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Hollow Tree Ventures parenting humor
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Poetic Justice for Legos

"This stuff?  Oh yeah,
we're totally going to clean this stuff up."
LIES.
These days, my children can most often be found playing Legos. Sometimes they even do it without fighting.

They make all sorts of crazy contraptions, which means that after they've constructed a set the "right" way once, they rarely ever again use the pieces the way the (I'm assuming) highly paid Lego Designers intended.

That's fine by me - they're using their imaginations, and as far as I'm concerned that's far more important than learning how to follow the directions in those dumb picture-based instruction booklets. I'm not even sure following instructions like those counts as a skill.
Unless you happen to have trouble with those.  In that case I take it back; I meant no offense. I will, however, suggest that you never buy furniture from IKEA.
Sometimes I wonder, though, if the Legos themselves would feel the same way. I mean, of course, if Legos could think stuff and feel things and write poetry.
Huh?
The reason I'm bringing this up is that it's time for Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop, and I'm responding to the prompt, "Write a poem from the perspective of your child's favorite toy."

Sorry, no angst-driven emo verses from my teen years today - maybe another time. Today I'm bringing you a poem from my kids' favorite toy:

Poetic Justice (for Legos)

We sit with promise on the shelf at the store,
carefully planned-out construction galore.
Into each set, Lego puts lots of thought,
boxes the blocks, and hopes that they're bought
by kids who will build them - then touch them no more.

But we're taken home, the box ripped apart.
Just once  the directions are taken to heart.
We match the box photo, fulfilled destiny,
briefly become the toy we're meant to be -
And that's when the trouble usually starts.

I should be a helicopter and fly overhead
but the children want a snowmobile instead.
They yank off my rotors, steal my landing skids,
I'm junked out for parts by these ungrateful kids -
just wait til these little jerks trot off to bed.

I'll join the space ship of ridiculous size,
the train windows (now they're a greenhouse that flies),
the oddly-shaped, all-color, random piece house,
my brave friends who've gone into slobbery mouths,
and the totem pole made out of beheaded guys.

Their haphazard building is making me tense!
Turbo boat on wheels? It doesn't make sense!
Fellow Legos - picked to bits and thrown in a tub?
We'll show them! Let's all go hide in the rug!
We'll puncture their feet - it's our only defense.


Mama’s Losin’ It

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40 comments:

fishducky said...

If children's toys COULD talk. they'd probably complain that they're bored & there's nothing to do!!

Dawn aka BusyMom said...

Coming at ya from Mama Kat's... the Legos currently being held hostage under my son's bed... well they have been there for a while... I mean he is 16... well, nearly 17... but they did come out of incarceration for some recreational time when my 5 yo nephew came over the other afternoon... and the ones that were not lost, or eaten by the dog... were probably begging to be returned to solitary confinement when it was time to clean up and send everyone home.

Meredith Price said...

That is hands down the best poem I have ever read and it's so true! There is nothing worse than stepping on a Lego barefoot. xD

Stacie @ Snaps and Bits said...

I love this! My youngest is so into Legos, they are all over his room (and the house). He is the same way, putting them together right the first time. After that they become abominations over time...

Mackenzie said...

"We'll puncture their feet - it's our only defense".

Ha, ha, ha.... Darn legos! We've all done this :)

Anonymous said...

I have stepped on a nail and still think Legos hurt worse!

Christian at Point Counter-Point Point Point said...

My kid must be in the minority. He loves following the directions and building and rebuilding and rebuilding whatever the intended vehicle or structure is. He's only 4 so I always have to help him but the majority of my help is me sifting through thousands of lego pieces looking for that tiny one square clear piece he needs for a headlight. This is why daddy drinks.

Marianne said...

You're a poet! Love this. But HATE Legos (said while removing one from between my toes).

robyn said...

Ha - that's true! They'd learn by example (unlike the kids). ;)

robyn said...

I bet YOU were ready to crawl under the bed and hide, too!

robyn said...

Thanks! Those dumb little things are all corners and sharp edges, aren't they? :P

robyn said...

Yes, they get everywhere - and they seem to be the last toy for kids to grow out of, so the Legos Everywhere Phase lasts a loooong time. I always get a kick out of their abominations, though. ;)

robyn said...

Yup, sad but true! ;)

robyn said...

