My son Luke is our resident Lego fanatic. I would not like to hazard a guess about how many Legos he has. But if someone threatened to cut off my arm unless I estimated his Lego-worth, I’d conjecture that he has at least 5000 actual Lego pieces. It’s ridiculous. It’s the only toy he has asked for each and every birthday and Christmas since he turned 6. I would be disgusted by the whole situation if he wasn’t such a creative kid and a gifted builder. I’m quite accustomed to seeing Luke’s amazing creations that are the result of his merging pieces from several different sets.
Joe does not have Luke’s gift for Legos. He has built sets, mostly with Luke’s help, but he’s not the Lego visionary that Luke is. He wants to be, but he’s not there yet. Or so I thought. Yesterday, however, I was sitting at the counter working on my computer when Joe brought up a Lego creation. It was a representation of our family, each of us in our own likeness, as if we were gathered together in our dining area. Lego Joe was sitting at the table wearing his favorite green fleece jacket. Lego Steve was standing there looking dashing, a perfect representation minus the salt and pepper needed for his plastic hair. Lego Luke was petting Lego Ruby, who was the spitting image of her doggie self down to her reddish-brown and white border collie markings and her red collar. Then, there was Lego Justine. I had the long, blonde hair, the grey yoga pants, and the lipsticked lips. Looked like me all right. Then I noticed that Joe had me with my back turned to my family as I typed away on my computer. Ouch.
As utterly impressed as I was with Joe’s creation, his first ever fabricated solely using his own imagination, it was a bit sobering. Yep. That’s how you’ll find me far too often, sitting at the kitchen counter with my face turned to my MacBook and my back turned toward whatever else is going on in my house. Sad, but true. I suppose this is partly what I signed on for when I decided to focus on writing more. I imagine there are worse ways my son could have depicted me. I could have been napping on the couch or standing over him threateningly with a rolling pin in my hand. Those might not have been accurate representations but they certainly would have given me greater reason to pause. I’m simply going to let go of the notion that Lego me is glued to the computer like living me. I’m going to chose, instead, to focus on the fact that our Lego family is just like our real family, happily hanging out together in the heart of our home. I’m sure that’s what Joe was going for. 😉