No, I don't mean my husband is a juvenile. I'm talking about my six year old son, Biggie. A few minutes ago we had a conversation in which he reminded me so much of his father it was uncanny. The words, facial expression, even the stance he took. Oh dear, I'm in trouble now.
We have had a good day though. Letting Little Guy recuperate quietly we have stayed in most of the day. He had a lovely long nap which let Biggie and I get on with the pressing task of organizing his Lego.
We have been big fans of Lego since Biggie was about one. We had a set when I was a kid but I only recall it being dominated by my brother who insisted on using each and every piece for giant elaborate constructions and then guarding it with threats of violence.
We have several sets from the baby size up. Now that we live just down the road from the Lego outlet store Click Brick it's pretty much the only thing that appears on Biggie's Christmas and birthday lists.
So this afternoon's project was to sort through the huge coffin-sized box of all fourteen (according to B) sets to separate them all. A quick trip to the hardware store for smaller slide-under-the bed containers and we are halfway there. It was a most lovely way for Biggie and I to spend an afternoon together. Very relaxing and therapeutic. Mummy & Biggie time.