W, at almost seven, announced a few months ago that he likes Lego. We parents were unprepared for this, because E, who is three years older, was the unorthodox little boy: no building toys, no cars, no trains, no crafts or art projects, no typical boy stuff. Ever. He liked books, maps, doing addition and subtraction with negative numbers (no kidding), and counting in five languages. Actually, this suited us as parents, because neither of us was much into the little fiddly toys with multiple easy-to-lose parts, nor did we much like painting, clay or other messy stuff.
So when W decided to pursue the Lego thing, we kind of ignored it for a while. But he persisted. And then, today, his uncle's Hanukkah present arrived: a huge Lego kit with three separate projects in it. The parents shuddered, envisioning hours of sitting on the floor supervising the snapping together of tiny plastic bars.
And then a miracle happened.
W, not yet seven years old, spent the entire day - and I do mean the entire day, from right after breakfast until just before dinner - sitting on the floor, building his own Lego project. He needed the occasional help finding the right piece or tying a tiny knot on the tiny pulley that hangs from the bottom of the big helicopter, but mostly he did the whole thing himself.
Never have I put to bed a happier boy. Singing, self-satisfied, overjoyed with a job well done. And planning to get up tomorrow morning and go straight to the third part of the kit.