By Jody Worsham
Monday, February 24, 2014
By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for Diplomatic Immunity
My eight-year-old purchased a Lego set with the Christmas gift cards he had received. I would have preferred that he purchase a small country instead, but he wanted Legos. When he got home, he piled all 514 pieces on a dinner plate and proceeded to separate them out.
“Have fun!” and I left to take the twelve-year-old to ballet class; then I would have another Wal-Mart walk-about while I waited. When we returned home, I found the eight-year-old with frustration streaming down his face. With my teeth artfully imbedded in my tongue “I told you not to get such a complicated toy” came out as “I bet your sister can assemble that in no time. Want her to try?”
With the pre-teen throwing dartful glances at me, I whisked the eight-year-old to the kitchen for the universal magic cure-all…chocolate and Diet Coke. With caffeine and endorphins coursing through his veins, he raced outside and up a tree while his sister assembled micro Lego dots.
An hour later, the eight-year-old once again came running in with anger streaming down his face.
“She put my Super Secret Police all terrain SWAT mobile together, then took three pieces off and won’t tell me which ones they are,” said a little future-hubby-without-a-clue. I bit my tongue, again.
“Well I spent a whole hour putting that thing together when I could have been doing something really important like texting my bff" came from the future-wife-in-training.
My teeth attacked my tongue.
“Wid ooo ahwebble it an hi wee pieces wike he ed?” My tongue had doubled in size.
Translation: “Did you assemble it then hide three pieces like he said?”
“Yes, but he wouldn’t come down out of the tree to even look at it after I spent all that time putting it together."
At that point Dr. Hubby entered the playroom. He spoke not a word but went straight to work and scooped up all the logo pieces and turned with a jerk. Sorry, wrong season...poem.
He placed the logos in the center of the table and declared it the DMZ. Eight-year-olds to the north, twelve-year-olds to the south. It didn’t matter. The eight-year-old had already lost interest and retreated to the tree and the twelve-year-old had gone to her room for uninterrupted texting. I was in the kitchen soaking my tongue in a glass of flavored alcohol and ice. Hubby followed close behind looking for his universal tranquilizers: “Where’d you hide the Snickers? Not even any chocolate bars left? Who drank all my Dr. Peppers? “
With the Lego Truce in effect, I am once again going to Wal-Mart. I will avoid the Lego aisle. I don’t think I could resist the temptation. With my current frame of mine and swollen tongue, tomorrow’s lead story on CNN might be “Wabbit Woman Wacks Wego aisle.”