Death by Legos

 Today my youngest son came up to me and handed me his 
Indiana Jones lego plane....in pieces. 

He was distraught...my son...not Indie. Indie never gets rattled.

“Mommy (he calls me Mommy...not Princess) can you fix this?”

*picture big greenish, brownish, goldish, amberish, hazelish 

(we have no idea what color to call them) eyes with tears welling up*

Me: “Of course son! I will put it back together for you. 

Don’t cry dear. I’ll have it done in a jiffy.”

I mean, how hard can it be? 

*rookie statement*

When he brought the plane to me it looked like this.

After I dropped it on the hardwood floors, it looked like this. 

*insert forehead slap*

Okay...I can still do this. I’m smart. I’m educated. I have a masters degree 

for heaven's sake. It’s a toy that’s labeled for ages 7-14 years. 

I got dis!

Fast forward to 2 hours and 15 minutes later.....

Son of a biscuit eater!!! I just wasted my entire afternoon! 

Why didn’t I just quit you ask? Cuz my daddy didn’t raise no quitter. 

(Though my grammar is questionable at times.)

Why did it take me so long? 

Two pieces. 

Tried to leave them out after the first hour. Apparently they are "magic" 

pieces that make the whole bloomin' thing work.

What did my son say when I proudly displayed the repaired plane? 

Nothing...he had moved on to another project LOOOONG ago.

Do you see the face the smug Indiana Jones lego man is making at me?

I wonder what face he will make when I get out my secret 

weapon to insure I will never have to do this again?

Score one for the princess....