Needed, Large Pit

In which to throw multiple young teenagers. Also needed, one large cat to kick sand over said pit.

I have pretty much had it up to my eyeballs in obnoxious behavior, snotty attitudes, the sheer sense of entitlement, the whining. God, how much do I hate the whining. Anyway, today's Huzzah is just so much not a huzzah, it's just me, well, whining.

The curious thing is, I'm not even the only one of my colleagues who feels this way...everyone is holding back the froth of spittle-inducing fury with these little brats. About the only thing that is keeping us sane is the knowledge that these little royal snits are going to get a serious comeuppance next year in high school. This is one of my huge problems with the whole middle school concept--we claim to be preparing them for high school, and yet they are coddled to the nth degree...but then punished wrathfully for the slightest transgression. Quite honestly, I suppose it isn't surprising that they have no sense of responsibility, consequences or self-directed behavior.

I don't purport to have the answers. It's just hard to get up and go to work every day and raise other people's kids when I have my own at home who needs raising...and from her, I get smiles and sweet noises, not rudeness and apathy. However. It's only four and a half more months, it can be done. Stay tuned to see if my head explodes. Should be a good show.

Stomach Nostalgia

As vile as that sounds (kind of like what happens after eating mayonnaise-laced egg salad that has been left in the sun in July in Texas), I actually mean it in a positive sense. Sort of positive.

Here's the thing of it: my husband is a Tarheel (from North Carolina for y'all out there not well-versed in Southernese), and I hail from a long line of skillet-wielding, sweet tea drinking, biscuit-making Texans and Tennesseans, for all that I was born in Canada. Even my Canadian dad appreciates these things, so I think he won't mind if I focus on the magnolia side. Our little family, however (husband, Bean and I) live in northern California...an admirable area, rich in diversity and fluctuating dot-coms, but sadly lacking in barbecue and decent pie. Now, before anyone starts hollering, yes, I know that there are a scattered assortment of BBQ joints in San Francisco and Oakland, but that's at least a twenty-five minute drive for us, and when you need pulled pork, you need it NOW.

So here's my cyberspace wide request (if anyone actually reads this blog and knows of such things): soul food. Southern food. Barbecue. Sweet tea. Restaurants. Take-out. Online ordering. Mail order. Phone it in, whatever...I have searched online and come up with a handful of possibilites, but I wouldn't mind some reviews. What is out there for the languishing Southern palate?

I think I'm going to go rustle up a pitcher of sweet tea. It's not quite the same thing, but it'll hold us.

Bean Farther up the Beanstalk

And slaying giants...of a sort. Babies who have normal vision have one path for milestones, babies with visual impairments quite another. I don't know if it makes it more special when she reaches peaks or not, but for us, it's awfully exciting. Two great things I witnessed recently: one, she is finally leaning forward to accept food from a spoon, something that I think indicates at least a bit of vision, but certainly awareness of what she is doing. And two, I saw her drinking from a bottle today with our nanny, A, and she was HOLDING IT HERSELF. I couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. I know most babies end up doing this at a much younger age, but we are so jazzed about everything she learns to do that could constitute "self-help", it was a great moment. For me, at least---apparently she's been doing it for a number of weeks, and I have to give A complete credit. She has become such an indispensable part of Bean's life and development, I just don't know where we'd be without her. So if you're reading this, A, we love you!

My other point is completely unrelated, but well worth checking out if you at all liked Lord of the Rings and/or Bridget Jones' Diary. Very Secret Diaries of the Fellowship---prepare to giggle.

Happy New Year, y'all.