You’ve been a lifesaver during quarantine, it’s true. You’ve kept my children entertained for hours at a time, kept them creating and building. Your tiny blocks are full of endless possibilities.
However; do your pieces have to be so small? And so painful when stepped on? Do they have to skitter so easily into dark corners and under pieces of furniture when dropped? Why must they be so appealing to my toddler, who wants nothing more than to be like his big brothers, stealthily climbing on the kitchen table when my back is turned to grab the six year olds freshly built police car or to remove the officers tiny hands from the tiny motorcycle handlebars, that I’ve just spent five minutes arranging to my four year olds liking? Do these tiny toddler magnets, the motorcycle helmets he loves to pop off from the LEGO people’s heads, have to be such a choking hazard?
How many times must I endure a child asking me if I’ve seen a very specific LEGO piece swimming in the vast ocean of our LEGO collection? I have not seen it, no--I’m actually trying to load the dishwasher while said child is being entertained by the LEGOs. How many meltdowns will ensue because someone else has the LEGO piece they need? Because a younger brother snatched away what an older brother had been working so hard to create?
How many times in one day will I be asked just how much that LEGO set costs? The second question always follows quickly: do I have enough money to buy it? No child, you do not have enough money, and before you ask again in five minutes, let me remind you that money does not grow on trees. How many times can I be shown that same little LEGO booklet, feigning interest in all the wonder my children find in the depiction of LEGO city? How can my children find such purpose in begging to look at the Target listings of LEGOs, and how long can I relinquish my phone to let them do so?
LEGOs, I’m thankful for you. I really, really am. But I’m also tired of you.
A LEGO Mom