Elisa's Journal

What is it about toilet paper rolls on their legs? What do people have against using that last little bit so that they have to (god forbid) change the roll for a new one? This morning my husband, who during the summer generally wakes up earlier than me, left me with an eighth of a square. Yep, that's right. Too busy to pop that little insert out, dump the cardboard roll and stick on a new one. Hmmm. Frankly that's one of my pet peeves. Seriously, what if I had not noticed in time? (Given my morning mental state, I'm surprised i did.) Do men actually think we enjoy drip drying? I've tried to remedy the situation by buying those double rolls--all to stave off the inevitable annoyance, but eventually, it comes down to those last shredded bits. Next time he wants any action, I'm coming back with, "Sorry, I'm just too exhausted. Having to change the toilet paper roll was just the last straw tipping me over the edge."

Posted by elisa at 10:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Summer time's almost at an end. The house couldn't get messier if I unleashed a rabid bull in the living room. A couple of my kids are playing "doggie dentist" with my three dogs. Others are taping giggles and farts into a tape recorded recording at high speed then slowing it down on replay or vice versa. That's always good for laughs. The teenagers are sleeping 15 hours a day and eating the other waking hours. And it's raining so I'm stuck inside, forced to bear witness to these and more testaments to "life as usual." Actually, I took three of them to their dentist appointment. You know, that "once a year that's actually supposed to be twice a year but I always delete the 6 month one from my PDA because I'm too busy during the school year" appointment. None of them had cavities, which amazes me since their toothbrushes seem eternally dry during the summer. I'm just kidding. What freak goes around feeling other people's tooth brushes? Seriously. Plus, I don't have time. I'm too busy hoping they're not using my toothbrush on the dogs. Anyway. Moving on. I always hate being in the dental chair--for several reasons. First, like at the hair cutting place, I always feel drowsy the minute I climb into it. I feel like I have to talk to the hygenist so she won't think I'm a rude snob, but I either have nothing intelligent to say or ask or she has all ten of her fingers and a tray of sharp instruments in my mouth. When she comes up for air, I'll throw out a casual, "how's your summer going?" or "What are your kids up to?" But more often than not, she answers with "Well, we lost my cat and my mother." and "Kids? I don't have any. Remember, I've been trying for years and even spent 40 grand on in vitro but we're about to give up." It's answers like that make me wish I never opened my trap.I use to dread the dentist because I live in fear that I'll have a cavity and have to endure the horror of one of those painful shots. Now I live in fear that I'll have a cavity and will have to squeeze another appointment into my jam-packed day to get it fixed. Anyway, no one had any cavities, thank god. Plus, we all got one of those cool electric toothbrushes and a tiny tube of Crest so we can clean that nasty gritty paste they use out of our mouth and concentrate on all those places they tell us we've been neglecting. Till next year, then.

Posted by elisa at 12:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I had a great time traveling to Austin with my travel buddy, my eldest daughter Kristina. We have such a good time giggling and cutting up. The PTA seminar went really well. Sometimes I stand before the audience before I start and think, 'Do I really have anything to offer." But afterwards, it's clear that what I've said is news to them, thank god. This morning I had to get up at 4 AM to do a TV show. No easy task to get those brain cells (both of them) to look lively without a couple of pots of caffeine.I took a cab to the station where a security guard escorted me to the "green room," and I use the term loosely. It was about 2 feet by 8 feet carpeted with, hell, I don't know what the real color of the carpet was. It probably had three tons of dirt, cigarette ash, and god knows what else. There were three or four green chairs that looked like they were donated by someone's dead grandmother. The coffee tables were empty cable spools donated by the telephone company. Other amenities: a Mr. Coffee coffepot circa 1976, not currently in operation. An inflatable owl (don't ask,) a newspaper--one week old (sadly, the articles were all new to me. Haven't been keeping up lately), three Transworld Skateboarding issues from 2002, and, well, that's about it. While waiting there feeling like an extra in a weird Fellini movie, I started to wish for an IV caffeine drip. Suddenly, I had the urge to, well, pass gas. Look, even doctors have to fart, people. But there wasn't nearly enough time to go to the bathroom so I lived in fear that I would rip a loud one off right there on the set. In bathroom stalls, you can always disguise them with a cough or clearing your throat, but on live TV? Em, I don't think so. Fortunately, the sensation subsided and my palms began to dry. The host was very nice and professional, even though she looked barely old enough to pass the Clearasil aisle of the grocery store without slowing. Afterwards, I hailed a cab. A guy that had only a handful of teeth, coke bottle glasses, and a perilously low IQ. The back seat smelled up, well, piss. I don't call it urine when it pertains to last row movie seats or taxi cabs, okay? Seriously, why the hell would a cab smell like piss? I'm not dwelling on that one. Too many weird visuals. That said, glad to be home. My husband even did everything on my "honey do" list: feed kids, have them brush teeth, and get groceries. Plus, the kids were soooooo well behaved for him! (Lucky stiff!!)

Posted by elisa at 02:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I read an article the other day that was a real jaw dropper. Kids in Florida stick this bamboo tripod in a sandbar, then embed themselves (at the shoulders) on meat hooks so that they're suspended with their feet brushing the water's surface. Hmm. Okay, em. I don't get it. What the hell's the fun in that? I mean, do you know how huge those meat hooks are? What ever happened to going to the local amusement park or the movies. Geez. Plus, dripping all the blood in the water ain't gonna attract more playmates, I can promise you. Nope, they're like little teriyaki chicken skewers they serve as appetizers in Japanese restaurants, and Mr. Jaws is ready to pounce on that all-you-can-eat buffet. Oh, well. Darwin's Law at its best.

