If you have kids, I’m sure you’ve heard of Thomas the Tank Engine.

But have you heard of Percy the Tank Engine? If not, let me introduce you to him by way of a quick glance at a room of my house.

This is the current state of my master bathroom toilet:

Do you see him in there? That’s cute, little Percy. He’s taking a swim. In my toilet.

Hence my new name for him: Percy the (Toilet) Tank Engine.

Now, technically I know he’s in the bowl, not the tank. But work with me here. It’s funny.

It’s a lot more funny than me having to put my hands in the toilet to get him out. That’s not funny at all. It’s gross.

And that’s why my wee beasts think that Percy is gone forever.

You see, I consider myself lucky that Big A is 4 1/2 years old and this is the first time anything non-toilet-worthy has ended up in there. It’s an experience all parents have at some point, but up until today, I had escaped it.

This morning, Little A (who is still fighting potty-training even though his third birthday is now one month away) decided he wanted to play with the potty by throwing toilet paper in. The only problem is that he also had Percy in his hand and didn’t stop to think that when he opened his fingers to toss the paper, Percy would go with it.

The looks of horror on the wee beasts’ face was priceless. And it gave me a opportunity for a “teachable moment.”

(Oh, it also brought back painful memories of how my mom flushed my precious binkie right before my eyes when I was a child, but I won’t share that trauma with you today.)

With wide eyes, the beasts asked if I was going to rescue Percy and get him out of the toilet. “Nope,” I said. “Toilets are dirty and filled with germs. Anything that goes in, goes off to the ocean. It can’t come back out or it will make you sick.”

And that’s when the waterworks started. Not from the plumbing but from the beasts. The tears, the wailing, the sobbing of how suddenly Percy was their favorite train and that they were so sad without him.

Note: he was not, in fact, the favorite train of either of them. They were, in fact, using him as a weapon and throwing him at each other moments before. But they are allowed to have revisionist’s history at their age, I suppose.

In the middle of the meltdowns, I marched them off down the hall so we could head out to school. All the while, I was chanting to myself “Don’t forget he’s in there, don’t forget, don’t forget.” I never intended to flush him. I wouldn’t do that to our plumbing pipes. But I don’t want the beasts to know that.

And since they can’t read yet, I can safely tell you that I did fish Percy out and give him (and my hand) a thorough scrubbing with a lot of hot soapy water. He is drying out in a hiding spot and will remain there until one day when they need a little pick-up. I’ll magically produce him and be a hero. Or heroine. Of the non-drug-using type. You know what I mean.

The lessons of the day are as follows:

• Toilets are yucky and have germs.
• Things that go in the toilet don’t come back out of the toilet.
• Mommy is mean today.
• Mommy will be a hero tomorrow.
• Oh, and toilet water is really cold. But if you have kids, I’m guessing you already knew that!