Mark leaves his mark

We spend a lot of time together.  We share lunch every day.  I tell him to put a shirt on when it's time to start school (I have a thing about no bare chests for school).  He talks.  A lot.  (The other day he said that Hitler and Atilla the Hun and Ghengis Khan have nothing on Disney.  They are the ones really taking over the world.  Then he laughed at his supposed cleverness and told me I should put that on my blog.  So there, I did.)  We like to read together snuggled under covers.  He gets a gummy bear every day if he can beat his time on a math timed test.  He plays a starring role in my day, at least my mornings.

But this is how he leaves his mark on the world:  Legos.

Mark spent about three days building "malevolence".  I spent the same days trying to pronounce it and having him correct me.  I don't know.  The word trips me up.

He got the "blueprints" as he calls them online.  There were four booklets of instructions that he printed.  Pages and pages.  (He used up all the blank ink Adam had recently refilled.)  Then he decided it was easier to see the instructions online so he abandoned all the ink soaked pages.

But when Mark has a project, he has a project.

Above, he is showing me the finer features.  It was complicated and I didn't really get it, but I acted like I did.  (Also, Mark looks like a red headed, ten-year-old version of my dad.)

He built a companion ship to The Malevolence, this one out of his own imagination, The Dragonfly:

After that, he abandoned his workshop, a.k.a. his bedroom, which looks sort of like this:

And set up a battle in the living room downstairs.

It looked different every time I walked through the room:

He filled me in occasionally on how the battle was progressing and I didn't mind one bit that I tripped over the Lego ships when I crossed the room.

 Creative children are my favorite kind.