Heartbroken

If you know our son you know that he doesn't play with his toys as much as he just holds them. He has always been quirky this way. I have a picture of him as a baby sleeping with a matchbox car in each hand. Once or twice I've seen him tuck toys under his chin if his hands are too full. Keep this information in mind as I share the events of yesterday...
Sam was in the bathroom and he called me to come help him. I walked in the bathroom... he was trying to flush the toilet with one hand and holding about five cars in the other hand. Just as he flushes one of his favorites toys, and matchbox van from buddy Gabe, slips out of his hand, into the toilet and is gone. You should have heard the wailing that followed... it matched the wailing of last wednesday when he fell and ripped his fingernail off. Through sobs I heard: "I... want... Gabe's... van!" It was aweful. I did the only thing I could given the circumstances: Tried to stifle my laughter, held him close and told him I didn't know how to get it, but maybe Daddy could when he got home. (I also prayed he'd forget about the van before Daddy arrived!) He didn't forget. Daddy explained that it was gone. More Crying. Finally he settled and throughout the evening tried giving Daddy ideas on how to get it back. "Daddy, you need a rope maybe?"
Today when he goes into the bathroom he's been putting his toys at the far end of the counter away from the toilet. "No cars in the potty, Mommy."
Tomorrow we are busting open Sam's piggy bank and going hunting for a new van at Walmart.