Is My Kid’s Constant Lego Building A Waste Of Time? A Mom Who’s Also A Teacher Explains
Last Tuesday, 7:15 p.m., I stood by the kitchen table folding a pile of Jax’s soccer socks still crusted with field grass, staring at my 9-year-old. Instead of knocking out the 20 minutes of multiplication flashcards I’d printed to help him catch up to his 4th grade benchmark, he was hunched over a mess of loose Lego bricks, clicking together his 17th spaceship of the month. The hem of his hoodie was dipped in the half-cold mug of coffee I’d left out that morning, and bricks were scattered so thick across the floor I’d already stepped on one that day, my bare foot still throbbing a little. The question popped into my head before I could stop it: Is this just a waste of time?
I opened my phone to the parent group chat I’m in, and there it was, the same question I’d seen a dozen times just that month. One mom asked if drawing horses all recess was a waste of time that should be spent playing team sports. Another asked if rearranging their 7-year-old’s stuffed animal collection every single night was a waste of time that cut into reading practice. As a 4th grade teacher myself, I’ve had these conversations in parent-teacher conferences every semester. I always have a thoughtful answer ready. But when it’s your own kid, the doubt creeps in anyway. Last month, a parent from my class told me she pays $80 a week for after-school math tutoring, and I felt that little twinge of guilt, like I was wasting Jax’s potential letting him click bricks instead of practicing flashcards.
I cleared my throat and said, “Jax, you’ve got 15 minutes before bed. Flashcards first, then this can wait until tomorrow.” He didn’t even look up, just nudged a 2×4 brick into place and said, “Just two more minutes, I have to fix the wing angle. Last one crashed because it was too heavy on the end.” I sighed and walked over, ready to usher him to the table, but I stopped. On the scrap of notebook paper next to his build, he’d scribbled down three numbers: 3, 4, 5. He’d written a little check next to 4, crossed out the other two. “What’s that for?” I asked. He finally looked up, pointed to each wing: “Three inches is too short, five is too heavy, four works. I measured each.” He went on to explain he’d moved the big engine brick from the nose to the middle to shift the weight, because every time he launched it off the couch before it nosedived into the rug. When he finished adjusting, he backed up, tossed it across the living room, and it glided all the way to the front door before landing softly. He whooped, and I stood there, feeling a little silly for thinking it was all just mindless messing around.
We still did the flashcards that night, but after I got to thinking about all the time we write off as wasted. What we call a waste of time is almost always just learning that doesn’t come with a worksheet or a test grade. Jax wasn’t just stacking plastic. He was measuring, testing variables, adjusting when something didn’t work, and sticking with a problem he cared about until he fixed it. Those are things I can’t teach with a flashcard, no matter how many 20 minute sessions we do.
I’ve worked out a few small, simple things that work for me, both as a teacher and a mom, when I’m wondering if something’s a waste of time. First, just pause for two minutes and watch before you pull them away. Don’t interrupt, just look. I’ve had kids in my class who I thought were just doodling through whole group reading, until I looked closer and realized they were drawing the characters from the book to keep track of who’s who. It’s their way of understanding the story, not checking out. Second, if you’re worried about losing time for structured practice, split it. I changed our routine after that night: 10 minutes of fact practice, then the rest of the time before bed is Jax’s to do whatever he wants. I was worried his facts wouldn’t improve, but two months later, his last quiz went from 16 correct in a minute to 22, because he doesn’t drag his feet through the 10 minutes anymore—he knows his building time is waiting, not a reward he has to earn. Third, if you do need to shut the activity down for bedtime or class, use a specific line that doesn’t dismiss what they’re doing. Instead of “Put that away, it’s time to go,” try “Wrap up what you’re doing in five minutes, you can pick right back up tomorrow. I know you’re in the middle of something important.” It doesn’t take extra time, but it tells them their work matters, even if it’s not on your to-do list.
I still have my days of doubt. Last week, I saw a photo of Jax’s cousin at a state robotics competition, and I found myself wondering if I should sign Jax up for a structured team, if his random spaceships are less useful than a guided program. I asked him what he thought, and he just shrugged and said “I don’t want someone telling me what to build. I like building my own.” That was that.
Some nights I still rush him to clean up because I’m tired and it’s late, and I feel bad about cutting him off mid-build. Some weeks we skip the flashcards entirely because he’s so close to finishing something he’s been working on for three days. I don’t know if all these hours will turn into a career in engineering or even a high school robotics trophy. He might just grow up to be a person who likes building Lego spaceships on weekends, and that’s fine. Right now, it’s not a waste of time. It’s his time. And that’s enough, more often than not.
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