Peter wishes to go to Lego Land someday. Some days I think we already live there.
Stray yellow heads with curious stares greet me under sofas. Rogue gears and wheels hide out in pockets and drawers. Every now and then, aggressive eight-knobbed blocks accost socked feet in the hallways. Eventually they manage, perhaps by some legonic force-field, to be pulled back to the mother bin and used for some noble purpose.
Peter's brain is like his Pops'. Always creating, always wondering. I love Pops. I love Peter. I think I like living in Lego Land.
