Most of my kid’s toys are here by mutual agreement. They agree to own far too many, and I agree to pretend that I don’t throw them away after the batteries slowly die and I have to listen to Buzz Lightyear groan “To Infinity…and BEYOND!” in a scary devil voice all night long.
The worst toy of all? Let’s just say that the fact “LEGO” is a four letter word is no coincidence. I hate those things with the passion of a thousand white-hot burning suns. But despite my feelings for Lego, my kids LOVE them, and will do almost anything to acquire more, more, MORE! Lego is what Dr. Phil would call my kids “currency.” Then he’d say something like “two dead rats in the house won’t make your toast buttered faster” or “a big ego doesn’t mean you can shuck corn like a fallen priest.” Well, guess what Dr. Phil? LEGO IS SO NOT WORKING FOR ME.
The big ones are bulky to store, the medium ones don’t work with any other building sets, and the teeny tiny ones are the perfect size for serious foot injury after a walk through the Lego landmine field that used to be my Family Room. I had thought my kids had short attention spans and no ability to concentrate. They give up after 17 seconds of trying to locate a lost jacket, make no effort to find their lunchboxes in the morning, and sometimes need me to remind them to put on pants. That was what I thought until I noticed that they will sift through a 45 gallon Rubbermaid storage bin for HOURS until they find the one blue Lego piece with the eyeball on it.
Last month when I emptied my vacuum canister, it contained only three things: dust, Cheerios and Lego. Lego are as invasive as Zebra mussels and less fun to eradicate. I find Lego everywhere. Bathtub drain is clogged? LEGO! Something irritating in your shoe? LEGO! Underwear doesn’t feel right? DON’T ASK.
In my search for a part-time babysitter this summer, I started thinking about the sorts of things I should be asking them, like what their childcare experience is and if they have criminal records. But I’ve decided that I can turn a blind eye to lack of references, pretend not to hear them when they inform me of their upcoming court dates, and simply stick my fingers in my ears and hum when they tell me they own six pet cobras, operate a slaughter house part time and live on a farm called “Rusty Nail Acres.”
The only question they need properly answer is, “Do you like Lego?”
The Gatekeeper
2 Comments
July 3, 2009 at 9:30 pm
I like the sound they make when sucked up by a vacuum cleaner.
Speaking of legos, my little brother has the biggest collection ever. Every time my dad comes home from the store he comes home with a HUGE lego set for the brudder. “It was on sale!”
July 4, 2009 at 7:55 pm
OMG you’ve done it again. Hit the nail on the head.
This past father’s day my 8 year old daughter and 10 year old nephew spent 3 days negotiating over lego guy HANDS!!!
I am not kidding.
On the day of departure there was general pandemonium when my nephew couldn’t find a particular set of arms and swore up and down my daughter was holding them captive. (they were eventually found. where, I don’t care.)
There wasn’t enough beer that weekend.