For the record, that a three-old has a ravenous, insatiable thirst for raw, undistilled attention should be revelation to no one. But while to non-parents it is endearing and humorous, to true-parents, especially those with a penchant for quiet reflection, it is something else entirely. Something not altogether pleasant.
The Legos, though, are getting pretty sophisticated. Alexander got a bunch of it around Ecksmas and my crusade to remove all toy packaging from my home necessitated the assembly of all sets and subsets. Like most kids from my generation I spent a solid fraction of my youth with this stuff. So when they replace the basic, four-rotor propeller assembly of that youth with a new, friction-dampening design that carries more momentum and vibrates less, it’s difficult in the extreme to keep from activating kids-don’t-know-how-good-they’ve-got-it mode. Whiplash sets in when reality reminds that it was Danielle and I who assembled this miniature cubist helicopter while Alexander alternated between watching and distracting himself with other toys.
So in conclusion, he might be a tad too young for Legos, but I am not too old. A net gain, methinks. Though I really should assemble the next kit at the kitchen table. I’m not as close to the floor as I used to be.
Ja.