In an attempt to battle the train infatuation, we find ourselves exposing the lowercase to as many things as possible. This weekend, despite the cloudiness and the overall frigid temperatures of Lake Ontario, we took him to the beach.
Where he pointed out ducks -- "A fuck! A fuck! A fuck!"
He saw boats and associated those with our recent trip with Mr. W's family to the Adirondacks -- as each boat passed us, he said "A boat! Crap-pa! Boat!" (And yes, I do take great pleasure in the fact that my son calls his shitty grandparents "Crap-pa" and nothing since my mother-in-law STILL does not hug, touch, play with or in any way show him love -- unless there is nobody else to talk to in which case she does talk to him.) He also remembered that Mr. W's cousins were on the boats with us and started talking about them again.
Unfortunately, the clouds were all "a choo choo! a Thomaaaa!" Some sailboats also got this name. The bell on the playground equipment in the park behind the beach was a choochoo...some trucks pulling trailers to campsites were choochoos.
Still, the majority of the day was choochoo-free so that's positive, right?