Friday, July 24, 2015

Tilting at Lego Windmills

Oh Legos.

I can't decide if I love you or hate you.

One minute I'm ready to buy a bunch more. The very next I'm ready to throw them all out and declare our lives lego-free forever.

My boys, like any other boys on the planet, love legos. I don't know what it is about those little bricks and the young male psyche, but it is a match made in biological determinism. Fated. Sealed.

When Judah first got addicted a couple months ago, I was in hog heaven. I blessed the lego gods for all their technicolor glory as I watched Judah consumed with quietly building for hours upon hours. It's like I just got a free babysitter FO LYFE y'all.

But then, but then...oh my goodness, then...

There was Noah.

Little 2.5 year old Noah. Little chubby-handed, clumsy, fine-motor skill impaired Noah.

Oh yeah, and did I mention he has anger issues? Because toddler.

You add to that molotov cocktail an undying love of building architecturally unsound structures, and there you have it - the bane of my existence.

Noah puts a lego piece on, another piece falls off. He puts that piece back on, and a different one falls off. He makes impossible "staircase" structures that are prone to break if a strong breeze passes through and then tries to stand it up without any support. (Surprise, it breaks). He needs help but refuses any because "I do myself! Nobody help me!" He sometimes finally makes something completely and then runs to show me only to have it break off during his un-careful transit...

Taken 0.23 seconds before his creation broke apart.

Let's just say Noah melts down in wailing frustration every 3-5 minutes. All. Day. Long.

My nerves are very, very frayed.

So I packed up all the legos today and took out much more age-appropriate mega-blocks and bristle-blocks. Noah melted down in fury - Lego! I want Lego!!!!!

Judah, ironically, accepted it and started building with the bristle-blocks.

But Noah, chubby-handed, uncoordinated, easily-angered Noah.

Just. Shoot. Me. Now.

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