Saturday, December 17, 2011

Lego War






My dear husband turned 40 on Thursday. We celebrated with his work friends at an ER Christmas party. They added a few birthday cupcakes and sang a round of "Happy Birthday."


The next day, I attended Caleb's school holiday party.



The boys visited Santa today at the Indiana State Museum. Most of the other kids waiting in line were clad in cute Christmas sweaters and velvet dresses. I was just lucky to get them all there, they picked their attire. All the boys told Santa their "wish list." Connor asked for a dog. Glad Santa didn't commit on that one!

After a series of late nights, I snuck in a nap during "quiet time." As expected, quiet time was none so quiet. Pretty soon, I heard angry rumblings from the boys. Quickly, I ran to the commotion. Cooper sat in a room, surrounded by an overturned Lego box. Every Lego we own was strewn across the floor. The multi-colored pieces looked like confetti moments after a New Year's Eve countdown. There were so many I could barely spot the carpet.

"What happened?" I asked, questioning the obvious.

"Cooper dumped the entire bin of Legos," Connor quickly piped in, all to eager to finger his little brother.

I informed Cooper he'd need to clean up the mess and could not leave the room until it was finished.

A few minutes later, Cooper stormed out of the room and marched right up to me. He puffed out his chest and held his head high. He said with as much gumption as he could muster, "I've made a decision. I'm not going to clean up the Legos."

I met his glare and replied, "It's not your decision to make."

Reluctantly, he retreated back into the room, but continued his campaign against the Lego cleanup. He employed a civil disobedience tactic: sitting in the room for an hour and a half, refusing to pick up one single piece.

During this time, I tried my best to make staying in the room as painful as possible (in the nicest way). I offered the other three boys snacks, and they feasted on fistfuls of goldfish just feet away from Cooper. Cooper eyed his brothers longingly, but didn't budge.

Finally, after one hour and forty-five minutes, he caved. He began scooping up Legos by the handful. Within minutes, the war was over. He had officially surrendered. The room was clean, peace was had, and an extra snack was served.

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