Thursday, 9 January 2014

On God and Merkins

Under what circumstances might a four-year-old boy run round his sitting room shouting "I'm a merkin, I'm a merkin, I'm a merkin!"?

I only ask because this is exactly what you might have heard had you been at our place last weekend.

Before you cast aspersions on the kind of household we have created, allow me to explain.

Last Sunday was 'Epiphany', and, as part of celebrating the journey of the magi, Gilby was asked to be a king at church. He was representing Caspar, and we had a jolly old time making his crown. Cereal box, bandage, and some of Gertie's sequins from her Christmas nail art set all came in very handy. Mister Maker wouldn't have been that impressed, but Gilby was, and that was the main thing.

And what did Caspar have to do? Well, as we discovered, he had to give the gift of myrrh to the baby Jesus in a procession at the end of the service. Which is simply what Gilby was explaining to anyone who might listen.

And therein lies the explanation.

Currently reading: And the Mountains Echoed by Khalid Hosseini. Wow.


  1. Aside from being funny in itself...this post reached hilarious heights last night as I had to explain to my wife what a merken is.

    My five year old rode to school yesterday belting out that Country favorite "All You Gotta Do is Put a Drink in My Hand." Just so were clear, he was not thinking of "drowning his 40 hour week blues" in chocolate milk or fruit Juice. A Budweiser truck pulled up next to the car at a red light..."Moma look that's funny...a beer truck pulls up while we're singing this song."

    He's only five and they're already clearing out a wing at the parents Hall of Fame in anticipation.


  2. Exactly the kind of discussion I was hoping to promote. Hope you had a nice conversation...
    And...five? Well... :)