Grey Matter is MIA

And a certain 9 year old boy, of whom I will not name, is moping. Grey Matter, for those of you not embroiled in the midst of raising young boys, happens to be an action figure from a show called Ben 10. The unnamed 9 year old loves this show, though I'm partially convinced it has something to do with the name Ben 10. For Christmas, he received Grey Matter and Heat Man or was it Lava Guy or Fire Strike (see me, see me not being a young boy and therefore really not caring what the red/orangish/brown figure is called, suffice to say, it isn't the one that is MIA).

For months, this ugly little grey action figure has been lovingly toted from bedroom to bedroom, from car to car, from bath to bed. It has gone to the mall, to the park, to Starbucks. It has rode in a child-sized Humvee and slept in a GI Joe tent. It has ridden miniature schnauzers and jumped from the tallest art easel in the house.

And now, sadly, Grey Matter is gone.

One day of, "Has anyone seen my Grey Matter?" turned into, "Mom, do you know where Grey Matter is?" because everyone in this house has come to realize if something is lost, Mom'dar is on the job. On day two and three, Mom (that would be me) promised she'd help the bereft 9 year old search for the lost toy, only to get busy and immersed in the day-to-day business of school, laundry, cleaning and of course, the important, feeding, of children, including the sad 9 year old.

Day four he reminds Mom with a very melancholic expression, "You never looked for Grey Matter last night."

Hmmmm.

So, realizing that I will probably forget if I procrastinate anymore on this, I set off in search of a toy that looks like grey sludge melted into a vague body-shaped mold with overly-large, beady craft eyes. I know it isn't in the toy box because I dug through it, in its entirety, just the other day searching for a small DS game that a sad 11 year old had misplaced (it was later successfully located by Mom'dar in older brother's room, on a desk, slightly hidden under a cleaning cloth). I know it isn't in the living room because it's only so big and Grey Matter is not that small. And again, the living room was scoured fairly well the day before. I search box one of GI Joes and come up empty. I search box two of GI Joes and come up empty. I suggest sad child look between the wall and his bed, under his bed, under his brother's bed. We search the van, we search the garage. I finally declare that Grey Matter has impolitely gone missing and that sad child should stop moping because at the very worst, I'll buy a new one and life will thankfully go on.

Later, a thought jolts through and I enjoy a moment of elation. Didn't I see it sitting in the Humvee in the hallway before I picked it up on Sunday and put it away on the shelf in the garage? I dash hopefully to the shelf, pull the Humvee down, look in and -- oh, no. It's a lightsaber, sitting happily in the backseat, cruelly slapping down my earlier misplaced hope and relief.

I trudge dejectedly back into the house and give the sad news. Grey Matter is officially MIA.

In a house of four boys, in a span of time totalling some fourteen years, he is our first official statistic. Not that we haven't suffered losses. Woody lost a leg and an arm. Woody version 2 lost an arm. Buzz lost his helmet, hands and feet. Buzz V2 fortunately fared better with just a partial helmet loss. The Master Chief has lost arms and legs. The submarine sank, the hovercopter lost its hover and the nintendo 64 (1 and 2) died along with the gamecube version 1 and playstation 2, versions 1 and 2. No, we are not strangers to loss -- we've seen plenty of KIAs, but never before has a child suffered an MIA toy for longer than one calendar day.

I'm beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that Loki may have finally gotten his revenge for the dive bombing incident.