Forbidden LEGO

I was going to call this post “I ♥ LEGO,” but first I clicked over to Amazon to see if I could find a title that actually came from a book, and there really is a book called Forbidden LEGO: Build the Models Your Parents Warned You Against!   How could I resist?  Anyway, the reason I heart LEGO is that a 10-year-old, an 8-year-old, and a 6-year-old have been harmoniously playing on my living-room floor for an hour, and I can sit here and mess around on the computer to my heart’s content while listening with half an ear to their schemes for the LEGO universe. 

We have a 14-gallon Rubbermaid container three-quarters full of LEGO pieces, mostly collected by Stubb from garage sales, and there’s no end to what you can find in there–regular bricks out the wazoo, of course, plus dozens and dozens of odd and unusual pieces (“I found a LEGO octopus!” Young’un C. just announced).  I’m sure I rolled my eyes most times Stubb acquired yet another bag of garage-sale LEGO, but honey, I was wrong and you were right. 

I meant to post this a few days ago–it’s one in a series of compositions in bathroom mirror and Expo dry-erase marker.  I call it Lolcat Countdown. 


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