGEE!” (I get cranky when I’m stiff and in pain from sorting).
TEN MINUTES LATER
Him: “Mom!? Where’s the first piece?”
Me: Searching for my antacids. “Here.”
Him: “Mom!” Where’s the second piece?”
TWO HOURS LATER Continue reading