Hitting the bricks at Legoland, where a little boy’s wish is his parents’ command

One of the more curious aspects of being a parent is that you become susceptible to a whole new range of advertising. Surely, if it were not for Nicholas, our 3-year-old, I would have remained unaware of Legoland, the theme park in Carlsbad, which opened in March. I certainly wouldn’t have been guilt-ridden because my child was the only kid in preschool who hadn’t made the pilgrimage to the first park in the United States created by Lego, the Danish toy manufacturer. Each day, I’d pick him up at school, and it seemed like another child was sporting a Legoland T-shirt.

So recently, Nicholas, my husband, Duke, and I headed to Legoland. A Lego, for those whose bare feet have never stepped on a sharp-cornered plastic brick in the middle of the night, is a brightly colored interlocking building block that is available in more than 2,000 design elements. There are only three Legolands in the world: the original in Bilund, Denmark, a British version in Windsor and the 128-acre, $130-million park in Carlsbad.

We checked into the Best Western Beach Terrace Inn, an unpretentious but comfortable 49-room hotel built into the sea wall. We paid $156.50 a night for Room 60, a space big enough to sleep six with a balcony overlooking the ocean. The small, generic motel bathroom was disappointing; still, it was clean and had decent towels. There was no bellhop or room service, but the complimentary continental breakfast with toast, sweet rolls, bagels and juice was generous if not inspired.

After a quick dip in the hotel’s heated pool, we were off to Chin’s Szechwan, a restaurant we discovered years ago. Chin serves reliably mainstream Sichuan cooking with excellent pot stickers and delicious hot and sour soup made with seafood instead of pork. For dessert, we took the hint from the long line snaking out of the Cold Stone Creamery and had truly fantastic homemade ice cream and frozen yogurt.

“This is Legoland?” Nicholas asked. We explained that Legoland was tomorrow. “I want Legoland now,” said the autocratic Nicholas. Fortunately, he conked out in the car.

Saturday morning, we were at Legoland when it opened at 10. Buying tickets is like buying Aztec calendars in Tijuana. Shop around. Our hotel offered a coupon good for a 10% discount at the park, as does AAA. The usual rate is an exorbitant $32 for adults, $25 for kids 3 to 16. The entrance is underwhelming. The first area we came upon was the Market Place, where visitors can check pets, rent strollers (and wheelchairs) and visit the Big Shop. On sale is the nation’s largest selection of Lego products for about the same price as Toys R Us and a staggering array of clothes with the Lego logo. “It should be called Moneygoland,” groused Duke, whose mood improved after he downed a huge cup of what he conceded was good coffee ($1.50).

Legoland has the best food I have ever tasted in a theme park. Four restaurants serve nutritious pastas, homemade pizzas and salads, plus sushi, Mexican food and, of course, hot dogs and juice.

Gen. Nicholas issued a command to his supply sergeant, me. “I want grapes,” he ordered.

“I want to go to Paris,” I muttered back, but to my surprise it was possible to buy a bowl of grapes for $2.95.

A few steps later, Gen. Nicholas’s strategic plan required ice cream, and we were out another $2.50 for a single scoop of vanilla. (Later at lunch, the general and his father shared fish sticks and fries, and I had a Caesar salad--all for less than $10.)

Thus fortified, Nicholas led us to a 1.73-acre artificial lake, the centerpiece around which the six areas of Legoland (Fun Town, Village Green, Castle Hill, Miniland, Imagination Zone and the Ridge) are arranged. On the bank, a 9-foot-tall, 34-foot-long dinosaur made of 2 million Lego bricks directs other Lego dinosaur construction workers. Completing the vignette, looking like low-resolution computer images, are flamingos, pelicans and giraffes made of guess what?

Nicholas adored the interactive water fountains in the Lego Zoo. He aimed a water cannon at the animatronic elephant, and it flapped its ears. Nicholas jumped up and down on a colored circle and it turned into a sprinkler.

“Another shirt, Mama,” said my drenched commanding officer. He seemed disappointed when I pulled one out of my bag instead of ducking into the gift shop.

Duke chased Nicholas around Playtown, a 13,000-square-foot playground with tunnels and mazes and even a tiny farm with baby Lego animals. The playground is geared for kids between 2 and 5, and the toddlers shrieked merrily as they hurtled down the slides. We mothers, on the other hand, were nervous wrecks. The back of the recreation zone was not sealed off, and toddlers could wander off. (Coming soon--Lego LoJack?) The park enforces strict age and height requirements for the rides, and therefore kids mostly interact with their peers.

The 40-plus attractions are inventive: from panning for gold, to riding on the “Dragon” (a more scenic than scary roller coaster), to programming the new Mindstorm robots made out of “intelligent” Lego bricks that house a computer. Unfortunately, the lines are long on weekends (go early), and the management does nothing to ameliorate the wait. Unlike Disneyland, where you never know how long the line for Space Mountain really is, or the San Diego Wild Animal Park, which offers diverting animal videos while you queue for the monorail, Legoland assumes that anticipation is enough. Nicholas was less than gracious during the half-hour wait for Junior Driving School--basically a fancy name for bumper cars. “I want to drive now,” said the general.

It was money in the bank of good cheer to watch our vehicle-obsessed son ecstatically maneuver a kid-size electric jeep (made to look as if it was made of Lego blocks) around a track for five minutes.

“I want to drive again,” Nicholas said predictably. Rather than stand in line again, we diverted him with a bag of Gummi Bears. (By contrast, his best friend Sonya visited the park during the week, and it was so empty that she was allowed to drive for as long as she liked.)

For Nicholas it was a jewel box day, filled with nonstop physical activity, interesting things to see and play with, and the empowering experience of bossing his parents around. But despite the momentary pleasure of watching our son wheedle for a plastic crown and scepter at one of the countless gift shops and scramble around the Hideaway, a sophisticated play structure with climbing nets, balance beams and bumpy slides, Duke and I were soon stupefied with boredom. The main problem is that Legoland, which promotes itself as “A Country Just for Kids,” has little to interest an adult, especially when you compare it with other local attractions like the San Diego Zoo or Sea World.

On our way out, we passed Miniland, the heart of the park. Five regions of the United States are replicated with 20 million Lego bricks in one-twentieth and one-fortieth scales, then landscaped with living trees and animated with moving cars, trains, ships and marching bands. The models are shipped from England and Denmark. While I can’t fathom why anyone would want to build a Lego Empire State Building or Hollywood Bowl, the models are fantastic. We couldn’t drag Nicholas away.

“Mama, look,” he shouted, pointing to the New Orleans Mardi Gras scene, complete with a jazz funeral. He stood mesmerized for an hour. Finally Duke had to scoop him up and carry him out.

“I want to go back and see the tiny train,” wailed the exhausted little general. He fell asleep the instant he hit the car seat.

After six overstimulating hours, it was a relief to return to our tranquil hotel.

On Sunday we visited the aquarium at Scripps Institution of Oceanography in La Jolla. Nicholas talked about the leopard sharks for the next week. Legoland seemed to have vanished from his memory like a drawing on a magic slate.

Or so I thought. But the other day Nicholas gave me an order. “I want to go to Legoland again.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Playgrounds,” Nicholas said. “Papa chased me.”

There’s a great playground a block away on the beach, I thought. And it’s free. I made my son a counteroffer. “Would you mind going to Hong Kong instead?”

“Sure, Mama,” Nicholas said.

Margo Kaufman is the author of “Clara, The Early Years.” She lives in Venice, Calif.

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Budget for Three

Gasoline: $40.00

Beach Terrace Hotel,

two nights: 348.32

Chin’s Szechwan: 44.39

Legoland admission: 50.00

Ice cream, Legoland: 2.69

Lunch, Legoland: 8.69

Souvenir: 19.95

Parking, Legoland: 6.00

Scripps Aquarium: 17.00

FINAL TAB: $537.04

Best Western Beach Terrace Inn, 2775 Ocean St., Carlsbad, CA 92008; tel. (760) 729-5951. Legoland, Legoland Drive, Carlsbad; tel. (760) 918-5346, Internet https://www.legoland.com.