Life with Legos

What an optimistic title: Life WITH Legos. Maybe it should be Life vs. Legos. At any rate, I am decidedly Lego-challenged today.

We've had an unusual relationship with Legos. When the child was a tiny toddler, I had more interest in Legos than did he. I used to buy outrageously expensive sets (designed for age 10-adult) which featured 3-wheeled cycles, various workers with interchangeable hairdos, and elaborate service stations apparently intended to keep the tricycles up and running. I'm the one who assembled these sets, and became quite adept at it, I might add, since Legos were tragically absent from my own childhood toychest.

The child never did participate; he watched me with polite amusement. At one point I distinctly recall feeling a sense of relief that I would not have to take out a second mortgage to support the Lego Corporation. We lived in peace for a while, with the Legos shelved.

Then one day last month everything changed. His bedroom was transformed in one afternoon from a pleasant boy's bedroom kept very tidy for real estate showings into a massive mound of Lego pieces concealing the bed and furnishings. Although I always said I wanted him to have wholesome interests, I was highly dismayed by this turn of events, and expressed it loudly.

Besides, the child's very character was affected. A hitherto unknown level of frustration began to rear its ugly head whenever a Lego creation fell apart, as they inevitably do. The child began to rage so vehemently that I feared he'd pop a blood vessel. Now, every time he calls me in to view a finished project, I grab my phone in case I have to dial 911, since the collapse of the creation usually occurs within seconds of completion.

The child, being known for his expensive high tech taste in gifts, had the good sense to present me with his Christmas wish list last October. I ordered as much as I could reasonably afford, glad to have that task out of the way. Then, just yesterday I was informed by said child that he wanted nothing but Legos for Christmas this year. Mind you, Legos were not included to any extent on his fall Christmas list. The Lego sets he wants are measured in hundreds, not tens, of dollars. I have no idea what I'm going to do about this bit of unpleasantness.

Then this morning the child exhibited an abnormally delayed response to my urgings to get ready to leave for school. I should have known that Legos were to blame. When it became too late to walk to the bus stop, I yelled for him to get into the car. With horror, I watched him march to the car with his latest Lego invention in tow, another new behavior for the child who had up until this point confined the Lego world to his bedroom. When the bus pulled up, he shrieked bloody murder as yet another structure bit the dust. He had apparently intended to take that creation to school, as far as I could determine from his wailing as he boarded the bus. Even the bus driver looked shocked at the extreme display of emotion. His red, tear-streaked face mouthed desperate, indecipherable words at me as the bus pulled away.

What's a mother to do? Well, a stable, sane one would have gone on with her day, knowing the child would be OK, and that maybe even he'd learn to put Legos into their proper perspective. This one drove to the child's school to deliver the fallen Lego pieces to her son, lest he fall apart like they had.