I thought of "All the Young Dudes" yesterday as we had to trudge into central London for a 7:45am appointment at the US Embassy to renew Noah's passport. The last one he had featured him as a round-headed, chubby-cheeked infant, and apparently immigration officers want an easier life where they can actually recognize the person standing before them as the same one peering out of the navy-colored passport book. Fair enough, I guess. We endured the 2.25 hour wait, not so much an excursion of wading through red tape as being caught stagnant in it, while the busy people behind the glass windowed office reviewed our paperwork before allowing us to declare that it was all true, what we were saying in the request of the passport. Yes, his middle name is Thomas. Yes, he is 3 feet tall. And so on. Finally, we got to go, out into posh central London, where honestly we don't excursion too often. Noah had dressed himself in his button-down shirt, jacket, and black trousers, with high-top sneakers completing his latest look. As he and Blake pranced around these fancy streets, wheeling in and out of the elegant entryways of the homes of the privileged and the hedge funds, I couldn't help thinking what little dudes they are, each in their own way. Noah is our fashionista; Matt thinks he will always be the one who will want to wear the "right clothes" and look a certain way. Blake is of course his own person, focused more on fine food as featured on the Food Network (Guy Fieri remains an idol), but less on how he looks (apart from being particular about the width of his trousers, slim and skinny being the only allowable cuts).
They sure are sweet boys, and as we sat down to a late breakfast at Cardinals cafe, I was grateful for the chance to be around these dudes, before they get too cool to spend time with their Mom and Dad.
Scrambled eggs on toast, featuring what must be about 4 eggs!
Nothing says "dude" like a disco pose like this one...