We've embarked upon the world of Legos. I can't say this is something I've looked forward to, or dreaded, or felt any way about- as in, I was pretty neutral on the topic. I was never a huge fan of Legos, and there seems to be a stigma associated with the little plastic piece parts- the stepping-on debacle and the stray pieces that turn up at random are popular complaints. They aren't exactly "eco-friendly" (not that that's what we are solely going for here or anything) and we had generally avoided plastic toys, but the lines are becoming blurred the deeper and deeper we find ourselves on this parenting odyssey. Growing up with a handful of little brothers, I remember 'the boys' building many a Lego model and I can recall joining on free-play sessions where I'd kind of stack the little pieces atop each other usually creating boring square shaped "castles," throwing a little tree in here and there. My approach was more about the colors and creating patterns rather than building, and I can't recall a single time that I followed a set of instructions from 1 to finish. Not to sound wistful or whatever over Lego building- but Gosh! Had I known all those years ago how much satisfaction piecing together a tiny Millennium Falcon would bring, I might have become a world champion Lego Master Builder (if there is such a thing)!!! Maybe not. Maybe this is the perfect season in my life to hone in on my Lego building talents. Either way- my nonexistent expectations were way exceed. I loved constructing Lego vehicles with my son. At least that very first day, anyway.
Promptly following the completion of our first two Star Wars Lego vehicles, boy wonder found a quiet spot and disassembled them. When I saw what he was doing, I didn't react (except to tell him to be sure to place the pieces back into the box we designated.) He told me he wanted to re-build the toys with his Dad. I didn't take it personal- I mean, it's not about me. Sure I spent every moment of nap time constructing two vehicles for his entertainment, but really they were his to do with what he pleased, I thought. And then the cycle repeated itself. His Dad constructed the sets with him and immediately following he began disassembly. My husband was a bit more pragmatic in his approach and tried to talk the kid out of his destruct. I was still patient with the little guy, but the next day or maybe the day after that, when he posted up at the kitchen table at nap time as I was lulling his brother to sleep waiting for his builder to come around- I got a little antsy. This time, instead of building the thing for him, I guided him in building the models himself (thinking it'd encourage him to keep the things together) but it did no good.
We were at a standstill. Every afternoon I became increasingly more annoyed with the Lego dance. Like a little routine: As soon as my ass hits the cushions on the couch, and his brother begins to nurse to nap, the little guy grabs his special case which he had me label (word for word) "Hi. My name is Loukas, this is my LEGO set. You can come over anytime and play with me with them." I hear the dreaded bits pop up and down with each little step that he takes to the kitchen table where he sits patiently, tinkering an sorting, waiting for his brother to meet sleep. It's the cutest ever living thing. I can't say no. So I do it, but my patience with this adorable little Lego trap is growing thin. With gritted teeth, I remind him that we can't re-build his Lego sets every afternoon.
Later, I complain to my husband that the Lego dance-number is making me tense and unsettled. A few heartbreaking stories of children lost on the newsreel make his little pleas to build Legos feel forced by the hands of another mourning Mother's fate. My Son remains optimistic despite my grumbles and each afternoon it's the same dance. He wants me to want to build the Legos with him. He wants me to have the same enthusiasm as he does for endless Star Wars talk, and I just don't. At least not every day. I redirect and try to be kind but I also have come to have a bit of resentment for the Lego sets. They are defining my afternoons and making me batty. They are these tiny little plastic parts that remind me that I don't always (I can't always) drop everything and sit and truly connect, because beyond not wishing to feel scattered and behind-- I just don't exactly want to. And I certainly shouldn't force myself due to guilt and be edgy the whole time!!
After a couple of weeks of shit-talking the Legos behind their back, I settled in for a build session with my little boy yesterday and surrendered. Patiently guiding him in piecing each part together, calm and unaware of the time, glad to be in the moment- we built. Without any angst. I noted to myself the way our head were coming close together- how sweet it felt when they gently touched and just as I thought how sweet that was, he said, "our hair is touching because we love each other."
Some days the little things come easier. The chores get attention after bedtime, or lay in wait til next day. We surrender and trade and bargain and are efficient sometimes and ineffectual others, all while juggling all that parents juggle. The moments that come easy and feel like the dream come true are fewer, in my experience, but they echo louder than any passing angst over the beautiful mess of it all.
Case and Point: I dream of building one of those architecture Lego jobs with my son.
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This past weekend we hit the road due Northeast to attend my baby brother's high school graduation. It was a quick trip and we had a great time. The weather has been unusually cool for this time of year which is lovely. I remember the day I graduated from High School, in the same gymnasium as "Uncle Gage" did on Saturday, it was hot and humid. My step dad came from Japan where he was stationed and wore his Marine Corps Dress Blues, with a perfect spit shined set of dress oxfords and clean shaved face with his standard military high-and-tight. My Grandma came from California and took portraits of me by a Maple tree that day- with my waist length straightened dishwater blond hair and bright smile, fresh out of braces. I wore a denim dress under my gown that was trimmed in a woven pink Indian-esque material, and completed the look with grass wedges. My baby brother Gage, at the time was 5 years old and would start kindergarten that fall, just after I left for college.
Fourteen years later, there we sat in the same auditorium-with many of the same faculty as were employed by the rural school the only year that I attended, my senior year of high school. There were familiar faces here and there but for the most part my one year of life at that tiny dot on the Missouri map is a very distant memory, and as I watched my baby brother walk across the same stage and receive his diploma- I didn't feel old or sentimental as one might expect. I just felt happy to be there for him in that moment. That we were up there in the bleachers for him to look to and smirk and share that day with him. My step-father and mother are no longer married. He sat away from us with his new wife and his hair has reached his shoulders. He wore a canvas black jacket and many silver rings fingers. His boots are made to ride motorcycles.
