Confessions of a Grandma

I was thinking of getting some Legos for my grand son. Remember Legos?  They used to be these brick-like stick-together blocks that could be used to construct all kinds of wonderful things.  Possibilities as limitless as a child’s imagination. They are not like that so much any more. I found some Star War kits and some City kits at the toy store in the mall.   There were not too many of either variety, but I was appalled at the kits on offer. Robber’s Hide Away is the theme of one. How about Prisoner Transport ?  Drug Sniffing Dog ?   I could not bring myself to purchase any of these. What exactly is the message here anyway? Now I know. This is what the discriminating five-year-old boy is into. Legos, shmegoes.

It looks like my poor grandson has inherited the tendency for wicked morning bedhead from his maternal grandmother.  (So sorry, Dane) His Uncle Kevin (my son) brought him a box of heavy cardboard spools from where he works.  Now when Kevin was this age himself, he would open birthday or Christmas gifts, leave the toys on the floor in a forgotten corner, and play for hours with the empty boxes.  I was not surprised that he thought this would be a great play option for Dane. And he was right.  These spools were made into castles and tunnels and roads and people and served for hours of quiet playtime. And, of course, the box they came in went to good use as well.