Bicycles, trains, and motorcycles

Yesterday morning I met my pajama-clad six-year-old in the downstairs hallway.

“Good morning, honey.  Did you have a good sleep?”

“Hi.  Fine.”  He came to the foot of the stairs.  “I can’t ride my bicycle up those,” he observed.

“Would you like me to carry it up for you?”  I held out my hands.

“No, no,” he replied mildly.  “I’ll take the train.”  He began pushing invisible buttons on the wall beneath the bannister.

Thomas, on his dad's friend's motorcycle

Thomas, on his dad’s friend’s motorcycle

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