Parents versus Legos

I love Legos.

I love how they can hold my kids’ attention for 20+ minutes at a time, sometimes even longer. I love how my son intensely follows the directions to create fantastically-complicated Lego masterpieces, often within minutes of receiving them as a birthday or Christmas gift. I love how my daughter uses her imagination to create Lego dogs and cars and robots. I love how my son easily improvises, building complex, freeform Lego machinery, transportation and weaponry. I love how Legos engage both sides of their brains. I love the Lego store: not the prices, but rather the fun of the monthly Lego club, where kids work together to complete a Lego challenge. I love the monthly Lego magazine because my kids love reading it. I love how, when playing with Legos, my kids are not wrestling, squabbling over the iPad, whining for whatever, spilling milk, watching TV, writing on walls (OK, they don’t do that anymore), attempting to launch themselves off of furniture … and so on. You get the drift.

I hate Legos.

I hate that they are everywhere. Freaking everywhere! I hate that, as my kids get bigger, the Lego pieces get smaller and more numerous. I hate that Lego pieces have this way of breeding, like little horny plastic bunnies—and then liberally distributing their spawn over every surface of my home. Not to mention everyone’s “favorite”: unexpectedly treading bare-foot on a Lego piece. (I’ll bet many a child has learnt some colorful new vocabulary from their parents every time it happens.) I hate that a “quick” visit to the Lego store turns into a painful, drawn-out no-fest that disappoints and frustrates everyone. No, you can’t have that $700 Harry Potter Lego rocket launcher set. No, you can’t have that $70 Star Wars Naboo Lego set. No, your $5 won’t be able to buy you anything here. No, we can’t stay another three hours.

I’ve also discovered that there are two types of parents.

There are those organizationally-talented (OCD?) types that have the skills, equipment, time and patience to collect their kids’ gazillion Lego pieces and then  meticulously sort them by color, shape, theme, character, unit, dimension and purpose into designated, purpose-built storage units. And then keep them that way, no matter how often the kids remove said Lego pieces to build their next creation.

I wonder, do the parents themselves do all this sorting and organizing because they enjoy it? Because it fulfills some deep OCD need for order and control. Or is it because their kids won’t do it. Or maybe it’s because they have been pushed to the limits by all these blinking plastic pieces?!

So what about those other types of parents? Well, I fall into this latter category. Yes, I am organized, and sometimes a little OCD, about other certain aspects of domesticity, like the laundry and the dishwasher. But when it comes to the Lego litter, I am tortured, completely tortured and exasperated. Every which way I turn, there’s Lego!

Clean it up, you say. Not my job, I say.

I am NOT going to clean up my kids’ Lego chaos. After all, it’s their mess. (I often remind them about the time that Grandma actually vacuumed up our all Legos when we were kids and she had had it with the mess! Yes, it broke her vacuum but she said the satisfaction was worth it!) So either I take a chill pill and just accept it, or I get them to clean up their own Lego mess. I’m pulling for the latter.

But you’ll not find me maniacally sorting them, nor buying some expensive Lego storage unit. My kids can make do with our existing assortment of random plastic tubs. They can figure out their own system for sorting and organizing. I don’t care how as long as it’s all off the floor. And stays that way.

The only challenge now is to figure how to properly bribe—I mean motivate—them! We shall see.

I am NOT buying one of these

Five Genius Inventions That Could Save The World

My brain is a crazy place filled, at any given moment, with hundreds of swirling thoughts competing for the shrinking available capacity within my cranial region. I read somewhere that if you think too hard, your brain juice will come out of your ears. (Note to self: buy ear plugs to ensure that my precious brain juice remains within. Or maybe I should let it out, bottle it and sell it for some outrageous price. Any takers? Sam’s Special Brain Juice.) But I digress ….

Anyway, what I was wanting to write about here was some of the brilliant ideas I’ve had of late. Why no-one has already conceived these innovations and made millions amazes me. These are simple yet genius inventions that could improve our very existence, save the icebergs, bring about peace for all mankind, and so on.

My first amazing invention is all about solar energy. Enough with fixed solar panels. Surely it would make more sense if the roof of every car was made of collectors which gather up rays, whether the car is stationary in the drive or out and about? If there was a way to immediately funnel those rays directly into the engine, the car could even be self-propelling, using solar energy in real-time.Brilliant, no? I must tell Google and quick! Not only would they have self-driving cars but also self-energizing cars.

Second, also renewable energy-themed. It’s the fart detector/recycler. After all, everyone emits methane (some more than others, naturally.) To make this feasible, first we’d need to be able to see these smelly wafts (which could be extremely useful for identifying whodunnit scenarios.) So we’d need some natural chemical that, when encountering methane vapors, turned them brown. Or maybe neon pink just for fun. Then we need some kind of device for sucking all that neon pink gas out of the atmosphere and into some lab environment which would then process the methane into something way more useful and sweet-smelling.

Next up for the Samantha treatment: feet. In case you weren’t aware of my feelings, I profoundly believe that feet are overrated and, in fact, utterly useless. I think it would make so much more sense – in addition to reducing ugliness, stinkiness, bunions, scratchy toenails and blisters – if we didn’t have feet at all! Instead, we should all be able to buy a variety of filled, weighted shoes that would simply slot onto our ankles. Admittedly, this would put pedicurists and podiatrists out of business but I do think the world would be a far better place without feet. Just sayin’

I was delighted when I found Aqua Notes – waterproof post-it notes – because I do all my best thinking and writing in the shower. But you can bet your bottom dollar that the second I step out, they evaporate, never to be recaptured. At least now I can write them down but wouldn’t it be even “awesomer ” (to quote my son), if it were possible to digitally transfer those scribbles directly to my email, to list, calendar – or to WordPress (I come up with a lot of my blog content in the shower) or into Word (for press releases.) Now that would be incredibly productive. I could even start billing clients for time spent in the shower.

Lastly, I think you’ll all agree that our brains need some kind of USB port. That way, not only could we plug ourselves in for some much-needed recharging but we could also capture short-term content and transfer it to a far more stable environment for storage and access on-demand.

If any of you feel inspired and entrepreneurial enough to run with my ideas and generate billions, let it be known that now that they are out of my head and into my blog, their source is now documented, on this day Sunday September 30, 2012. I’m too busy being a working Mom to do anything other than dream up such geniosity.

I know that is not a real word but it really feels like it should be.

You’re welcome.

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