An ode to Legos

Brian forwarded this article to me today. The author sums up my feelings precisely-it's exactly how I feel about Legos, I just don't have the ability to write it as she does! Some of you may laugh because it sounds humorous, others may not understand it at all and a few of you will laugh because you, like me live this day and day out. (you know the sound the vacuum makes when you happen to catch a stray piece and then debate whether you should fish the lost piece out or just let it go to lego heaven)

Written by Tiffany Gee Lewis

One of the greatest joys of being a parent is in reliving parts of your childhood. What parent doesn't love playing with their kids' toys? I have a certain weakness for dollhouse collectables and Silly Putty, among other things. For my husband, it's all about the Legos. There are marathon Daddy-Lego playtimes on Sundays. Bedtime usually includes a riveting Lego City story.

I try and be supportive of this Lego connection, but my world of small playthings as a child never included Legos. So I must admit, the Legos are nearly doing me in these days. The minute my kids drop their backpacks in the laundry room, they are heading up the stairs to play with Legos. I look at all the rest of their toys, languishing forgotten on the shelves, and my eye gets a gleam. I am a mother who gets particular pleasure out of getting rid of things.

But the consequences of Legos hang heavy. First, they are everywhere: on the stairs, in the beds, under the beds, fallen in that space between wall and carpet. Piled in little piles on every table, waiting for their return to the mother bin in the bedroom. In shoes, under shoes, clogging the pencil area of the junk drawer, at the bottom of the laundry basket and swirling their way through the wash. We are awash with Legos.

I have such mixed emotions when it comes to this particular toy. Legos bring my children such joy. I love that my boys use their nimble little fingers to create some really fantastic structures. And they can be entertained for literally hours. They are superior, in so many ways, to other forms of entertainment.

But oh, the clean up! The sound of the entire Lego bucket being dumped makes me go limp. Even when we manage to pick them all up, those little plastic pieces are never really gone. I sweep my foot across the carpet and little Lego pieces pop up like gophers in an arcade game. I crawl on hands and knees before vacuuming, knowing that the favorite pieces are always the smallest ones. Yet, no matter how closely we clean up, each time I vacuum there is that familiar "chink" when a Lego gets sucked up and knocked around the internal workings of the vacuum. Then I stand there for a difficult moment, wrestling with my inner conscience and trying to decide whether that particular piece is worth disemboweling the vacuum bag. No piece has been worth it, so far.

My other issue with Legos is that they're just so breakable. I know, I know that's the point, but I have a son who builds Legos for every occasion: welcome home gifts, birthday presents, Father's Day and Mother's Day. (I got a multi-colored, Lego-sized jail cell this past May.) Inevitably, before the big event happens, these creations will come crashing to the floor, break to pieces, or get slowly deconstructed by a younger brother. Oh, the Lego-induced tears in this family could fill a small lake.Yes, tears. Tears of sadness, tears of pain.

Everyone who has owned Legos in their life knows that singular feeling of stepping with full force on a small red Lego brick and thinking, just momentarily, that you might never regain use of that particular foot. I've learned the technique of walking through a Lego-strewn room is to not pick up ones feet at all, but to slide, ice-skater style, across the carpet, parting the Legos with my feet like they were the Red Sea.

We're heading into heavy holiday and birthday season. My kids have only one thing on their wish list, and it's Legos. More Legos, to add to the already-mounting pile in their room. Like the three little pigs who set off to build homes of their own, we may someday amass enough Legos to have them build their own little huts. Until then, I will step lightly, vacuum carefully and clean patiently, working my way systematically toward Lego sainthood.