LEGO-ing with the Master

I asked Ax what I should write about today and he gave me this title.  Right now he’s embarked on an 882-piece dragon which he’s methodically constructing step-by-step using the 163-page instruction booklet.

I’m pretty sure this proclivity is from his father, or from his grandfathers, all science types.  When Ax is engaged in a build, or really anything, he likes me to be around, to be available, but to not interfere or distract.  I’m still figuring that one out.

“Mom, this piece is not fitting in,” he says.

“Hmm,” I say.

“It’s not working,” he says, ever so slightly agitated.  We’ve learned that a big build always has its moments of doubt, its challenges and imperfections.

“What are your choices?” I say, neutrally.

He looks at some other piece options.  Tries the same piece a different way.  I watch, saying nothing. 

It definitely will not snap in.  There’s another piece blocking it and a piece on top of that one and that one and that one.  It’s a Lego Gordion Knot.  I’m breathing. 

“Can I try?” I ask.

“Sure,” he says.

He hands me the torso.  I take a look.  It’s not gonna work without some heavy deconstruction, and even then, who really knows?  Really.

I offer him my assessment:  “You could go back and back and back?”

“No, I don’t want to do that.”  He says, and he continues forward, the imperfectly snapped piece somehow being good enough to support the next phase of dragon development. 

The moment of consternation passes, the pieces are coming together for him easily once again.  I get him his muffin and fizzy water, put it beside him silently, and go back to writing while lying on the floor by his side.  Cleo the cat recognizes the opening and comes and sits on my back.  It’s a good day and it’s not even 8am.  I’m gonna keep going.

Thank you.