If You Love Someone, Lego

And another year goes by, and here we are again, at Joshua’s birthday. Six this time around, although it hardly seems possible.

Regular readers will know how acceptably distracting I find the kids’ birthdays, and how much I enjoy sourcing obscure kipple from the internet with which to adorn the birthday table or decorate the birthday cake, (which, of course, I am not allowed anywhere near. )

This year, it was a Lego party. Josh is into Lego in a major way, and so it seemed like a great idea in September when Mark suggested it. Josh greeted the notion with wild enthusiasm; I found some strange Japanese Lego invitations on Ebay, and we were away.

Until half-way through last week when Mark looked at me with a mildly troubled expression, and I asked him what was wrong.

“You know it is Joshua’s Lego party on Sunday?” he queried tentatively.
“Yes?” I replied, absently.
“Well – what exactly is a Lego party?”
I paused for thought. The finer interpretations hadn’t really occurred to me.
“I don’t know.” I said eventually. “We are going to have to invent it from scratch. It must involve games to do with Lego.”
“Sherlock.” He said. "It was more the nature of those games that was foxing me.”
“Well, how about ‘Lego Bobbing’?” I suggested. “It would be like apple bobbing, in a bucket, except with pieces of Lego.”
“I think the combination of threat of drowning and threat of choking on small pieces of coloured plastic will probably make us even less popular than the year I nearly frightened all the children to death with my Darth Vader outfit.” answered Mark, dubiously.
“Hmmm. Fair enough.” I said. “Well – how about Pass the Lego Parcel”?! They get bits of Lego falling out of the paper as well as a sweetie or something.”
“Better.” Said Mark. “Not that exciting, though.”
“No – but – they could collect up all the pieces and then make some kind of model with all the bits that they have collected. Ooh – how about a treasure hunt for other bits? And..how about games where they have to pick up bits with a knife and fork, or push bits along with their noses, or...”
“Right.” Said Mark. “I think I can see that the creative juices are flowing. I can relax now. Lego party will happen.”
“Of course!” I scoffed. "It’s not even a quarter of a challenge!”

The fateful day came. I was still busy scurrying around the Village Hall hiding the little pieces of plastic treasure when the guests started arriving.
One little boy made a bee-line for me.

“Hi!” I said. “Go and play on the bouncy castle!”
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Oh, nothing much!” I said lightly. “Run along and play now.”
“Why are you putting Lego under that chair?” he insisted.
“It’s for a game later. But don’t look – or you’ll spoil it.”
“Have we got to find it?” he said. “But I already know where it is.”
“Well you won’t know where the rest of it is, because you will be jumping on the bouncy castle!” I said very firmly; shepherding him in the appropriate away-from-Lego direction.

There is one thing I have learnt about kids and treasure hunts. They are much better than you think they are. We do Easter Egg hunts in the garden from time to time, and get loads of kids round.
The first year, I just scattered chocolate eggs in brightly coloured foil all over the lawn. The game was over in about 15 seconds. The next year, I secreted some in the foliage of plants, and the cracks of walls. The game was over in about 30 seconds. The third year, I buried them, and the grown-ups had some peace and a cup of tea.

The Lego quests, in their various guises went satisfactorily, and after a while, each child had enough to make it worth their effort at having a go at making some creation or other. There was peace – for about ten minutes.
“We are going to have a prize for the best one!” announced Mark
“And Mark is going to be the judge!” I piped up quickly. I am hopeless at things like that. Very surprisingly, given my job, I cannot bear people to lose. Correction: I cannot bear children to lose. It can actually be very satisfying to watch grown-up losers.

The creations began to take shape.
“Very good!” said Mark, moving around the table. He stopped at one little girl’s careful effort. “That’s lovely – is it an Aardvark?”
I thought this a bit of an ambitious shot in the dark, but even I was not prepared for the answer.
“No” she said, patiently. “It is Elvis’s guitar”.
“Ah – I can see it now,” said Mark, disingenuously.

Models were completed; prizes awarded (to everyone); cake was produced; candles blown; songs sung, and the whole event was over for another year. All very satisfying in a mildly terrifying kind of way. If these birthdays do not slow down, I will be writing, in what seems like a week, about his Eighteenth. I wonder if Mark will let me do Lego Bobbing then.