This rail line consisted of engines and flat cars that carried cargo and all of the necessary workers to get the job done.
It turned out great, and I have to admit, I was very impressed with their skills. They tweaked it many times and of course, since it was so awesome, it stayed up well past Christmas. Strike that, many Christmases. In fact, I am not exactly sure how long ago they built this but I do know that it was impossible to dust and it even sprouted a few cobwebs over time.
In the last few months, I'd begun to grumble about how I would like to reclaim that mantel space, especially after all of the beautiful stagings I have seen on Pinterest. I wanted a real, grown-up look instead of the "our playroom has overflowed to the living room" look. Since the youngest person in my house is about to graduate out of his teens, that seemed like a reasonable request.
So while my husband was out of town for a week, I
My immediate response was tears prickling in my eyes, and no, they weren't the tears of joy and excitement I had expected. Instead, I felt an overwhelming sense that a page in my life had turned, and I wasn't sure that I was ready for that chapter. Seeing the mantel absent of Legos after all of those years somehow underscored the fact that we are no longer a household of parents and kids, but a household of adults. It made me kind of blue.
For about ten minutes.
Then I got out all the stuff that I'd been making and stashing away, imagining that some day it would look so pretty in all its glory in its proper place. I set it up, re-arranged, stepped back, moved a few more things, and finally, it was done. The mantel had been reclaimed. It had grown up.
Now when I walk in the room, I see something that says "Adults Live Here." While I love the way it looks, and I'm glad I did it, there's still a part of me that actually misses the Legos.
Then I look at the sofa table and the dust-covered block of Lego City buildings and the busy cars and people and I get over it. Immediately.