Testing my parenting skills while creating a Lego Design

Yesterday, at 4:15 PM, I was hovering in that strange purgatory between a Zoom meeting and the vegetable drawer, trying to decide if we were a pasta or a stir-fry family tonight. Then the pings started.

First, a text from my mom: she has half a pumpkin to share if I want to drop by.

Next, a heart-heavy message from a friend. Her son is being bullied at school. Her words practically vibrated with that specific, maternal “mama bear” frequency: What do I do?

Finally, a soft ping—an apology for a meeting earlier that felt a bit “gloomy.”

This morning, as the house sat in that rare, fragile silence that only exists before the first toaster pops, I sat with my coffee and realized these weren’t just errands or social noise. They were my monthly values coming to life, uninvited and unpolished.

The Loyalty Pickle

I’ve been fighting—and, let’s be honest, losing—an inner battle regarding a contract.

I have been fiercely loyal to a professional agreement that hasn’t exactly sent that loyalty back my way. Now, they want to renew. But my trust is frayed at the edges, and my patience has left the building.

The truth is, I cannot eat loyalty and trust with a side of disrespect. It’s a bitter meal. Hard to swallow and it has the tendency to come back. Heartache and heartburn.

My mind plays the “Benefit of the Doubt” game—maybe they’ll change? Maybe I should be the bigger person? But my heart is currently shouting from a very high mountain: “You’ve already done that!”

They are full of empty promises, and I am tired of trying to build a house on a foundation of “we’ll see.” I want to move on. I want to be better. But my morals are holding me back like a heavy coat in a heatwave. Why???

Singing in the Rain (and the Classroom)

While I’m chewing on my own sour pickle of a dilemma, I’m trying to help the mom with the bullying situation.

It turns out her sweet, innocent boy is being picked on by a girl. A girl! I probed my own son for intel, and his report was… unexpected.

“She isn’t naughty,” he told me, eyes wide. “She just sings in class all the time.”

He paused, then added : “But the class rule is: You are not allowed to sing in class.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Rule breaker, yes. Harmful, I doubt it. Here I was prepared for a villain origin story, and instead, we have a rogue musical in the middle of math. I told the mom what I knew, giving the “bully” the benefit of doubt I can’t seem to give my own clients. Maybe she’s just being influenced by her friends? Maybe she just has a song in her heart that won’t stay put?

But it is a serious situation, and I really think her friends are the real problem. The boy doesn’t have friends yet, he is extremely shy and keeps to himself. They saw the opportunity and the target was easy.

I’ve done what I can now. The rest is up to her, the teacher, and the school. They do have a zero tolerance for bullies, and they show and teach that every day.

The Venom in the Party Pack

In the background of these existential crises, I have 30 party packs to assemble for my son’s 7th birthday.

We went with donuts over cupcakes. Why? Because cupcakes cost twice as much, and when you’re feeding a small army of first-graders, math starts to hurt.

The catch, of course, is the “Personal Touch.” You can pay someone to make beautiful, personalized bags, or you can do it yourself and lose three days of your life to graphic design debates with a six-year-old. Rolling my eyes and adding a palm to my face.

The selection process was a descent into madness:

• Venom? Too scary (He EATS! bad guys).
• Anaconda? Not age-appropriate! People die and get eaten too.
• Jurassic Park? Apparently, I am raising a child who only enjoys “pre-teen” horror, blood guts and people dying?

I looked at him and genuinely questioned my parenting skills. What am I doing wrong? Other kids like Bluey. Other kids like Lilo & Stitch. My son wants the creature that bites people’s heads off. Yikes!

After a marathon negotiation, and scrolling through 1 million images on Pinterest, we settled on Lego-Superheroes. But with conditions. I had to include a tiny Lego Venom, alongside Batman and the Flash.

When I finally completed the label design, he looked at my work with the intensity of a diamond appraiser. Judgement. Torment. Passion. “I want this to be very cool, he said.”

“The 7 looks like a 1,” he noted. “And don’t say ‘Happy Birthday.’ I want my name.” With a sweet smile from him, and a small thank you, he ran off to his room, while I rolled my eyes so hard my head hurt.

Three days later, the “theme” is chosen, the label designed, the changes are done. Ready for print. He knows what he wants. He’s happy.

Choosing the Friendly Hero

I’m still processing my own list of values: loyalty, respect, peace, intuition, truth.

How do I solve everyone else’s problems while keeping my own peace? How do I stop comparing my child to the “Bluey” kids, or my situation to the “perfect” moms?

Maybe compromise is the real value we don’t talk about.

It’s about leaving the useless fluff behind and focusing on what matters. It’s choosing the friendly Lego version of the monster. Even when your heart wants to scream at the contract, or the bully, or the messy reality of 30 kids eating 30 donuts while ripping open a bag of sweets.

Life is just a process of learning and adapting to the situation you’re in, rather than the one you planned for. And this is what I have learned from two “kids” – 15 and 22 years old. Almost half my age! Self-dissipline, respect and honesty goes a long way.

The donuts will go to school. I might finally say “no” to that contract.

In the end, we just have to make good choices. It’s the best we can do. And maybe that’s the point.

Note to self: Don’t forget the pumpkin…