THE ASH: Henry, what are your trains doing? What are your trains doing?
THE HOLMES: Fornicating?
Wha? Where he got that silly word from is a mystery. This term, "boinking," we do not use this word in our house. Also a mystery is what possessed me to blurt out that the trains were fornicating. We all know that trains, like teenagers who have had abstinence-only sex education, don't engage in that sort of thing. Unheard of. Maybe I was secretly hoping that Henry would pick up on it and start repeating it at random, and I could be all "that's right, four syllables baby."
Oh, and check this out. This is a picture of Henry playing his newest game:
It's called Blind Thomas Bumper Ghost. The object is to walk around underneath a Thomas blanket and not bash your head into a doorknob or fall down the stairs or otherwise injure yourself in a manner that could have been avoided if you didn't have a blanket over your head and could see. I suppose I could have done something more to intervene besides steering him away from the more dangerous blocks in his path, but that would have ruined the fun for everybody. Every obstaculary encounter was met with an examination of the obstacle in question and a stoic declaration of "I'm okay!", followed by immediate return to gameplay. I want to believe there was a time when I was this easily amused.