On Easter Sunday, or, as I like to call it, Spring Christmas, my son got approximately thirty different baskets full of candy and toys.
It’s understandable that my family, which is largely devoid of small children to spoil, is so enthusiastic about doting on my five-year-old. But that doesn’t make his ridiculous bounty any easier to stomach. When I was a kid, I got some chocolate, some peeps, and a stupid kite. My son got an unhealthy amount of Cadbury eggs, enough Peeps to caulk a bathtub, and several LEGO sets.
To add insult to injury, I was forced to assemble the sets. It did not go well.
I would much rather my son watch the new LEGO cartoons than continue to obsess about playing with the things. Luckily, a new LEGO show just came out. Unluckily, because I’m a member of the Netflix #streamteam, they sent my son a LEGO set to celebrate the debut of the new cartoon.
It’s called “Bionicle: The Journey to One” and judging by size of the weapon the main character carries, my son might be a little young to watch it. But at this point I’ll let him watch Lars von Trier’s Antichrist if it means I won’t be forced to risk arthritis by trying to connect fifty minuscule LEGO pieces and build an incredibly intricate toy my five-year-old will immediately dismantle and/or lose.
To be fair, I love seeing Detective Munch pore over the instructions and start putting together the LEGO toys himself, it’s just that some of them are so complicated he needs my help. And, incredible, patient, not-at-all-suffering-from-delerium-tremens father that I am, I like helping. Well, I liked helping, the first thirty times he wanted to play LEGO. It’s getting old now, I’m getting old now, and my hands hurt. But I have little choice.
He already loves The LEGO Movie, is all in on the LEGO Batman movie that’s coming soon (especially since he won’t be seeing the latest Batman movie for about ten years), so I figure this new “Bionicle” show is a great opportunity for me to him to get a LEGO fix without having to worry about stepping on any, losing any, and losing my mind over any. It might not be great parenting, but rather than make me put his Bionicle toys together, I’d rather he just watch it!
I don’t think you understand yet how sick of LEGO toys I am. On Easter Sunday, while everyone else was having a cracker party (that’s what Detective Munch calls happy hour at my house because it usually involves crackers and cheese), I was on the floor, painstakingly attempting to complete the latest LEGO set he’d received. I’m pretty terrible at these things, so by the time I was done going through all 43 steps and connecting every tiny piece, including stickers, Jesus had come back to life and then died again. Of boredom, this time!
My son loved the finished product though, and watching me build it, and the smile on his face when he was done was almost as comforting as the beer I immediately got from the fridge. Almost.
Of course, I didn’t even drink it; I just used it to numb my sore hands. Thank God it only took my right thumb to hit play on Netflix and start the “Bionicle” marathon my son watched while I surreptitiously confiscated the remaining LEGO sets.
Except for the ones Mom and Buried provides for me.