Among the Thomasites

Criticize the photograph but consider that I drove two hours to Lancaster, parked in a cornfield, took the boys on a school bus that Oliver enjoyed more than Thomas himself, got stuck in ticket limbo because we'd missed our train, then couldn't get Oliver to uncover his eyes when Thomas appeared because he was so embarrassed, rode Thomas, fed Oliver hot dogs and fries and Alistair yogurt and pre-pumped breast milk on ice, took a school bus back to the car, had everybody and I mean everybody pee in the corn, then played eighteen holes of miniatures golf, all without anyone getting seriously injured.

W.A.S.T.E

Periods do not appear in "waste" on a box at the Philadelphia zoo, meaning it is probably not a mailbox for Thomas Pynchon's alternative postal service in The Crying Of Lot 49, but Oliver did say this about another sign at the zoo:

"F-I-R-E. That's the name of the company that makes fire."

Train Trouble

After failing at my old job to build the Purple Line, a train that would run through the Maryland suburbs north of Washington, I told Oliver that I was now trying at my new job to build more of Philadelphia's Blue Line. "Did you build your blue train today, dada?" No, the Congresswoman who was supposed to come to our Blue Line event canceled at the last minute.

Thinking smaller, I told the conductor of my Amtrak train to Harrisburg that water had been pouring through the ceiling onto the seat next to me. She shrugged. "That's what happens when it rains."

Our new goal is to go see the actual life-size Thomas the Tank Engine in Lancaster next weekend.

Oliver Clears Security

Oliver and I flew to Maine to visit my mother. He loved rolling his suitcase through the airport and watching his car seat being thrown into the belly of our plane and now wants to go on a flight every day.

At security, I was asked to show my ID and our boarding passes twice, take off my shoes, and forfeit a dangerous-looking bottle of grape juice. Confronted with Oliver, our TSA guard didn't seem to know what to do. "Do you have a picture of the boy?" I showed him a photo from two years ago when Oliver was two. "Does he have any ID?" He did not. "Hey," the guard said to him, "is your name Oliver?"