choo choo broke.

Yesterday we met up with our friends Tamy (mom) and Darius (babe) at the interactive children's museum. Which is AWESOME. There's everything from squishy obstacle courses to lego stations to bubbles to a baby version of a grocery store and restaurant.

And most importantly, of course, there is a Choo Choo. (aka Train) I made the mistake, again, of telling Solo-boy about riding the train waaaay too early. I need to learn my lesson and tell him as we're pulling into the parking lot, not 2 hours before. By the time I piled us into the car, I realized we'd have to make a pitstop at Starbucks since I had run out of whole bean coffee. As soon as we pull into the parking lot, Solo-boy looks at me quizzingly, with a little tilt of his head, and asks, "Choo choo?"

No, son, not yet.

(Side note: Anyone know at what age they "get" the concept of not yet???)

Upon arrival at the museum we find out that Darius is also slightly obsessed with the Choo Choo. Only his obsession goes deeper. Apparently Handy Manny had an episode where the Choo choo broke and they were trying to fix it. Only Darius somehow missed the end of the segment. So, he has been traumatized ever since, thinking the Choo choo is forever broke.

Tamy was hoping that the train ride would snap him out of it.

The boys were gleefully taking in the scenery and eating their snack. Giggling and bouncing and oohing and ahhing. As soon as the train came to a halt, however, Darius burst out WAILING. CHOO CHOO BROKE! CHOO CHOO BROKE! CHOO CHOO BROKE! 

We are talking sobs, wails, bright red face, AGONY.

We try to comfort him, soothe him, explain gently that the Choo choo is not broke, it's just taking its nap. Choo choo night night. Choo choo naptime.

He will have none of it.

In his mind the Choo choo is broke and that is the end of it.

I found myself chuckling at the irrational, illogical, unreasonable side of toddlers. Oh, they're such babies, I thought.

And then I really thought. Wow. How often have I been the same way? I get something so stuck in my mind, no logic or reason or explanation can pry me from my belief.

I think this is a flaw that we carry through life, no matter how old we are. We think: This is the way it is. Nobody can tell me differently. This is what I believe, and it's fact. I have no power to change it.

We couldn't be more wrong.

Since I didn't ask permission to use a photo of Darius, here is Solo-boy & Mr. P on the same train last month.