Lego Lovers
Lego Lovers
A Love Letter to Creativity and Building Memories Together
CAL N LILY | Episode #3
In our house, Lego isn’t just a toy. It’s a language. A tradition. A way we’ve spent time together, created together, and grown together.
My kids have been raised building with Lego bricks. Long before instructions mattered, before sets were sorted by age or piece count, Lego was simply there—an open invitation to imagine. Some of their favorite bricks aren’t even new. They’re the well-worn, slightly faded Lego pieces from the 1990s that live at my mom’s house—the ones she somehow had the foresight (or maybe just the inability to throw anything away) to hold onto. Those bricks have lived many lives, and now they’re part of my kids’ stories too.
Tucked into the corner of each of their bedrooms are custom-built Lego tables—made by mom, of course—because when something matters in our home, it gets a place. Lego deserved its own surface. Its own sense of permanence. A quiet signal that creativity is always welcome here and there is never an excuse to be bored.
We’re a Lego Masters family too. We love the show. We love the builds. We love Will Arnett doing what feels like the most perfect hosting job imaginable. And if I’m being honest, if I were ever going to be on a game show, it would be Lego Masters—side by side with my son, just like the other mother-son duos that I rooted for season after season.
The timing of that show will always feel significant to me. It premiered in February of 2020—the month before the world shut down. My son was in kindergarten then, and suddenly we were gifted something unexpected: time. So much time. We spent many of those quiet, quarantined days in his room, building a Lego city from the ground up. Characters. Buildings. Stories. Entire worlds constructed while everything else felt uncertain. Lego became our anchor—something solid we could return to when everything outside felt shaky. And when the world opened back up again, it felt only right that one of our first big trips was to Legoland in Florida. A pilgrimage of sorts.
Lego traditions run deep here. It isn’t Christmas without a Lego set under the tree. I loved helping them build when they were little—sorting pieces, reading instructions, celebrating tiny victories. These days? They don’t really need my help anymore… so I buy my own set if I want to build too. Growth looks like independence—and nowadays, separate boxes.
We love Lego stores, the kind of places where time quietly disappears. The Times Square store is especially magical. We can spend hours wandering, pointing, imagining, planning the next build. And for me, I am patiently waiting for the day an Andy Warhol Lego set is lined up on the shelves. It’s currently in the Ideas stage, collecting votes—and if that makes me a little too excited about pop art in plastic-brick form, I’m fully okay with that.
Lego, to me, is a creative connection I share with my children—a way to slow down, spend meaningful time together, and build memories that will last long after the bricks are put away. It’s a tradition we share now, and one they can carry with them into their own families someday. Creativity passed down across generations—built brick by brick, spread across the floor, stepped on barefoot, and lovingly rebuilt again. It’s sitting with your kids, meeting them at their level, and saying without words: I’m here. Let’s build something together.
To the Lego lovers, the brick hoarders, the city-makers, the parents on the floor and the kids leading the way—keep building. Keep imagining. Keep making space for creativity, mess, and magic. One brick at a time. 🧱✨
