Tag Archives: Thomas the Tank Engine

Oh God, where’s Thomas?

Picture it. Bedtime on the last day of a bank holiday weekend. Two grown adults moving quickly but silently through the house, one on each floor. They search under tables, under chairs, in the toybox, under the shoerack, in the toilet, behind the couch, under the couch, in the laundry, in wardrobes, in the dishwasher, in the washing machine. Searching, searching.

A little boy wanders around after them, with a Peppa Pig soft toy in one hand and a toothbrush in the other, saying

“Where’s Thomas? Where?”

in a sing-songy voice.

He’s in his pyjamas and his sleep suit. The lights are dimmed, the house is quiet and ready for bed.

And yet still we hear

“Where’s Thomas? Where?”

The tone becomes more insistent now and starts to escalate.

Blogpost: Oh God, Where's Thomas? www.mindthebaby.ie Mind The Baby Blog
Image courtesy of www.mulberrybush.co.uk

All the while the two adults say nothing but continue their frantic search. They’re both silently whispering

“Oh God, where’s Thomas? Where’s Thomas?”

No Thomas means a pre-bedtime tantrum of the highest order, which means thirty extra minutes of cooling down time, which means sacred, special adult time – and maybe a sneaky glass of wine – is further down the track still.

“Where’s Thomas? Where?”

The bed has been striped twice. He’s definitely not stuck in the pillows. He’s definitely not hiding in a bedside locker. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Tucked up in bed, sleeping soundly means a tight grip around Peppa, a sippy cup and Thomas the Tank Engine, the new kid on the block and the current flavour of the month. Once the sandman arrives, all three are gently prised out of little hands but the sandman doesn’t come unless they’re all present and accounted for.

“Choo. Choo”

One last desperate search of the kitchen cupboards finds Thomas hiding behind some tupperware and a pestal and mortar.

The house sighes in relief at disaster avoided.

The ghosts of childless us past point and snigger in the corner.

“You eejits”

they say.

“Running around the house like a blue arsed fly. Can’t believe you’ve bought into this rubbish”.

“Shhhh, just you wait, you’ll see”

I hiss back.

“Now open that bottle of wine”.

An easy life, that’s all.