My favorite part of Legoland was the sign for the bathroom:

Those are two of the few things at Legoland that are not actually assembled from Legos. Actually, there’s more — I was suprised, it’s a pretty hefty theme park (with hefty prices). I’d been expecting mini-cities built of Legos. They’re there, but the Lego folks were smart enough to put all the components of the the typical theme park in, as well. (The marketing at that place is phenomenal, from the Volvo partnership, including VIP parking for Volvo drivers and a Volvo-sponsored kid “driving school” to the Lego-shaped Jello molds in the gift shop to the gargantuan Lego creatures everywhere.)

Still, Sophie was clearly a little disappointed, given that Disneyland is her one point of reference. (The place I really want to take her is the Sesame Street theme park, but it’s in Pennsylvania, so I don’t forsee an opportunity. Maybe the Beaches all-inclusive in Jamaica, with the Sesame ST. theme? Also unlikely. Legoland is in Carlsbad, convenient for us this week, as long as we don’t get lost, which we did, badly, on the way home, and with no gas. Nice. A scene out of the movie Vacation, our-style.)

Sophie asked for Elmo as soon as we arrived, and was not happy when the Fairy Tale ride didn’t include Winne the Pooh, though Annabelle told her Little Red Riding Hood was Snow White; she seemed to buy that.

The sad moment for me was when she tried to hug one of the life-sized Lego characters — clearly she missed the Furries at D-Land. (They always make me think of that Vanity Fair article from years ago, about people who dress in those costumes to have sex. Or get horny. Or whatever.)

I’d go back to Legoland (right after payday, rather than right before) if only to see Sophie take a lap on a non-Lego plastic but still cute horse in the medieval section of the park we found at the end of the day. She was so proud of herself, though terrified initially, and Ray had to practically bribe the guy running the ride to give Sophie the blue horse she wanted.

As usual, her feet didn’t quite reach.

She also made a friend at the playground, a little girl who walked right up to Sophie in a sea of other little kids, took her hand and asked her if she wanted to pay.

Now THAT was worth the price of admission.

In the end, everyone but me had to be dragged kicking and screaming (slight exaggeration) out of Legoland. I’m just glad I’m the only one who heard another mom talking about the fireworks display. We narrowly escaped before sunset, making it back only 90 minutes late for Annabelle’s birthday dinner.

Annabelle turned 7 today — for real.

For her, it was just another day, after a month of parties, presents and cake. (I’m sure we’re ruining her; what will we do for her bat mitzvah? Her wedding?)

But wait. She DID have a little twinkle all day, which can’t just be from the trip to Legoland or the Annabelle-sized guitar we gave her (it sucks, teaches me not to shop for musical instruments at Target, but she doesn’t seem to care) or the fact that we’re at the beach with her cousins.

I’m biased, I know. I love her down to the snarls in her hair and the skidmark — well, you know where. But if you knew her you’d agree that the kid is wise beyond her seven years, even though she’s sometimes mistaken for a 4-year-old, and can squeeze her butt into 3T jeans.

I’m watching her unpack the “pocketbook” my mother in law gave her — out comes a brooch, a rhinestone-crusted plastic pink electronic thing and some “Calico Critters” — fuzzy plastic animals she picked out this morning at the toy store.

Her hair is in thick, messy braids, tied at the bottoms with pink curly ribbon from a bday package, and she’s put a too-big bracelet around her ankle. She just told her cousin she named one of the “critters” Sweet Tart.

Incredibly, no Bratz. (But several packages of NeoPet trading cards back in the room.)

I’m too tired tonight to do more than just document her, but for the moment, that (and a “good night cuddle”) is just enough.

Which is good, since Gaga needs to check her email.