The Captain has been bugging us lately to let him bring Lego to school. Apparently a bunch of boys are allowed to bring a bagful, and then they play with it at recess.
I have problems with him taking Lego to school because I have completionist issues. I cannot go to sleep at night if there is a puzzle piece missing or a slice of the wooden play cake. I like sets to be kept together and to be completely accounted for at all times. Heaven forbid we shake out the shapes ball to find the hexagon is missing. HOUSE-WIDE SEARCH ALERT.
So needless to say, if some Lego goes missing, I will never sleep again. Because how will we be able to recreate the snow speeder with four snow troopers exactly as it appears on the box, if we are missing that 2×1 white piece that is critical to the ship’s hull? HOW, I ask you?
Also, I have been very wary in the past of dealing with the potential fallout if something does get lost or (eep) stolen. The Captain is almost as bad as I am for hoarding and sorting and making sure every last thing is accounted for. He’d be heartbroken.
Anyway, I finally caved in a couple of weeks ago and let him take some generic pieces that didn’t belong to any set. He didn’t lose anything, so from there we worked up to letting him take some generic people. I had to draw the line at the big dudes – can you imagine if we lost Lego Han Solo or Lego Indiana Jones? – but I did let him take a policeman. Then an astronaut.
Then yesterday, one of the criminals from his Space Police set, this guy:
He had him in his hand when he came out of the school. He had him in his hand after going through the woods with his friend Indy.
Then we got home, and Indy came in for a playdate. Then Indy went home, and suddenly, there were tears.
The Captain could not find octopus-head-guy (Kranxx, if you must know). He was sure he had dropped him on the walk home.
But by now, Little Miss Sunshine was hysterical with exhaustion and I was trying to keep her locked down. I had started dinner and there were three separate pots boiling on the stove. It was getting dark. There was no way I could take him out to look for it.
And oh, the weeping. The sadness that goes right to the bottom of your heart. I always feared this day would come.
Sir Monkeypants stopped on his way home to look along the length of road where The Captain was sure he had dropped it, but no luck. Later, I had to go out and I also stopped on my way home to check another length of pathway. Still nothing.
We were both pretty sure that some other kid had found Kranxx and was happily introducing him to some other Lego friends.
Meanwhile, at home, the Captain kept crying. And crying. And crying. Sir Monkeypants finally settled him into bed but we were all sad and worried.
This morning we got up extra early and got ready extra early so we could take our time walking to school, checking the whole way for an orange-headed Lego guy. Nothing, of course. I was impressed though, the Captain managed to hold it together and went into the school sadly, but without sobbing.
Then I came home from dropping the kids off and Sir Monkeypants said to me, “What did that Lego guy look like?”
And I was all, “Orange squid head.”
And he was all, “Black top? Vest?”
Me: “Yes, and holding a…”
Him: “…grey gun?”
Me: “Um, yes, that’s amazing, how did you know?”
Him: “IS THIS HIM???”
UNBELIEVABLE. He was on Sir Monkeypants’ bedside table THE ENTIRE TIME.
Think of the grey hairs, Captain! I cannot afford this kind of stress!