When my brother brushed off my polite requests to return the stolen LEGO masterpieces his son had swiped during a family dinner, I kept my cool.
But after a month of “forgetting” to bring them back, I decided it was time to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
The event started innocently enough during a family dinner. My brother Ben’s nine-year-old son, Jason, had wandered into our living room and immediately spotted one of our beloved LEGO dioramas on the mantel.
“Dad! Look! A bank robber hiding from the cops!” he exclaimed.
I followed his gaze, my curiosity piqued. “Oh, good catch, Jason. That one’s new. Boys, when did this one appear?”
Toby, my eldest, smirked. “Two days ago. Thought for sure you’d notice while dusting, Mom.”
My kids and I shared a quirky hobby—building elaborate LEGO scenes and hiding them around the house for fun.
Jason, intrigued, tore off to explore other parts of the house, squealing with delight every time he discovered another hidden creation. By dinner, he had found almost all of them and was practically vibrating with enthusiasm.
“Can I take one home, Dad?” Jason asked as they were leaving.
“No, buddy, these belong here,” Ben replied distractedly, ruffling his son’s hair.
“Mom?” Toby’s voice came from the LEGO room, laced with disbelief. “Chewie’s gone… and so is the Minecraft Creeper in the Hogwarts Library!”
“They were here before dinner,” Max, my youngest, said grimly. “It has to be Jason.”
“Hey, bro. Funny thing—Jason seems to have taken some of our LEGO builds home with him. Could you bring them back?”
Ben laughed. “Oh, Carly, they’re just toys! Relax. I’ll bring them next time we meet up.”
Those “toys” were more than plastic bricks to us. They were precious memories, irreplaceable tokens of our family’s creativity and connection.
The “next time” came and went. By Christmas, I knew Ben wasn’t planning to return anything.
That’s when I decided enough was enough.
“Boys,” I said. “I think it’s time to teach your uncle a little lesson in borrowing.”
“Hey, bro!” I called out, approaching him at the grill. “Where are our LEGO sets? I’d like to put them in my car before we leave.”
“Oh, man, totally slipped my mind again. Next time, Carly.”
That was it. I gave Toby a subtle nod, signaling that Operation Payback was a go.
Max “went to the bathroom” and returned minutes later with suspiciously bulging hoodie pockets. Toby busied himself helping Ben’s wife, Carol, with drinks, slipping a few of Ben’s favorite bottle koozies into his bag.
As we drove home, I heard a soft “woof” from the backseat. Turning around, I saw Ben’s golden retriever, Cooper, lounging comfortably next to Max.
“Boys!” I hissed. “We are not stealing their dog! Take him back now!”
“But Mom,” Max protested, hugging Cooper tightly, “he looked lonely!”
“Now!” I snapped, trying to sound stern while fighting back laughter.
“Carly!” Ben’s panicked voice screeched through the line. “Where are my remotes? My speakers? My stuff is missing!”
“Oh?” I said innocently. “That sounds frustrating. You know, like when someone takes things that don’t belong to them and never returns them?”
“This isn’t funny!” he yelled.
I let the silence stretch for a moment before replying. “Tell you what, big brother. Bring back our LEGO sets tonight, and I might have a lead on your missing items.”
Forty-five minutes later, Ben showed up at my door, red-faced and carrying not only the stolen LEGO builds but a few extra sets as a peace offering.
“I think these might be yours too,” he grumbled.
I handed him his missing belongings with a smile. “Lesson learned?”
He sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Message received loud and clear.”
“Mom,” Toby said admiringly, “you’re kind of terrifying.”
I grinned. Sometimes, family lessons require a little creativity—and just the right dose of karma.
