Leggo my Legos

This photo makes me giggle for several reasons:

1. My brother snapped this in the toy section at Target because he couldn't stop laughing when he saw it.
2. Not only does this little Lego lady sort of resemble yours truly, but the description does too (except for the part about being bossy! Whatevs!).
3. Legos remind me of one of my most cherished Brother vs. Sister stories.

As a kid, I could spend hours and hours alone entertaining myself. Playing with my Barbie dolls, drawing, riding my bike and pretending it was a school bus - I always found a creative outlet and rarely found myself bored. My little brother, Eric, on the other hand, required constant attention and companionship. You can imagine how this personality conflict would affect my annoyance level and ruin my life at times, right?

The one thing my brother and I did have in common, though, was playing with Legos together. For years we'd build, then tear down, and then rebuild what we called "S.E.L.M. City," which stood for "Steph, Eric, Legos, and Micro Machines." S.E.L.M. City was a mountainous railroad town. Literally. My Dad nailed down train tracks from a train set onto an old box spring and set it up in our basement. Inside the tracks we displayed brown rocks that we gathered from outside, naming them the "Chocolate Mountains." We also had a Micro Machine's gas station set up in our little town (If you don't remember what Micro Machines are, think half-sized matchbox cars!). And in addition to the mountains and gas station, we built tremendous houses out of Legos.

To this day you could put a bucket of Legos in front of me, and I'd be occupied for hours. There's just something about the building, the creating, and the rush you get when you finally find that rare and elusive 2-pronged piece you've been (noisily) searching for, which is an elation that can be likened to finding that one last quarter needed for laundry while searching in a sea of a million other coins. Jackpot!

Constructing houses out of Legos was one of the few activities that didn't usually end in a fight between me and my little brother. Enjoying the journey rather than the destination was of utmost importance when drafting our blue prints for S.E.L.M. City. Our little Lego dudes rarely got to enjoy all that S.E.L.M. City had to offer though, because once we were finished, we'd tear it down and work on something bigger and better.

(As a side note, my little Lego dude was named "Bob Costas," which never failed to make my brother snicker. I don't know why I chose that name, other than the fact that his snap-on helmet-like hairpiece reminded me of the the guy I'd seen on TV jabbering on and on about sports during a good portion of my youth.)

Anyway, I was more artistic and patient than my brother, so my houses always looked a lot better than his. I'd take great care never point this out to him, though, and I would always encourage him any time he requested that I check out his progress.

What the little brother didn't know at the time, and still hasn't caught on to this day, however, is that I hoarded all the "good pieces." I  secretly kept a stash of potted plants, kitchen sinks, "glass" French doors, etc. So, while my MTV's Cribs worthy masterpiece boasted skylights and pristine plastic landscaping, my brother's house looked more like the Lego equivalent of a cinder block garage.

But one day, for reasons I still cannot fathom other than I was probably just annoyed by his presence, I thought he should know that my house was worlds better than his. I couldn't stop giggling at his mismatched red/yellow/white walls and sparse "furniture." Even as I witnessed the furor and rage build up on his face, I just couldn't stop myself from hurling the criticism. The next thing I knew, my lavish Lego mega mansion was destroyed beyond all recognition.

And at that very moment, it hit me. Man, I'm a real a-hole, I thought. I deserved for my Lego mansion to be smashed to bits! But all I could do was stare at the wreckage in silence with my jaw dropped.

The silence was then only broken by a whimper from my little brother. He felt so guilty for what he'd done that he started crying and apologizing. He hugged me, which only made me feel bad that he felt so bad.

From that day forward, we never had another "incident" while Lego-ing. An unspoken -but very strict!- law was immediately enacted requiring us to always respect each other's Lego houses while they stood proudly within the jurisdiction of the oval-shaped railroad city. In other words, I silently agreed to never again hurl harsh criticism, and he silently agreed to never again hurl my handiwork across the playroom.

I think we both quietly understood that our quality bonding time spent building Lego houses was special, and that we didn't want to ruin it, especially because we already spent plenty of time fighting over sink space while brushing our teeth.

Finally, feeling guilty myself for being such a brat when I clearly had an unfair advantage regarding construction materials, I decided to sneak some of the "good pieces" back into the communal Lego bucket that day. Despite my generous effort, though, Eric's Lego houses continued to resemble little brightly colored prison cells, but I (wisely) kept that thought to myself.