Tag Archives: Peanut Gallery

Travel Time Yet Again

Yep, it’s that part of the week where, once again, I’m on the road. Which means that, other than some silly little rants against the plain stupidity of the TSA, well. . .

I got nothing.

Yes, ha ha. As if this were any different from any other day. Very funny, there, peanut gallery. Very funny.

I’ve got lots of good stuff, great material from Chicago. It’s just that I’m trying to type this on an iPad (with a Luvitt Ultrathin Keyboard Cover, which is working surprisingly well) and an extremely dodgy wifi connection to the internet.

I still find it incredibly difficult to believe reputable hotels don’t offer good high-speed internet as a courtesy to their guests. To have to pay for cruddy wifi is a shame.

Anyway, the wifi keeps cutting in and out so typing is becoming an increasingly large pile of frustration and anger. I’m not that dense, after all. I can’t make it work better so I’m just going to give it up until I’ve got a better connection.

Or until I’m somewhere where I can scream and yell and let out the frustration that way. Don’t want to set a bad example for the youngish dudes camped out in our hotel room.

With that in mind, I’m signing off here. I’ll be back tomorrow with some great stuff from Barry’s swing through the Southern leg of the A Dude’s Guide to Babies book tour.

See you then.

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School’s Out

by Richard

School’s out for summer!

I’ll pause here to allow the cheers and screams and sheer undulations of joy to subside from the young dude peanut gallery that’s now got far too much time on its hands.

All done? Good.

Anyway, it’s an odd last day of school here at Casa de Dude. Sarcasmo bounced back from college during the first semester of last year, so he’s been out of school. Zippy the Monkey Boy went to a private school and had all A’s in his classes so didn’t have to study for or take final exams so he’s been out for several weeks and only had to go back to school last week to graduate.

It’s only Hyper Lad who’s counting today as the official first day of summer. The price we pay for allowing them to get older, I guess.

I still say we should dip them in amber sometime around six or so. That way, they never have to get into that cynical or sarcastic phase in which all parents are idiots and the world stinks. And we never have to deal with pre-puberty and puberty mood swings.

Unfortunately, every time I bring that up, people start looking at me strange and I get a visit from child protective services.


It’s been difficult to keep Hyper Lad on task these last couple of weeks, what with his brothers home and not doing any sort of school. He is seriously ticked off that he can’t stay up late and sleep late and not go to school. Not that I blame him, of course. I mean, since his End of Grade tests have ended a couple of weeks back, he’s been doing — essentially — nothing of value in school.

Still, it’s something all school-age dudes have to suffer through.

Now it’s all over. School’s out for the summer, so no more eight hours of school each day, and the young dudes get to stay home all the time.

Which is something all parent-age dudes have to suffer through.

Even with a house full of young dudes, all filled to the brim with a horrible concoction of hormones and energy, there still is something worthwhile to cling to: only a little over two months until school starts again.

Nah. Just kidding. I love having them home. I don’t have to harangue anyone about homework or tests or projects or getting up on time to get to school.

And I get a little more face time, another vanishingly small unit of time before they’re out of the house (hopefully) for good.

So school’s out and it’s time for fun.

Well, they get to have fun. For parents, it’s just more of the same. Only hotter. With more kids underfoot.

Don’t trip.

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And The Winner Is. . .

by Richard

Me, pretty much. The winner is me.

Today marks the 21st anniversary of the day I actually got my wife, known to me as She Who Must Be (NSFW), to walk down that aisle, dressed all in white and promise before all and sundry that she would admit to anyone who asked that she actually married me.

I still can’t get over it.

Not to say that we don’t have bumps in the smooth road to marital bliss, because we do. But the thing of it is, I really am one very lucky dude. My blushing bride is an amazing woman. She loves sports and chicken wings almost as much as I do. (Or, when she’s kicking my can’t-pick-to-save-my-life butt in the March Madness pool, more.) She puts up with my ineffable love of comic books and British humour. She loves most of my jokes.

Mostly, though, she loves me. And I just can’t get over that.

She makes me want to be a better dude. She pushes me to keep myself healthy so she can have me around to enjoy. (And any man who says that doesn’t make them go weak in the knees is a liar.) She encourages me to find my joy and my passion. (Even if that idea did come from Oprah, it’s still a good idea.) She loves me.

And I love her, with all my heart.

I’ve talked to a lot of dudes about their weddings. They talk about having one or seven beers before the ceremony, just because. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to miss a thing.

Twenty-one years ago, I almost fainted, standing up there in the front of the church. And, no, you snarky peanut-gallery members, it wasn’t because I was about to be immolated by an angry god.

I started hyperventilating when the bridal march began playing and, from a doorway at the back of the church, my soon-to-be bride stepped into the aisle. I was struck forcefully by the thought that I had found a woman who loved me for who I was, and a woman that I loved to distraction. And, at that moment, she was the most beautiful thing in the history of the world.

Three sons, innumerable fights, innumerable plus one make ups, highs, lows, anger, laughs, passionate kisses, sweet kisses, kisses just because and hugs just at the right moment later, she’s still the most beautiful woman in the world.

I love you, Sweetie.

Happy anniversary.

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