Bad children or bad parents?

People often tell me they couldn't do my job. They say it takes a special kind of person to work with special needs children. I used to think that, too. That is, until I accepted my job. Teachers and teacher assistants have it easy - they send the kids home to the parents every day. I go home to my normally developing children.



It's the parents who have the tough job. I admire those who do their job well. They're angels. I am ecstatic that others even try.

Food Snob

My husband thinks he's Gordon Ramsay. He must have seen every season of Hell's Kitchen. He has probably watched every episode of Kitchen Nightmares, both the U.S. and the U.K. versions. He rarely reads books, but he just finished Chef Ramsay's autobiography. He has been experimenting with food in the kitchen, making entrees without recipes. (I must admit here that he usually scores. Only once in 15 years has he made something entirely inedible.)

But an ordinary family breakfast at Denny's turned him into a food critic. Once served, Super D picked up a bit of his scrambled eggs and wiggled them back and forth to show me how rubbery they were. I told him that if he had wanted good eggs, he shouldn't have ordered them scrambled. And I scooped up a bite of my eggs, over medium. As I was enjoying my bacon, he held his fork aloft, waiting for me to try a sample of his biscuits and gravy. Not really knowing what he wanted me to say, I simply nodded my head with a smile and said, "Hmm." He replied with a look of scorn, "A mix." Even our daughter's link sausage failed to pass muster. His word for it was "frozen." Of course, he prefers sausage patties to sausage links. (Oddly enough, the best sausage I think he has probably ever had came from my mother's freezer. My brother procured it from a pig farm.)

It should be noted that my husband did not walk away from the restaurant hungry. I believe Super D ate everything on this plate. I should probably consider myself lucky that Chef Husband didn't send it all back to the kitchen, yelling obsenities at the kitchen manager about how horrible the whole experience was. Although Ramsay-wannabe would have had to stand in the cold in order to speak with him - the manager was just outside the front door, smoking his cigarette.

Maybe my pallette isn't as refined as my husband's, but I rather enjoyed my breakfast. If only because I didn't have to cook it.

My genius

I just have to brag a bit. "A" brought home her progress report today, and she has a 100% in Science and 99% in Social Studies! Two of my least favorite subjects! I have always said that she is just like me, but not in this arena!