A Dude's Guide. . . to everything

Lagniappe

Lagniappe is a word used mostly in southern Louisana and southeastern Texas and it means a little something extra. Normally, it’s something you get for free when you buy something else. Say you order the gumbo and the restaurant brings it out with a healthy serving of the cheese bread the chef just baked, that bread is your lagniappe. A little something extra. And also something you might want to bring into your marriage.

However, I am not suggesting an exchange of money on the nightstand. Really. Just how crass do you think I am? Wait. Don’t answer that. Not sure I could take it.

What I am suggesting, though, is that you take a few seconds to do something nice, something unexpected for your significant other. For example, we’ve got some wonderful hydrangias growing on the side of our house. What with spring pushing flowers into blooming, we’re starting to get some nice colors. Yesterday, I went outside, clipped off a bloom and brought it into the house. I put it into some water in a nice glass bowl and set it on the dinner table for my wife, known to me as She Who Likes The Good Smelly Stuff, to enjoy. And she did.

I think the reason she enjoyed it the most was because it was so unexpected. It’s not like I’m the type to give flowers or worry about something looking nice all that much. I mean, all you’d have to do is look at my usual daily wardrobe and you’ll know what I mean. I think that’s why the lagniappe is so wonderful, because it’s not something they’ll expect. Just like the Spanish Inquisition. Nobody expects that. Or the comfy pillow.

Yeah, I know that flowers are sort of cliche, but, in this case, it was a fresh flower from our own property, which made it a little less cliche. And also much cheaper, but we won’t get into that. And it doesn’t have to be anything you bought. Do you normally not make the bed in the mornings? Then do it. Make the bed. Pick up after the kids. If you don’t do all the cooking, volunteer to cook dinner and then wash up after. Make it a surprise. Make it fun, dude. It’s all up to you.

– Richard

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Odyssey’s End

There’s a monster living in my garage. No, seriously. Well, part of one anyway. My youngest little dude finished his Odyssey of the Mind competition the day before my unfortunate hospitalization so I haven’t had a chance to tell you about it yet. Consider this my chance. It’s also your chance to run, but this is your only warning.

The little dude and the other six kids on his team had to tell about the lost labor of Heracles and why it became lost to history and mythology. They decided to go with time travel. Yeah, I thought it was pretty imaginative as well. It seems Heracles had just dispatched the Nemean lion when he was sent on another mission, to kills the megaiosaodi (which is the Greek word for bigfoot). The thing was huge. It was so big, all you could see on the stage was one foot. The rest was too big to see. The kids made this thing our of chicken wire, lots and lots of duct tape and a marker. One of the kids was wearing this monster foot and hopping around stage in it.

Unfortunately, the thing was so big, Heracles couldn’t beat it. The good news was that he stumbled into the Greek god of time (Chronos) who sent him back 20 years to when it was just a little foot and Heracles bit its head off. Problem solved. The problem was that when he went back to the present, no one remembered there had been a monster so that labor didn’t count and it was lost to history.

The kids did a great job on the whole presentation. They did research into ancient Greek theater and discovered that the ancient Greeks didn’t use much in the way of scenery (so neither did they) and that every actor except the flute player wore a mask and so did they. They wrote the entire script and made all the props. It was most excellent. The other coach and I couldn’t stop smiling throughout the whole performance.

While we came in 12 out of 19 teams, I couldn’t be more proud of them all. They worked hard, gave up weekends and — most importantly — had a great time. If your little dude or dudette ever gets a chance to participate in Odyssey of the mind, I’d say you should grab that chance immediately. It’s a whole heck of a lot of fun. The only problem now is that the youngest little dude doesn’t want to get rid of something that took so very much work to create. Anyone out there want a monster of their very own? I figure I can sneak it out during the night and just tell everyone the foot escaped.

– Richard

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Clean Clothes

Before we begin, a quick message. Happy birthday, Dad! And now back to our regularly scheduled program. Sundays used to be a very busy time for me. That was the day that I did all the laundry. That is, all the laundry for five people. It was not fun. It was, however, efficient. I had a system that worked for me. The only problem was that I basically had to be at home for most of Sunday. One day, though, I had a flashback to my own childhood.

My mom and dad were believers in what might be termed the benign neglect school of childrearing. Once I got near middle school, they wanted me to wear clean clothes, but if I didn’t? Well, that was my problem. They figured when friends would start complaining about the stink or the stained clothes I’d insist on wearing, well, either I’d start doing laundry more often or I’d do without friends. Either way I’d learn a valuable lesson. Have I mentioned how much I hated learning valuable lessons? The answer is. . . A lot.

Still, I did learn that lesson and started doing my own laundry. Of course, at first I ended up with a lot of pink shirts and underwear so I had to learn that you need to separate the lights from the darks. Either that or don’t buy any new red clothes and then just dump the rest of the stuff in all together. Guess which one I chose?

So it was with some trepidation that I began forcing allowing my little dudes to do their own laundry. It was a bit rough at first in that I had to take them by the hands to help sort out the darks and lights. Who knew there would be such trouble deciding that white socks shouldn’t be washed with black shirts? Eventually they learned the two-pile strategy and then I had to teach them where the detergent goes and, no, it’s not in the same place that’s marked fabric softener. And, no, you don’t have to fill every niche to the very top.

I learned another valuable lesson when I realized that they were folding up and putting away clothes that hadn’t finished drying yet. I guess they figured that if the buzzer went off, they didn’t have to worry about it anymore. If the clothes were still a little wet, no big deal. Yeah, until they started showing up with mold growing on their jeans. And, no, again, I’m not kidding in the least.

But now, finally, finally, they seem to be getting the hang of it. And to think it only took a couple of years of yelling, screaming and prodding. If only I’d started this earlier, I might have had more Sundays free for the important things. Like naps.

– Richard

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