Go 'way, lead paint!

Dylan has recently mastered the use of the popular phrases "Go 'way" and "stop," and frankly he's kind of becoming an a-hole. Thanks Dylan, but if I wanted to be rejected that often, I'd set up a match.com account with an un-Photoshopped picture. Monday he tells me to go away because he wants to play with his trains in his room in peace. Clearly, my aura doesn't jive with that of Thomas and Percy. I go to the living room and do my own thang (aka Paradise Hotel 2 TiVo'd from the ever classy Fox Reality channel and fruit dip) and after awhile I no longer hear the sounds of him playing (which would be trains hitting the floor, hitting the wall, him squealing because he can't find 9...) I walk in and he is face down on the floor not moving.

Is he dead? Did he eat a stop sign? Did the lead paint from the trains finally seep into his brain? I shake him and he whines -- he has simply fallen asleep on the floor among his friends. Could've been a sweet moment if this wasn't in my head: