My son is obsessed. Let me say again, my son is obsessed. I don't know what magical power this little train holds over Hank. Maybe a subliminal message is being broadcast through the TV that commands children's' love and fealty. Maybe that happy blue paint is coated with candied heroin. Who knows? All I know is my son is obsessed.
Often the first words out of his mouth in the morning are "choo-choo" (right after, "Good morning Mother? How was your sleep? I didn't wake us up too early did I?"). He eats, sleeps and bathes with his train. He will throw down a slap fight to any child who comes too close to his train. He cries when his train pj's go in the wash.
Evidence of a problem: In nursery one Sunday, Hank discovers that the church isn't true, because there is no Thomas for him to play with among the toys. He is so distraught, that his sweet nursery leader Sis. Draney had to fashion him a play dough train in order to calm him down.
More evidence: Hank covering his face with train stickers. Is this the face of sanity?
Still more evidence: Saturday we went to Yakima to watch Shane's bro Seth coach a basketball game. We get out of the car and Shane tells Hank to leave the train in the car during the game. Realizing that Shane had basically just asked the Israelites to leave behind the Ark, I told the panicked Hank that he could bring his train in with him. Hank takes the train and I hear him say "Sorry, choo-choo...sorry choo-choo," over and over as he lovingly patted it like it was one of Lenny's mice.
I think if he had to chose between me and the train, he would pick the train, and his next choice would be the play dough train that Sis. Draney made.
My son is obsessed.