![]() The clever Danish company has kits for most things boys find interesting (girls, not so much), and Leif is no exception. Leif would roll his eyes and shake his head at my ignorance, and then giggle.Ī parallel, yet complementary, focus, Legos have been like a brick foundation supporting each of Leif’s phases from paleontology onward. “Then just where do you think the Flintstones got their Brontosaurus burgers from, huh?” I’d triumphantly counter with adult imperiousness. Less fun was a wee kid regularly correcting my pronunciation of various dinosaur species or taking the Brontosaurus’s very existence from me, “There’s no such thing as a Brontosaurus, just Apatosauruses!” he’d assert whenever I’d call one of his long-necked figures the B-word. Yep, my kindergartner knew more about paleontology than his college-graduate mum. He informed me that, starting from wall with his doorway, the beasts were organized in geological order - Triassic, Jurassic and Cretaceous. Its mind-boggling enormity inspired Leif to learn more about megafauna and soon thereafter he launched into a very long dinosaur phase.Ī year later, three of the four walls of Leif’s bedroom were decorated with dinosaur stickers. While the aviary staff scrambled to rescue Thomas, 2-year-old Leif cried at decibel levels commensurate with the horror and grief he felt over his dear train’s fate.Ī few months after he turned 4, Leif tossed Thomas to the curb like yesterday’s losing lottery numbers after watching “Titanoboa: Monster Snake,” a documentary about a prehistoric 42-foot snake. While looking down from a bridge at a duck pond, Leif accidentally dropped his 3-inch train into the murky water below. Weeks before I gave birth to my fifth child, we went to the National Aviary in Pittsburgh. By the time he was 2, Leif held his Thomas the Tank Engine like a 13-year-old does a first smartphone - all the time. Even on the beach with his day camp all summer, Leif remained helmetedįirst it was the residents of the Island of Sodor - wooden trains pushed around wooden tracks, over wooden bridges and through wooden tunnels. More than any of my other children, this son with the Viking name has delved into several long-lasting phases. While I encourage his deep dive into our ancestral people, I am eager to see one thing literally fall apart: the horned helmet he’s worn night and day since January 2020. ![]() My 11-year-old son, Leif, is in the midst of an extended, if not permanent, Viking phase. ![]()
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