For The Babe's fifth birthday, we presented him with the very gift he has been asking, telling, and begging us about for what seems like five years.
Can you say Lego City Fire Station (and accompanying paraphernalia)? Yes, 662 pieces of Lego glory billed for the five to ten year old set.
He received this gift on Monday morning, pre-8am. He started assembling it at about 8:01am, after he shoved breakfast down his gullet faster than a speeding bullet.
This set of Legos was so complex, it had eight plastic packages each filled with too many blocks to count, five booklets of directions, and many pieces smaller than my pinkie nail*. Almost immediately, I began to have doubts that this thing would EVER get assembled.
But, after I helped him find bag one and its companion instruction booklet, he went to town. He had assembled the first set, a fire truck, before he had to leave for preschool.
Upon arriving home, brothers and neighborhood kids descended on the house and proceeded to help. Packages two and three? Done Monday afternoon.
It is now Tuesday night. At about 5:30, the whole set was finished. All that was left was to snap one set into another, via four connectors.
The Babe looked up at me and said, with extreme excitement quivering in his voice, "It's almost done!"
And then. "I think I'm going to cry." He was almost on the verge of ecstatic.
Now, if you haven't met my boy, you'd think something pink was happening to him. I assure you, it wasn't.
Once he finished, minus any tears, he strutted around the house like a bantam rooster for about two hours. During that time, about every fifteen minutes, he'd pipe up to remind us, or call us to his room to prove, that IT WAS DONE.
I'm more than a little proud of The Babe. He did most of this on his own. When I did help, it was mostly because he couldn't find a piece among the sea of pieces. I rarely actually put anything together.
And toward the end, when he was in potential crying mode? I liken that to the accomplishment people feel finishing a 5K race, staring at the finish line as they move toward it, wanting someone else to witness the glory they are about to accomplish. I wasn't NEEDED in that moment, other than to be the person that could say, after the fact, "Yup. He did it. All by himself."
Would it be hasty of me to call MIT and let them know the boy genius needs a spot in the Engineering school in 2022?
*For some strange reason, this got me thinking about Barbie doll accessories and how sharp the heels on Barbie's shoes were if you ever stepped on them. What was Mattel thinking?