Mr. Weenie

Yes, the title of this post should give everyone pause.

Here's the history.

Matron: "Merrick, sweetie, will you grab your sweatshirt so we can go to school."

Merrick: "Don't call me sweetie. I'm too big fow that."

Never mind that someone who can't pronounce 'r' isn't too big for anything except an infant sling.

Matron: "Okay. No more sweetie. Honey, will you get the backpack and sweatshirt?"

Merrick: "Dr. P -- (Matron's real last name). Honey is just as bad. You can't call me honey or sweetie."

Matron: "How about Merrick?"

Merrick: "That's not good either."

This gives the Matron pause, as Merrick is his given name. Everyone calls him Merrick.

Matron: "What do you want to be called."

Merrick: "Mr. Weenie. Not just Weenie but MISTER Weenie."

Here, the Matron decided against against further investigation. Weenie? There are some phallic nuances here.

But this morning, she woke up Mr. Weenie and brought him to school.

The Flying Guitar

The Matron is safely back from New Jersey and her mother? Recovering.

But a drama unfolded during her absence.

John on the phone to the Matron: "I can't find my guitar. I've looked everywhere -- each closet, every crevice, each room. It's gone. Who stole it?"

Yes, his 35 year old guitar -- a very expensive, lovely instrument -- went missing. While the Matron was driving her mother to various doctor appointments on the East Coast, John was searching the house. He looked in each child's closet. He climbed into all the storage spaces. Tore apart the workshop. That guitar was gone.

Note: John is a musician. He's written many songs and was, for a time in his youth, the lead singer in a band that toured the midwest. His main goal then wasn't actually artistic but hedonistic. The lead singer always gets the girl in the audience. Prospects always landed in the front row and found their way to him after the show. But that's another story. Remember, he's prettier than she is so his 'musical career' was fairly successful.

Now that he's an old married man without that guitar -- which brought him great luck (continuing today except maybe not so much the sex) he sat down the three children.

John: "This is REALLY important. Does anyone know where my guitar might be?"

Children in unison: "No."

Sleepless nights. Where could that guitar be? The Matron fretted from her perch in New Jersey. They both went over people in the house: could someone have taken it? Yours truly ran down the list of friends and family running in and out in the past two weeks -- impossible. Nobody would take that guitar.

Matron over the phone: "The side door is always unlocked. Someone stole it, I'm sure."

The dearly beloved was beside himself.

John: "I swear if I find that guitar I'll write four new songs in the next two weeks."

Matron: "Promise?"

John: "You know where it is!"

But no, she did not. However, any pledge toward art is held dear and she wanted a firm commitment, just in case.

Alas, no guitar materialized. The Matron returned home on Saturday and helped search the house and interrogate the children. Nothing. A friend of 35 years, gone.

Last night as John was helping Merrick (aka Meatloaf Head, another different story) prepare for bed, he paused in front of a large wooden chest that's sort of the marker of the second floor hallway.

He opened it.

There was the guitar, sitting atop the blankets and moth balls.

Let's just say there were tears and an instant song.

Merrick was witness to this miraculous discovery. He watched his dad sniffle and strum, and noted the reunion.

John: "How in the world did this get in here?"

Merrick: "Now I wemembew. I stole it fow Apwil fools and then fowgot."

Turns out that Merrick DID steal the guitar as an April fool's joke but the instrument was so heavy he dumped in the trunk instead of continuing to carry it to its final, concealed designation.

After interrogation, the Matron and her husband believed that Merrick knew he had taken the guitar but had forgotten where the instrument had landed. Still. That child kept his lips shut for five days while his father was in agony.

HWCBN came up with an excellent punishment. Scarlett had another excellent, different punishment -- both so severe that shackles and rope come to mind. Then they fought over which punishment was more appropriate.

So it's 10 pm at night. Everyone is arguing about Merrick's punishment; the culprit himself is still awake even though it's a school night and he's eight. John continues to sniffle and is completely without his senses as he ponders the discipline options offered by HIS OWN CHILDREN.

Matron: "We're done. Everyone go to bed. Parents decide consequences, not siblings, period. End of conversation."

HWCBN: "That's SO UNFAIR!"

Scarlett: "But a week without screens is the BEST thing!"

Matron: "End of conversation. Go to bed."

This morning, Merrick did indeed endure the first of three days of limited computer and television time -- okay, no computer or television time. But mom and dad made the call, not the brother and sister.

Most importantly?

John is upstairs in the family room right now, with his longtime friend, composing another song.

Here's his latest public splash . . . look for John Thompson and click 'listen.'

And the Matron is now locking the side door and happy that the one she loves is reunited with both her and his guitar. Strum away, darling. She'll watch Merrick during the desert season from screens.