Legos are such a great joy to have around. HA! Not when you step on one of those sharp little plastic cubes in the middle of the night as you stumble your way barefoot across your sons’ bedroom floor.
I love legos. Really I do. They allow creativity to run amok, guided only by the twisted imaginations of little boys. They can be anything, transforming into submarines, spaceships and magical abodes for small creatures. They can occupy small children for hours on end. They provide an excellent cure for “I’m Bored!”.
Legos also clog up the intake tube in the vacuum cleaner. There are many very small, very pointy parts that get lost oh so easily. They are the root cause of almost every arguement between siblings.
“That’s my special piece. You know, the one that goes to Anakin’s speeder”
“No, it’s not”
“Yes it IS! It’s MINE”
“NO! That piece goes to the Bionicle Crash Thingy. It’s NOT YOURS!”
“YES IT IS!”
“NO IT’S NOT!”
At this point the conversation degrades into caveman like grunts and groans, punctuated with a few shoves and a great deal of scuffling on the family room floor.
You get the picture.
At our house, the Lego Bucket occasionally goes on hiatus. I gather up every lego piece I can find scattered about the house. I disassemble every creation, carefully keeping each Star Wars model in it’s separate zip lock bag. I dig every little block out of the vacuum cleaner. Then I dump eveything into the gigantor Lego bucket and hide it in the attic. For a month.
Then I enjoy the peace for as long as it lasts.