Hahahahahaha! I mean, I'm sorry that happened to you. But also hahahahaha!

Sue - The Spin Cycle said...

This is art. In more ways than one. Kudos.

robyn said...

I can't believe how timy they make some of those pieces. Plus, now they'll not only be tiny but you'll have to find the one piece that's slightly curved on one side and bends and has the little hook for the tiny oil can to snap into. That's one reason to appreciate the kids making up their own crazy Franken-Legos - then every piece they find is just what they needed.

robyn said...

Ha! Thanks :)

robyn said...

Thanks, I appreciate it!

Andie@multiplemama said...

Legos are seriously the most dangerous and sometimes vindictive toys of all! I'm pretty sure this is their war chant. Briliiant!

shannon said...

okay, because i know that you know that i totally lurv you i feel that i can be honest in saying that i did not have spectacularly high hopes for a poem from the perpspective of Legos without worrying that you would take it the wrong way (run-on sentences are too much fun NOT to type them)...where was i? oh, yeah - i totally laughed through that whole thing, and i believe that the collective concious of Legos will be so appreciative of having you so poetically put their most heartfelt thoughts out there that you will miraculously find that you never step on a lego again...damn mountain dew, the rest of my day is gonna be a run-on sentence...

Amy said...

Lol, love this. I'm glad my kids toys can't talk. I can only imagine.

robyn said...

Well, we're on to them now! Which probably just means they'll up their game - I'd better not start finding them in the shower.

robyn said...

You know me well enough to know that I love run-on sentences. :) And I'm glad it was better than you feared - if I'd thought about how un-funny it sounds before I started, I probably wouldn't have tried writing it. :)

robyn said...

Right? Some things I just don't want to know. I especially don't want to hear from that doll whose eyes close when you lie her down - ::shudder::

Rachel said...

Ha, great poem! I think you captured the Lego personality magnificently. ;)

Carol said...

I'm quite sure if legos could talk, they would say just what you wrote! Very creative.

kaye said...

nicely done, I'm sure that's exactly how a box of Lego's feels. Although I do have a son-in-law that purchases the big sets, puts them together and displays them in a curio cabinet to be looked at and never played with. Weird, I know. kaye—the road goes ever ever on

robyn said...

Thanks! I hope they're not really that angry, though. ;)

robyn said...

Thanks - and thanks for being here!

robyn said...

Oh man, I think that would make me all twitchy - I'm not sure I could resist just "borrowing" a couple pieces from his creations to put the finishing touches on my multi-level secret lair/beauty salon. :)

SouthMainMuse said...

Last night as I was attempting to put a bed from IKEA together in my son's room, I kept stepping on his Legos. Talk about going a bit crazy. I was a little stressed out with my project then to have those bitty bits of plastic in my feet. Ugh. I am with you sista.

Third Party said...

I think this poem is pure genius, baby! It's not everyone who can make something so seemingly mundane sing so smooooooovely.

An aside: I hear that during economic downturns, folks should invest in precious metals and Legos. Seems legit.

robyn said...

Whenever you think they're all picked up, there's always a handful lurking, waiting to jab you in the foot. Then, when you pick those up, there are still 87 more to get sucked up by the vacuum. ;)

robyn said...

Thanks, babe! And I agree - investing in Legos does make sense, considering some of those sets cost about as much as the crown jewels.

Marian said...

Actually, I heard from a Lego expert that the Deathstar is going to be worth serious cash when they are all gone. It will cost serious cash to buy it, but apparently you'll earn it all back plus ++. Hubs told me this and I still haven't been able to talk him into going for this investment plan. I think it falls into the "possible risk or stuck forever with Deathstar Legos" category and he's more about the "no risk at all, ever" investments.

robyn said...

I've seen enough Antiques Roadshow to know that any Deathstar I owned would be the one that would have been worth millions, except for the four missing blocks and the fact that one of the kids got bored one day and peeled all the stickers off. My version: $4.36 at auction. Which is still probably better than my 401k balance, so it might be worth looking in to.

Mary Carmichael said...

Great poem!

robyn said...

Thank you! :)

mare ball said...

O my gosh, too funny! Great poetry. I remember the days of Legos everywhere. I loved that the kids could spend hours assembling a city. Hated stepping on the darn things. ;-)

robyn said...

It really does keep them occupied, doesn't it? But they are EVERYWHERE!

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