I was in the delivery room when Gage was born 19 years ago, and a few months after his birth, my Mom left California to be with her husband in Missouri. The first year I spent going back and forth between my Mom and Dad's homes- in Missouri and California respectively, but after the start of my high school years the back and forth slowed and I didn't see my Mom or brothers, including Gage who I felt very bonded with, for three years. The summer following my 11th grade plunder into the depths of bad grades and poor social choices, my Dad gave me a choice: to go visit my Mom for a month in Missouri or road trip with him and his wife and toddler sons. I chose my Mom. And after a month I wasn't ready to leave, so I stayed. I enrolled in Plato High School that Fall and completed my last year of high school at a tiny K-12 rural school where I graduated with 36 other students. One of those kids was a girl who I would become best friends with and would support me in joining her to live in Arkansas, where I would meet my husband and make this wonderful life that I am so lucky to know now.
Watching my brother take that walk to the end of his adolescent stage was not a sad thing from me. The dawn of his adult life holds so much promise. There will be many a blunder and many a lesson learned but he has so much to look forward to and I am excited to get to know him a little more every year. The gap is closing in on our age difference, and that is something to celebrate. I remember swaying him to sleep over my shoulder when he was newborn. The movie Lion King had just been released to VHS and the prelude to the feature was "The Colors of the Wind" from Pocahontas. I sang that song to him along with the cartoon with all my heart and when my son, Loukas, was a tiny baby and I learned the whoas of the exhausting witching hour- I'd hull up in our tiny bathroom with the heating-fan on and belt out those Colors of the Wind to him just the same. Even though I was barely a teen when my little brother came into my life- his coming was the birth of what would lead me to be the Mother that I am today. I see all that he has become, I've watched all his development from afar. There have been times that I've have mourned the loss of his little-hood and I know that those feeling will resurface with my own children. Some of that awareness leads me to being unnecessarily hard on myself at time- specifically for my endurance at child's play.
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It's always so humbling to be among your people. Who know you well, and love you, and remind you of just how much life is about your people. My children really get it, too. They love their cousins and Nana. And they love their Uncle Gage.
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The road home found us making an overnight stop in Branson, Missouri where we took a quiet afternoon train ride along 40 miles of wild Ozark terrain, passed ghost towns that were abandoned when the track that fueled their economies had stopped running through their town. One was destroyed by a tornado. We road through two century-ago dug tunnels. Long tunnels. And finally across a 125 truss that overlooked a beautiful valley where we saw a herd of bovine beauties of every coat color, and even some "baby cows" (as Jasper pointed out, and keeps reminding us) then the train returns along the same stretch, back to the station. Back through the long dark tunnels, but the narrator is silent and the lulling rhythm of the cars on the tracks makes you feel heavy but light and floaty at the same time. There are viewing bubble platforms on three of the five cars, each from a different era. Each end is pulled by electric revamped vintage bright red engines. Food and beverage are not allowed as carry-ons. The concessions aboard are your standard travel/carnival/ball game- type fare. Train travel will always feel like the most romantic way to get around before and after the ride, it seems.
If you are considering this type of entertainment- here's my one bit of advice: take friends. Loukas told his caregiver on Tuesday that "the train ride was special to me" and it was special to me, too, But I think it would have been really fun with a group of friends with kids. We are always up for making new friends, but that didn't seem to present itself this time. Go with friends. (And sneak some candy aboard)
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| rock-paper-scissor-SHOOT |
***I'm not totally sure how I've managed to parent for the past 4 1/2 years without stashing suckers in my purse. That probably sounds pretty crappy, but I must confess that since finding out about these Vitamin C suckers by
Yummy Earth at a friends' kid-party I've got these suckers hidden all over the place! They've improved shopping trips and have been mood shifters in a pinch and they are fruit juice sweetened and contain a daily dose of vitamin C. And don't get me started on the sour beans... It kind of sounds like I work for these guys, but I totally don't. I'm just sharing the word on the street and the word on the street is that we took along 4 lollies for an hour and 45 minute train ride and returned with zero and it was good choice.***
Instead of rushing back to our home, we decided to crash at the hotel next to the train depot. It was super comfy. We always love to indulge in the amenities. Especially late day coffee and oversized terry robes.
The Landing in Branson is an outdoor mall built near downtown on a finger of Lake Taneycomo. Save for the touristy feel of the mall and the vendors, the land is gorgeous- the landscape is an offering of everything ever Green. (An areal view of the tree tops on the train ride peeked my chromatic color love and was truly an eye-widening vantage of just how beautiful the Ozarks' diverse foliage absolutely is)
Sunday morning was dense foggy as we gathered our things and prepared to head back to Arkansas.
The sun could be seen behind the thick cloud we woke in, and before we were out of our sleep clothes, the brilliant Spring light spilled in. The boys ate strawberries and Jasper suited up in his undies- which he wears full time during the day now. I canceled our monthly delivery of paper diapers, which he now only wears at night. No more diaper deliveries is kind of a big deal, one that feels pretty neutral. It's not something that I've looked forward to, or dreaded or felt any way about really-- but here we are.
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A few iPhone snaps. All edited with vscocam, and the collage was created in Lightroom.
(1) I re-learned to fold paper cranes on the car ride North, and by the time we were South bound to home we had a quarter-dash full. (2) Hotel bed portrait-- those boys are bananas for bed-play (3) All-aboard (4) Missouri (5) Branson Scenic Railway (6) Morning Fog/Hotel window silhouette (7) White rose, from uncle Gage (8) Boy on train (9) Boy on Cartoons
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Thanks for reading (if you made it all this way.) Say hello or tell me a train story or a graduation story if you have one!! And enjoy the rest of the is Full-swing Spring week!
