Yes, my son. The English language, she is a bitch.

This morning: Henry leads me to his train set, having detached each track piece from the next until all is chaos on the Island of Sodor.

“What happened?” I ask, and he waves his arm over the destruction and explains, “I broked it up… I had brokened it. It got breaked? It breakened--” And then he sighs and concludes, “I got it all up broke.”

This is nothing. You should see his spelling.