I have a 22-year-old daughter. She is dating a boy who is 21. He is very well-mannered, a nice guy. Every Sunday, he comes to our place… and spends the entire day in her room. I don’t want to disturb them, but one Sunday I thought: “What if they are making their own kids in there?!” So I ran to her room, I opened the door, the lamp was on, and you know what I see?<\/p>\n
My daughter is sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing a pair of giant magnifying goggles, holding tweezers like a neurosurgeon.<\/p>\n
The nice, well-mannered boy is sprawled completely flat on his stomach next to her. He has a small flashlight clamped between his teeth and is frantically sifting through a literal ocean of tiny, grey plastic bricks.<\/p>\n
There was no romantic music playing. There were no lit candles. Instead, the air was thick with the high-stakes tension of an absolute structural crisis.<\/p>\n
Between them sat the half-finished, skeletal frame of a 7,500-piece LEGO Millennium Falcon.<\/p>\n
My daughter didn’t even look up at my dramatic entrance. She just let out a heavy sigh, adjusted her goggles, and pointed the tweezers at her boyfriend. “I swear to you, Mark,” she whispered intensely, “if you lost the dark bluish-grey inverted slope piece, this entire hyperdrive assembly is compromised.”<\/p>\n
Mark spat the flashlight out of his mouth, his hair standing on end from static electricity. “I didn’t lose it! It has to be in pile four! You sorted pile four!”<\/p>\n
“Pile four is strictly wing plating!” she hissed back.<\/p>\n
I stood frozen in the doorway, my heart still pounding from my wild, grandmotherly panic just seconds prior. My eyes scanned the room. Every square inch of her carpet was meticulously divided into color-coded zones using Tupperware containers and paper bowls. They hadn’t been making a baby for the last six Sundays. They had been building a spaceship.<\/p>\n
“Uh, Mom?” my daughter finally asked, blinking at me through the magnified lenses that made her eyes look like giant, cartoonish saucers. “Is everything okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”<\/p>\n
I slowly let go of the doorknob, smoothing down my shirt and trying to salvage whatever dignity I had left.<\/p>\n
“Everything is fine,” I managed to squeak out, my face burning red. “I just… I wanted to see if you two needed any snacks. Or, you know… structural support.”<\/p>\n
Mark beamed at me from the floor, a red indentation on his forehead from the carpet. “Actually, Mrs. Henderson, if you could make a pot of coffee? We are about to tackle the lower quad-laser cannon, and it\u2019s going to be a long afternoon.”<\/p>\n
I nodded, slowly backing out of the room. “Coffee it is. May the Force be with you both.”<\/p>\n
I closed the door gently behind me, laughing softly to myself all the way down the hall. I guess I don’t have to worry about grandbabies anytime soon\u2014at least, not until they finish the Galactic Empire.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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