Tag Archives: Diapers

Singing The Beatles

So I was in my office the other day, plugging away at the typewriter when I heard this warbling coming from out in the hallway. The voice was hauntingly familiar, as was the melody, but I couldn’t place it.

Then Hyper Lad ambled in from the hallway and it all clicked into place.

The voice was that of my youngest dude and the melody belonged to the Beatles. The dude was singing “Help,” for absolutely no reason at all. It was just something that slipped out of his mouth because he was feeling a bit of all right.

How cool is that?

I mean, the Beatles broke up when I was still in diapers. What? I had. . . issues. Sue me. Still, it was a long time ago. And my youngest, definitely a child of this era, still is singing along to one of their songs. From 50 years ago!

That’s some good music, that is. To be able to be enjoyed by people of such diverse cultures and time frames. And, dudes, this still is very, very catchy.

I found myself joining in for the last couple of lines.

At least until Hyper Lad shot me a look of disgust and walked out of the room.

Okay, yes, sure he’s got a much better voice, but that was no reason to just talk out on mine. It’s not like he hadn’t suffered hearing damage from all the loud video games and suchlike. I’m surprised he can even hear my singing voice. Mostly it just makes dogs howl, but beside the point.

Moving on.

It’s something interesting I’ve noticed with two out of my three little dudes. The oldest, Sarcasmo, will listen to a few oldies, but mostly finds his musical enjoyment from the current decade, along with a love of electronica-derived instrumentals.

The middle dude, Zippy the College Boy, loves all kinds of music, from my oldies, taking a detour through country, around ska-punk, and into the current alternative music scene. About the only thing he doesn’t like is rap. Which is something Hyper Lad gladly adds to his playlist along with stuff like dubstep.

We’ve all four decided that straight pop music — whatever the era it was released — is garbage we wouldn’t waste our bleeding ears on. Snobs, but snobs together so that’s all right.

So here’s to you, Paul. Here’s to you, John. Here’s to you, George. And even you, Ringo. It’s an amazing accomplishment, but, seriously, thanks for the music.

Thanks for making something that, almost a half a century later, I can enjoy with my young dudes. At least until I open my stinkin’ mouth.

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Pooping In The Mini-Van

Hey, dude!s. It’s Barry here. Thought I’d stop by and tell a little story.

For once, it has absolutely nothing to do with us trying to shill our book, A Dude’s Guide to Babies. Heh, heh, heh.

I saw something the other day that reminded me of a trick my wife and I used to have to resort to when our little dudes and dudettes were much younger than they are now.

This was, in fact, back when several of them were in the middle of proving that they didn’t need no stinkin’ diapers no more. They could go to the potty just fine on their own.

And we agreed with them. Right up until we had to get out yet another set of spare clothes and hunt down a changing place and find a relatively clean bathroom and pull over in some strange sections of anywhere. And, to top it off, this usually happened when we were going on a long road trip.

After one time too many of that, my wife and I decided to do something so we wouldn’t have to scurry into some appalling bathroom that had been passed over by the health inspectors because they were afraid to go in there.

We felt like we needed to make it something to remember for our kids. Frankly, we wanted to make it so they would remember it the next time we suggested they go to the bathroom before we left for a road trip.

What we did was purchase one of those training potties you’re supposed to put next to the real toilet in a home’s bathroom. We didn’t do that. We carried it with us in the car.

Yeah, that’s right. When someone decided he (or she) could hold it for the next seven hours and then drank several liters of water over the course of about 10 miles. . . Well, we didn’t actually look for a place to get off the freeway. We just looked for a place that was relatively flat.

Then it was out with the portable training potty, followed — very reluctantly — by an exceedingly uncomfortable little dude or dudette doing a horribly anxious pee-pee dance. No, they didn’t like it. At all. And we sure didn’t like having to tote it around, especially when it began to. . . acquire a certain smell from close association. We kept it in a plastic bag, but stank has a way of sneaking out, you know?

It’s something we remembered. We do want our kids to stand up and make their own choices. But we also want to ensure they make the right choice. If we can accomplish that with a blast of embarrassment and a roadside tinkle, then there you go.

Barry. . . out!

*drops the mic*

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Ook, Ook To The Monkey Boy

by Richard

Look out, world. Today is the day Zippy the Monkey Boy turns 18.

It’s the day he’s been looking forward to for a long, long time. He likes to think that, just because the law considers him an adult now, that he’ll be treated like an adult here at Casa de Dude.

His mom and I don’t like to disillusion him* about stuff like this, but he’s really not going to be treated as if he’s a house guest. Okay, we’ll probably not cut up his food and wipe his mouth for him, but he’s still a kid in our hearts.

At least until he’s the one who pays for dinner when we go out, but that’s a separate thing entirely.

Today, we come to praise Zippy the Monkey Boy, not to bury him.

With a name like Zippy the Monkey Boy, you’d think he was the one who was always running around, knocking things over and flinging poop all over the walls. He was. But that wasn’t why he got the name. He got the name because he took to climbing like greased-up pigs take to sliding.

He never did learn to crawl. Instead, he kept low crawling until he could stand up and walk. He wanted the extra height, you see.

Once he got up on two feet, it was only a matter of time until he started seeing the fences and stuff we’d put up around the play area, not as a thing blocking his way so he’d better turn around, but as another toy, something we put there so he could have fun climbing and dropping.

That was what we listened to when he was a baby. That thump. We’d hear it and know he’d found his way over another obstacle and we should be expecting his arrival any moment. Diapers were a wonderful thing for Zippy the Monkey Boy. Great cushion. Of course, if it were already a full diaper before he climbed and dropped, we got to clean a lot of flung stuff after.

He’s kept it up. One of my favorite pictures of him shows him high up in a tree, screaming out his triumph for having climbed that high. He was 15 when we took that picture. He likes to climb is what I’m saying.

His other most distinguishing feature through the years has been his love of animals. This is a little dude that has wanted to be a zoologist since he knew someone could actually tell people he was going to study animals all his life and people would be okay with it. Now he’s going off to one of the best marine science schools in the country so he can make the study of sharks his life work. If nothing else, it shows he’s able to find a goal and stick with it.

Zippy the Monkey Boy is getting ready to head off to Wilmington to try his act out down there, along the beaches, among the co-eds and out on his (metaphorical) own. Sure I’m worried.

But only a little. I have the feeling Zippy the Monkey Boy is going to keep on climbing, always reaching for something just out of his reach and finding a way to get it and then seeing the next thing just a little higher up.

It’s been an adventurous 18 years. I can’t wait to see what the next 18 bring.

Ook, Ook, Zip.

*no, that’s a lie. We love disillusioning him. It’s such fun.

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