There are LEGO men everywhere. They’re in my sock basket, on the stairs, balanced on the bathroom sink faucet, lined in battle formation in the play room, clinging to my husband’s workboot shoelace. There are LEGO men in my refrigerator. We’ve been overrun. Our LEGO men are messy. They leave their teeny tiny guns lying around, and they shed their headgear at will. I have a terrible time getting them to remember to wear their arms.
This morning, I was all set to send the LEGO men into exile. After sweeping up the 300th alien/policeman/ninja, I was done. Contain your LEGO people, or they will disappear. It was a good speech. It contained words about responsibility, and consideration, and how tired I am of being at war with a miniscule army.
And then I remembered.
Someday, I will miss the captains of this little LEGO onslaught. My heart will be full of love for them, their new wives, their sweet babies. I’ll smile when I remember the time I had with them.
It will be a bittersweet victory. Because, even as I love the men they’ve become, I’ll miss the little boys they were. I’ll miss the moments they crawled into my lap to listen to the Bible, or the lunches during which they regaled me with the laundry list of facts they’ve memorized that day. I’ll miss the moments I loved them so much, I thought my heart would burst.
I’ll even miss the LEGO war.
I know this because I miss the slingshots, the treehouse, the forts and the zipline. I miss the model cars and stacks of books. I miss the children they used to belong to. Our oldest children have gone on to lives of their own. I love them in a whole new way. They come over for dinner, and stop by to borrow tools to fix the car engine. Our son brings his brand new itty bitty little girl over to visit. Yet… they’re no longer here, in my home. Whatever we did – or didn’t do – is gone forever, because time stops for no man. (Unless you’re Joshua – fighting God’s battle under a frozen sun.)
So… I bit my tongue. There was no speech, no exile of the LEGO army. Instead, I carefully placed them in a line on the bathroom shelf (and the living room end table, and the washing machine, and the kitchen counter), and carried on with my sweeping. One day, the LEGO invasion will be gone. Until then, I’m going to smile when I see the LEGO men, and hug the little people they belong to.
Do you have an invasion? How do you handle that?
~ Danika Cooley
Danika Cooley is a freelance children’s writer with a love for God’s Word, history, wisdom and small people. Her work has appeared in magazines including Focus on the Family’s Clubhouse and Clubhouse Jr., Pockets, Devozine, Keys for Kids, and Cobblestone Group’s FACES and Odyssey and in Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Magic of Mothers and Daughters.