Play Thomas

Our Illinois turned Colorado friends Jimmy and Liz are great friends. They’re incredibly kind. They’re funny as heck. They have good taste in friends. But they’ve introduced an evil into our house than I will never, ever forgive.

Thomas The Train (Insert evil dramatic music here).

One day I was minding my own business, playing Star Wars guys and talking about Star Wars and praising my children for mentioning Star Wars. The next day, there was a massive box in our basement filled with literally hundreds of Thomas The Train things. Tracks. Battery operated Engines. Bridges. Those circles where the train turns around and goes the other way.

It completely blew Elijah and Luca’s mind. But mostly Luca’s mind. Almost immediately, Luca began a constant plea to “Play Thomas?”

“Play Thomas? Play Thomas? Play Thomas? Play Thomas?”

It kind of screwed up my morning routine. My normal morning ritual is to change diapers, shove milk into face holes, turn TV on and enter that place of consciousness just above complete sleep.

Now, when I normally should be mostly sleeping, I hear a tiny voice plead, “Play Thomas, daddy? Play Thomas?”

I tried encouraging Luca to play by himself, leaving Elijah and I to bask in the glow of Fraggle Rock. But a couple things stood in my way.

First, the battery operated trains make a “tick tick tick tick” sound that burrows directly into my brain. Even from two rooms away, it’s as if Thomas’ little friends were nailing railroad spikes into my eyes.

And second, Luca can’t keep Thomas from hurting him. At least once a day, Luca will stick a battery operated Thomas into his beautiful brown hair. The little battery operated gears keep moving until they are completely filled with beautiful brown hair.

Scream scream scream. Yank yank yank. Snip snip snip.

So it’s far better for me to lay on Luca’s floor and moan while Luca points and shouts, “Thomas! Look! Thomas!”

I’ll get you, Jimmy and Liz. Oh, yes. I’ll get you.