I don’t know if it’s because we live a mile from Legoland, or it’s just their age, but my kids are OBSESSED with Legos. Believe me, I am grateful that they have something that can keep them busy for at least 10 minutes straight, but seriously, there has got to be some limits. It started out with a couple tubs at Christmas and now has grown to an amount that is out of control! I know what the problem is; it’s those little Star Wars or emergency vehicle “kits” we keep buying as cheap rewards. What’s the point of these really? First of all, dad is the one who actually has to put it together, and then in less than half an hour, it gets taken apart, only to be mixed in with the millions of other Legos, never to be made sense of again as that police car or jet fighter. But the worst, I mean the absolute worst, is the fact that Legos plague my very existence. I can’t get away from them. They are everywhere. They show up in the washer, the garden, hidden in the shag rug, under the couch cushions. Today I found some in the bottom of our shoe basket, and yes, I’m not gonna lie…once we were interrupted by one in our bed…ahem. So if anyone should hear me screaming from the boys’ room, it’s not because I’m trying to get them to pick up the tornado of those tiny plastics on the floor, it’s because I’m screaming in agony from stepping on another @#%&* Lego!