It all started at a family dinner. I never thought something so small would turn into a funny lesson about karma. But when my brother Ben kept ignoring my polite requests to return the LEGO creations his son, Jason, took from our house, I knew I had to do something about it.
It all began so innocently. Jason, Ben’s nine-year-old son, was visiting us when he spotted our LEGO displays.
“Look, Dad! A bank robber is hiding from the cops on the mantel!” Jason shouted, pointing excitedly.
I looked at the tiny LEGO scene and smiled. “Good eye, Jason! That’s a new one — even I didn’t know it was there.” I turned to my teenage boys. “When did you guys build that one?”
Toby, my sixteen-year-old, shrugged and grinned. “Two days ago. I thought you’d see it when you were dusting. Guess not!”
I laughed and looked at Jason. “Hey, buddy, you should check the bookcase in the hallway. There are more little scenes hiding there.”
Jason’s eyes lit up and he bolted down the hall. A second later he yelled, “It’s Iron Man! He’s fighting Darth Vader!”
“Hey, Toby, Max — why don’t you show Jason the LEGO room?” I said. My boys led their cousin away, and I sat down with Ben and his wife, Carol, to catch up over coffee.
“It’s so nice you live closer now,” I said. “Driving an hour is nothing compared to flying cross-country.”
Ben nodded. “Yeah, we’re excited for Christmas. And you guys should come over for a BBQ on New Year’s!”
“Deal!” I said happily.
Meanwhile, Jason was on a mission to find every LEGO scene we’d ever built. My boys were working on their newest masterpiece: Han Solo proposing on the Millennium Falcon. Jason kept peeking over their shoulders, fascinated.
When dinner ended and Ben’s family left, things fell apart.
“Mom, we’ve got a problem,” Toby called from the LEGO room. His voice sounded serious.
I dried my hands and went in. “What’s wrong?”
“Chewie’s gone!” Max shouted. “And the Minecraft Creeper that was in the Hogwarts Library — that’s missing too!”
My heart sank. I looked around. Some of our best LEGO builds had disappeared. The three of us exchanged looks. Jason. He must have taken them.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure Uncle Ben will bring them back,” I said, though I didn’t believe my own words.
I grabbed my phone and called Ben. “Hey, bro! Funny thing — some of our LEGO masterpieces ended up going home with you guys. When can you bring them back?”
Ben laughed on the other end. “Oh, Carly! They’re just toys. I’ll bring them next time.”
I felt my face get hot. “Those ‘toys’ mean a lot to us, Ben. Please bring them back soon.”
But “next time” turned into excuse after excuse. A month passed. Every time we saw Ben, he “forgot” the LEGO sets. My boys’ faces fell a little more each time.
After Christmas, I’d had enough.
“Boys,” I said one night, gathering them in the living room. “It’s time we accept it — Uncle Ben’s not giving our LEGOs back.”
Max frowned. “So he just gets to steal our stuff?”
“Who said anything about letting him?” I said, trying not to grin. “It’s time to show Uncle Ben what it feels like when someone takes your things without asking.”
Toby’s eyes widened. “Mom, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
I sipped my hot chocolate. “I’ve already texted Ben, reminding him to have the LEGO sets ready at the New Year’s BBQ. But if he doesn’t… well, I have a plan.”
The boys leaned in close. By the time I finished explaining, they were grinning like kids plotting a bank heist.
That weekend, we pulled up at Ben’s BBQ. He stood by the grill, wearing his “Kiss the Cook” apron, flipping burgers.
“Hey, bro!” I called, walking up to him. “Did you get our LEGO sets ready? I want to load them in my car now.”
Ben laughed and waved his tongs. “Oops! Slipped my mind again. Next time, sis. Promise.”
I locked eyes with Toby across the yard. It was time.
Max strolled into the house to “use the bathroom.” He came out a few minutes later, his pockets stuffed like a squirrel’s cheeks. Toby offered to help Carol bring out more drinks — and somehow made Ben’s favorite bottle koozies disappear.
Meanwhile, I kept Ben busy by asking a million questions about his new grill. My boys moved through the house like tiny spies, picking up little things here and there. The best part? Max grabbed Ben’s prized Bluetooth speakers off the kitchen counter and hid them under his hoodie like a pro.
Hours later, when we were ready to leave, I gave the boys the signal. We said our sweet goodbyes and got in the car like nothing had happened. But then, from the back seat, I heard a soft “woof.”
I turned around. Ben’s golden retriever, Cooper, was in our trunk!
“Boys!” I hissed. “We are not stealing the dog! Take him back!”
“But Mom!” Max said, hugging Cooper. “He looked lonely. And technically, he’s a small item.”
“Now,” I said firmly, trying not to laugh. Toby slipped Cooper back inside and we drove off, our ‘loot’ hidden away.
We hadn’t even reached home when my phone buzzed. It was Ben.
“CARLY!” he shrieked. “Where are my remotes? My speakers? My stuff?!”
“Oh?” I said, examining my nails. “Missing something? That must be so annoying.”
“This isn’t funny! I need my stuff back!”
I paused. “Hmm. I’ll have to ask the boys. Maybe they ‘borrowed’ a few things. But who knows when they’ll remember to bring them back? Things slip your mind, you know.”
Silence. I could practically hear him thinking.
“You wouldn’t,” Ben said.
“Try me, big brother. Bring our LEGO sets tonight, and maybe we’ll bring your things back.”
Forty-five minutes later, Ben showed up at my door, red-faced, holding our missing LEGO sets — plus three extra ones “he thought might be ours.” He shoved them at me while my boys snickered behind me.
“You know,” Ben snapped, “you took this too far. Jason is just a kid—”
“Stop right there,” I said. “Jason is a kid, but you’re the adult who promised to return them and didn’t.”
Ben sighed. “Fine! I’m sorry, okay?”
I smiled sweetly. “Good. Lesson learned. Next time someone ‘borrows’ something, they’d better bring it back.”
Ben hugged his Bluetooth speakers like they were his babies and stomped away. Toby and Max high-fived.
“Mom,” Toby said, eyes wide, “you are scary sometimes.”
I laughed. “Sometimes, a little creative justice is the best way to teach a lesson.”
So what do you think? Would you have done the same? Tell me in the comments!
