Dylan,
Mommy used a recent bedtime cuddle session to tell you an impromptu story about a train. So enthralling was this story that you were telling me bits about it -- complete with hand signs -- while I was putting you to bed.
The story has become part of your routine, and it has grown in length and scope. You tell me about the "train that stops" (to pick up little boys and girls and teddy bears and take them over a bridge and into the land of night-night) and has a funnel for steam, and is black. It is real to you like no other story you've been told.
I can hear Mommy right now wrapping up the story, and your subdued voice echoing the colorful details here and there. Time for me to step into your darkened room and give my eyes a chance to adjust before Mom brings you in.
Dad
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