There’s no other way to describe it.
We live in a war-torn state here on Beach Street.
Lego shrapnel abounds. Lego bombs lurk around every corner. Tiny pieces lie in wait, sometimes for months, eager to inflict some damage on some poor, unsuspecting innocent.
It amazes me that neither Hilary nor I have ripped the plantar fascia on our feet bottoms via inadvertently stepping on those sharp suckers.
I live in fear of that scenario.
Creeping across the bedroom floor in total darkness for a bathroom run, delicately placing my feet on the floor with a dainty touch as though checking for land mines or a glacial fissure. Eyes wide trying to use my rods or cones to catch a glimpse of a luminescent piece of plastic before I wreck my foot on it and go hurtling headlong into the dog’s crate. Likely impaling myself on the metal frame, bleeding out right there on the carpet whilst my family sleeps peacefully.
The Legos also serve as evidence; an indication that Everett was recently there. He carries little figurines and space ship contraptions in his pockets at all times. Then deftly deposits one on the corner of a couch, next to an abandoned dinner plate, on the floor of the guest bathroom. Maybe like a serial killer who leaves tiny little origami swans at crime scenes. A calling card.
They are literally everywhere.
We bought the two large Lego bags pictured above a couple years ago. Hoping that the Legos could be gathered and stored neatly within them. Instead, the bags spend more time split open, spilling their blocky contents out like bloated piñatas.
The sheer number of Lego pieces they contain boggles the mind. Just the thought of having to someday count them for some unfathomable reason makes my temples throb.
I have no idea how we accumulated so many Legos. None showed up in-bulk. None en masse. Rather, one packet at a time. Like an unattended faucet drip drip dripping for a month that silently floods an entire home.
On occasion, I smile giddily at the prospect of offloading the Lego cache. Everett’s — they’re mostly within Everett’s exclusive dominion at this point — interest in them hits a lull. The satchels stay stuffed but sinched in a closet for a month. The boys have younger cousins on the east coast that would love to get their hands on these bad boys. My older nephew would likely rip into the USPS box like a wild animal. Drooling a bit. So exciting. He would remember always the day “the 10,000 Legos showed up.”
El Dia de Los Legos Diez Mil –maybe my sister and her husband will celebrate this day annually as such!
More likely, she won’t speak to me for a time. Happy that her kids are happy. Secretly fuming that her plantar fascia are now in jeopardy. That she or her husband may impale themselves. I hope her rods or cones are superior to mine, night vision-wise. That is her only hope. Good luck, l’il sis….
Thanks for reading.