I complain an awful lot at the crazedparent house about cleaning up Lego pieces. It's a ritual I despise because no matter what, every time the boys want to play with their Legos, every freaking piece -- all 5,000+ -- manages to land on the floor. The microscopic ones are the worst. You know the ones I'm talking about; they jab your bare feet at 2 a.m. when you hear your kid talking in his sleep or crying and go to check on him. And then you have to muffle your cursing as you hobble to bed. The stereotypical parenting scene and hell yes, it really happens.
I hate picking up Legos so much that I've even come up with product ideas to make it easier, including the one to create a...wait, I'll keep that to myself. I still think it's a marketable idea for suckers like me.
Last week we had one of our Lego explosions. I asked Nol to help me clean them up, to which he replied, "Sure - where's the dustpan?"
I was first shell shocked because he said "sure" instead of his usual non-response to parental white noise. And then, of course, I asked why he wanted a dustpan.
"Because Mom, you use a dustpan to clean up Legos, of course.* You scoop all the Legos into a big dustpan and then drop them in their box."
So simple and yet, so brilliant. I wish it were his idea because then we could pitch it to Lego and they could market Lego dustpans for easier clean up (but I still have my grandiose plan that I will not reveal). The dustpan idea comes from one of his truly brilliant preschool teachers. Thanks, M!
*If you think I'm making up the "of course" part, I'm not. He says it the way you'd say, "silly" in responding to a dorky question. So basically, my son just told me I was a dolt in his sweet way.
