I know I promised you that I would stop with the Lego sorting if you would just give me another chance to appreciate my daughter more while she is still a little girl. I’m sorry I went back on my end of the bargain by sorting Legos yesterday. If I could just explain though: I committed said sorting with my daughter and mother as a multi-generational bonding activity and it was really quite lovely until Mini-Me got bored and started to play the keyboard right next to us at a deafening volume, even after I requested she stop. Naturally, I had no choice but to shout at her, make the “Imma-Disgusta” face, and banish her from the play room. I’m sure you can understand, given your similar reaction with your own recalcitrant children, Adam and Eve. The good news is that we are officially done with sorting process and now I can go to Ikea and purchase the mack-daddy of storage systems and get back to my promise to stop with the obsessive compulsive organizing. Thank you, Heavenly Father, for your unconditional love and acceptance, and I pray that you will continue to be a good role model for me so that I can someday learn how to not be such a royal bitch.
A rainbow of temporary bliss (and/or insanity).
© Copyright 2011, The Bearded Iris
This is what I have:
But this is what I want:
Ahhh. Just looking at that neat storage brings my blood pressure down a notch.
And so on Monday while we were at home for MLK day, the kids and I began the process of organizing a decade’s worth of Legos by color. It all began because I was watching Nature Boy dig through our coffin-sized clear plastic bin to find one tiny special piece that he absolutely had to have for what he was building. It was actually the deafening sound of that digging… that relentless, high pitched digging. Can you picture it? The sound that several million little plastic pieces make when being rubbed against each other in a sound amplifying plastic box? Not pleasant.
The process of sorting Legos by color, I must admit, is actually a bit therapeutic. Swishing your hands back and forth through all those little sharp-cornered plastic bits feels pretty good on the ol’ meat hooks. I’m surprised, frankly, that Mini-Me hasn’t taken off her shoes yet to walk through the pile since she has such a penchant for unconventional sensory input devices. I once witnessed that kid whip off her shoes at The Bead Bayou and plunge her sweaty little tootsies into a bowl of Swarovski crystals as I ran in slow motion toward her shouting “Nooooooooooooooooo!” My apologies to the Beading Community at large… for my lack of parental control in addition to the very likely possibility that your beads smell like Fontina cheese.
My innately work-averse Nature Boy is very excited about the potential outcome of this project. He loves the idea of being able to find what he wants without having to work so hard in the future. He’s not so keen, however, on helping me sort. And the other two are about as useful as poopy flavored lollipops (quick – name that movie!). So… this might take a while. If you’re looking for me, I’ll be in the basement.
Nature Boy also pointed out to me that separating black and white Legos on Martin Luther King Jr. day is just plain wrong. Damn, that kid is such a mench. And no, he still hasn’t ever won a Principal Pal Award, thanks for reminding me. Bet Dr. King never won one either. All that aside, the overall spirit of the Lego Sorting Project was to serve my children and support their creativity. Oh, and to put the kibosh on that hellish digging sound. But mostly, to serve others. And get a free hand massage.
“Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, ‘What are you doing for others?'” – Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
© Copyright 2011, The Bearded Iris