Let me start by saying that Noah has never seen a single five minute episode of “Thomas the Tank Engine”.

Never.

Not one DVD

and has never placed his hands on someone else’s models or tracks.

That is why I am amazed that he has told anyone who will listen (including his ride - in car ‘Rocket) that for his birthday he will be getting some “Thomas the Tankshun” trains and he will also be having a Thomas cake.

To back this unfamiliar and apparently out of the blue, idea up, yesterday he was perusing the bumper toy catalogue from Big W.

When he came to the pages with the Thomas merchandise he stopped and there he stayed for, oh, at least half an hour.

Half an hour in a toddler’s day is a long time, my friends.

He rattled (pardon the pun) on to me and the sick girl about all the different trains and the tracks and the helicopter. All of which I have absolutely no idea about.

I don’t know their names or what they are.

I am a mere mortal in the world of boy toys.

The only character I know in the whole outfit is The Fat Controller.

Heh, heh, what can I say?

I guess I  can relate.

Ahem…

Anyway, the trains…and the catalogue…

were poured over by the boy and he declared once again that those were his gift of choice for his third birthday, which is still five months away.

Soon he pottered off and I thought that I had heard the last of the “Tankshun” talk.

At morning naptime, I changed him and he was chortling on to me about how much better the Big Red Car was in comparison to the Big Red Boat when I spotted a crumpled piece of paper under his pillow.

I looked closer to discover that my sweet, Thomas obsessed, son had ripped the four pages of train  catalogue out of it’s cover and had placed his ‘precious’ securely with his bedding.

My gorgeous boy. He makes my heart so light.

Of course, we, as the parents of the obsessed will indulge him.

There’s just one thing…

I need the low down on Thomas and his friends.

Anyone got any information on the train?

Come on, spill it.

So I am not totally clueless, come November.

Abandoned by our paediatrician, once more, we hospital hopped from the local, rural  ER to our secondary in our trusty ‘am blue ants’ 

David has taken the first shift tonight because, well, just because it’s his turn and I’m tired.

Is that mean?

The very kind ambulance man even took photos on my mobile phone of Noah and I getting into the vehicle.

You’ll have to wait for those. Technical support is currently unavailable.

Ivy made it through the night but left in the wake of a sleepless, sick child, is her mother, who feels barely a human, let alone a human capable of looking after many.

My washing machine ( a most valuable tool in a house of nine) decided to break, as if in sympathy for my broken child, or perhaps my broken spirit.

So I have done little today but nurse the girl and stroke my son’s hair, so that he knows I love him and I know he’s there.

I’ve been slack and kept the big kids home. It has been comforting to have them with me, filling the house with noise, dulling the worry.

The house is in ruin

and I don’t care because when your son brings you this;

and tells you they are his ‘monies’ everything looks clean and rosey and beautiful.

Thank you, my boy.

Thank you.

He comes into our room and snuggles down.

He cups my face and says… ” You kiss it better, Mummy”.

“Awwww”, I soothe, “Do you have a cold?”

He considers this for a minute, considers his surroundings and the fact that he is snuggled up in the parental bed, “No, I warm”, he answers.

********************************************************************* 

He loves The Wiggles and his PJs reflect this.

They are weird though, in that, Dorothy’s face overlaps at the buttons, essentially giving her three eyes, where the pattern is repeated.

“How many eyes does Dorothy have?” one of the big kids coo,

“Dorofee has free eyes” he replies.

“How many eyes does Noah have?” asks his father.

He squishes his stubby toddler finger in the direction of his eyes, “one, two, threefourfive…and a half”.

All bodies in and about the bed rock with laughter and mirth.

Hmmm, perhaps three eyes is not so weird after all.

At least, in Noah’s world.

He climbs onto the bed, looking for me to read him a book but then changes direction when he discovers his father is home.

I put my hands out to him but he refuses…

“No, Mummy, you not read the book, Daddy read it”.

David and I have been having a ‘heated discussion’, so this obvious favouritism erks me even more.

” Fine, Daddy can read it”, I proclaim, “we all know he is the be all and end all”.

As I get up to leave the room, making it to the doorwell, Noah pipes up and says…

“No Mummy, Daddy is not the beetle and the egg -  all”!

All my defences fall away as I double up in mirth and wonder at this innocent that is my son.

Mummy: “Are you a sexy beast”?

Noah: “I not a sixty beast. I Noah Yilliam Androo Trickensa”!

Noah loves cars.

Loves them.

He is, quite simply, a car head.

Like his father - who can identify the type of car at night by the shape of the headlights. (Scary but true).

Noah identifies each and every person by the kind of car they drive and addresses them accordingly…

He doesn’t know the type (yet) but he has named each vehicle and has matched them to their owner, with the tender loving care that only a car head can muster.

Gran’s coming? He’ll see her in “Lola” (the Corolla).

Dad’s going to work “In Roach” (Black Ford somethingsmallandbeetlelike) and he’ll see him later with keys in hand, which are really, Noah’s keys, don’t you know.

Grandma’s up for a visit and she’s here “in Silver” (a silver Toyota Avalon) Consequently, pop also has a “Silver”. (A silver Ford Falcon).

Tracey’s car - “redtruck”

Mary’s car - “busnotmummy’s”

My car’s “name’s Bus“.

His sister’s plastic means of transport? “Pink“, of course.

The name he has coined for his very own red and yellow magnificent piece of plastic vehicular pleasure is “Rocket“.

The other day he discovered that ‘Grampa’ has a motorbike (you have to say it really fast …”merterbike” - you know, like the bike itself) and it is all we have heard about ever since.

“Grampasgotameterbikegrampasgotameterbikegrampasgotameterbike”!!!!!!

When people arrive at the house, most of the kids announce their arrival by name.

Not Noah, he is excited by the arrival of their car.

When he is talking on the phone, he doesn’t farewell the receiver with just a “see you later”, or even a “see you on such and such a day”.

No.

It’s “I’ll see you later in (insert name of car here)”.

Like Pavlov’s dog.

The thought of your car has him salivating.

Yep.

My son is a carhead.