It’s hardly a secret that our dudes dig all things railroad (note to self: Post birthday Lego pics ASAP!), but even I didn’t know they could get this into “training”: the boys spent easily two hours today attending to “Little Buttercup,” an 1899-vintage steam engine on display at San Jose’s History Park.
No snack breaks, no potty shots could stay these intrepid workers from the greasy completion of their self-appointed rounds. Back and forth they went, toting every filthy bolt, nut, “dipstick,” and piece of wood they could find to “Engine” (as they named “him”). We were aided & abetted by the almost-as-old retirees who patrol the shed (read: drink coffee & grumble about Obamacare). The boys would shove bolts into holes, pile up wood on buffers, etc., and I’d reward them with a booming “Oh, thanks, guys–I feel much better!” Again, this went on for hours… Here’s a little photo gallery.
At last a conductor finally asked us to stop, and the guys were pretty crushed: “I miss Engine!!” they blubbered almost all the way home. (Let’s blame the lack of food & nap a bit, too.) Still, we had a pretty terrific time; Engine now features prominently in T.A.L.B.; and the guys can’t wait to drag Mom-O back to the shed. (Hah, tag, you’re it, hon!)
Oh, that reminds me: Margot is in Europe this week (hence the lads’ free-range filth exploration), and this morning she sent a note detailing her ride on an electric train in Oslo. The guys loved it, as you’d imagine, drawing a fun response from Henry. Here, have a listen:
[audio:http://www.jnack.com/micronaxx/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/WHAT.mp3|titles=WHAT]
(In case the gray triangle above doesn’t work for you, here’s a direct link to the audio file.)
A few weeks back Finn took a real shine to 
Now listen (no pun intended): I have no illusions that almost anyone would want to sit through 8 minutes of bedtime lunacy involving a bandit-chief raccoon, a banana slug named Bonobo, brother firemen, Kawasaki Ninjas, and Chief McGillicuddy’s “flavor savor”–but just in case that sounds up your alley, press the little triangle below:
I fondly remember my dad delighting me with bedtime stories, devising ever more elaborate tales of “Mrs. Mootsy” the rabbit, our colorful neighbors the Mosers, and more. We never recorded or transcribed any of them, of course, so the details are lost to history.
The resale value of a used iPhone, it turns out, is next to nil. That makes it easier to justify turning retired phones into iPods, and Finn is the beneficiary of my recent upgrade. Now he approaches me and says, “Where are those white headphones? I want a little ‘Funk Soul Brother!'”
With apologies to 
More often than not, Finn wakes up happily chattering in his room. It can be fun to listen for a couple of minutes via the baby monitor, trying to figure out what he’s saying.
