Miss You

I'm traveling again for a few days. As one can imagine, my children greeted this news with great despair.

"Boys, I have to go out of town for a meeting until Saturday," I told them.

"So?" asked the oldest.

"Good," said my middle son.

"Be quiet," said my youngest, who was watching an episode of "Family Guy" he'd seen at least a dozen times before.

I turned to the Lovely Bride for solace.

"You'll miss me, won't you?" I asked.

"Do I need to get the kids to basketball while you're gone?"

"No. They've got rides."

"Thank God."

"You'll miss me, right?" I whined again, a little more plaintively this time.

"Of course I will," she said with a mixture of exasperation and pity.

In a display of maturity and good parenting I stuck my tongue out at the kids. The oldest shook his head in disgust.

Changing the subject, the Lovely Bride asked, "Isn't it nice that our youngest was selected for leadership training?"

"What?" I asked.

"You're deleting my emails without reading them, aren't you?" she demanded.

"No, I wouldn't do that. I've been busy at work is all."

"Doing what? Going out for lunch?" interjected my middle child. The youngest one laughed.

"Shut your holes before I kill you both," I suggested.

"Bring it, old man," said the middle one.

"Yeah, bring it," the youngest echoed, assuming his fighting stance. Our dog Lucy jumped on him and he started wrestling with her.

"Leadership training," the Lovely Bride repeated. She's gotten used to ignoring most of what goes on in our house.

"What about it?"

"Our youngest and a few other kids were picked by the elementary school principal to attend a special half-day presentation on leadership at the high school."

"You're joking, right?" I said. Our future leader was currently pinned on the kitchen floor by a spaniel puppy.

"No, I'm not joking."

"Are they going to show them 'Patton?'"

"I very much doubt it."

"They should. He was a great leader. 'Rommel, you magnificent bastard, I read your book!'" I bellowed.

The oldest snarled, "Shut up," before turning back to his homework.

"Why does he need leadership training when he lives with me?" I asked.

"He needs therapy because he lives with you," said the Lovely Bride. "That's a separate issue."

"That was a cruel comment," I said.

"Don't you need to pack?" she asked.

"Will you miss me when I'm gone?"

"Your absence will be noticeable," she said.