Posted by elisa at 11:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Our family has taken up a new activity--karaoke. Ever since Michelle won the best duet and second best female soloist during a karaoke contest on the cruise, we've all been inspired to venture forth from our showers and assault ears other than our own with our songs. Up to this point, I've sung along with my hubbie, Rune, when he practices his trumpet. A pretty safe bet since it's so loud I can't even hear my OWN voice. But now, we all sit around Annika's cheap little karaoke player that she bought with her allowance and sing Christina Aguilera songs. We sing Michelle Branch, Vanessa Carlton and others, but Christina is our favorite. I don't do Kum Bay Ya, thank you very much. Not unless I'm roasting marshmallows on an open fire. We all suck, though. Except for my daughters, that is. But they refuse to sing my favorite Alanis Morrisette numbers so I have to go it alone. I stop when the dogs start to howl. Especially when they sound better than me.

Posted by elisa at 10:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

What is it about some kids, anyway? They get an idea in their minds that they want something and they can't let go. My 14 year old has at least an obsession a week; that's just a hair less frequent than his underwear changes. One week it's a bass guitar. (He actually had the money to buy that one, although he doesn't seem to consider a bass amp as a burning necessity. Hmm.) Another week it's a drum set. (Thank you dear God for making that one a short termer.) Another week it's another guitar. I told him he cant' buy another thing that requires storage in his room until something else must be moved to the trash, the Salvation Army or the recycle bin (preferably something bigger than a breadbox and this does NOT include his little brother) Now, he wants a pocket bike. You know, one of those tiny motorcycles that they race professionally that go 25 miles an hour with you two folded up to the size of a tennis ball hovering two inches from the ground. Personally, I don't see the allure. I mean, who aspires to carouse around the neighborhood looking like a circus clown, really. (Like my husband and I are ever going to let him buy something that moves any faster than his brain?) Of course, since he spends his money like it were on fire, he's pretty tapped out, so he told me his older sister had once said she's be happy to lend him money if ever an emergency arose. Now I may be mistaken but I don't think this situation qualifies. Plus, I'm sure she was talking about 5 or 10 bucks not 325 bucks. After all, in a few weeks, she has to buy furniture for her new apartment before school starts. (Meaning a futon to sleep on, a crate to park a bottle of beer on, a floor lamp, and a book shelf made from two by fours.) I wonder what Erik will do when he actually starts dating? He won't have money to wine and dine his ladies much. He'll probably entertain them with rides around our cul-de-sac on his pocket bike and raid our refrigerator for dinner, then finish off with a serenade with his muted bass guitar.

Posted by elisa at 10:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

This just out: Michelle Nicole Medhus, age 18, is, as we speak, cleaning her room. Yes, folks, earlier reports that her room was the site where a documentary on F-5 tornadoes was being filmed are indeed false. Peering out from piles of dirty clothes, papers and other things as yet unidentified but smelly is actual carpet. Yes, that's right. Carpet devoid of jetsom and flotsam. Carpet gasping for air, snatched from the jaws of death by suffocation. Plus, she may even find some of the pets that have gone missing for the last several year. Experts say that, if she keeps her momentum up and works at it 10-12 hours a day, the entire room should be spotless within seven months. I guess the idea of going to school dressed in nothing but broiler foil didn't excite her much. Hmm. Cheer her on, people. Cheer her on!

Posted by elisa at 09:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Yesterday, I did what I thought I'd never have time to do this summer, what with the radio interviews for the last two books and all: I took my kids to a waterpark. I usually dread taking kids to amusement parks of any type because they're boring, expensive, and generally involve alot of whining (mine, of course.) But Splashtown USA was a pretty good respite from the heat. I actually had fun on the rides, playing with the kids. The scariest was the Ozarka Falls--a freefall waterslide that, I swear, was so high up, I felt like they should pass out oxygen tanks or at the very least kleenexes for our nose bleeds. My two youngest ones went first. I was alittle worried because they didn't seem to listen to my frantic pleas that they remember to cross their legss and the ankle and cross their arms across their chests, so I envisioned them coming through the experience with arms and legs flopping loosely at odd angles. After they went, there seemed to be an unsettling pause before they gave the signal for the next person to go. That didn't help allay my anxiety one bit. So here I am, perched on the top of a monstruous fiberglass cliff, arms crossed more in benediction than safety. I took a look down before my plummet and thought, 'GAWD, how could I have let my poor innocent babies go through this?' Then, gravity took it's hold and down I go. My stomach was squeezed up to my throat so hard I knew that it would have oozed out of my ears like toothpaste from a tube if the drop had lasted a second longer. But the horizontal part was the worse. Let's just say I'm not too partial to chlorine enemas and douches. Hmm. Don't dwell too long on that thought, please. Anyway. Moving on. I was happy to see my kids in one piece and shocked that they were begging to go again. It was fun, but it's one of those once in a lifetime funs like parachuting without an emergency chute, climbing Mount Everest without going piggy back on a 250 pound Sherpa, or eating breakfast in Chinatown. So I passed. All in all, the day was a huge success. I'm ready to go again! (But not until I've done some daily Kegel exercises for awhile.)

Posted by elisa at 10:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Let's face a hard, cruel fact of life. You have kids, you're going to have pets. Unfortunately, you have kids, and you have vacations, too. (Or at the very least you need vacations desperately.) So who takes care of the critters while the house is empty of noise and chaos? I've wrestled with that toughie for some time now and still have no easy answers. I trust my friends the most, but I have to ask myself--do I want them to remain friends? Dogs are easy. Send a warm body over ti give them alittle love and food and you're done. But my daughter, Michelle, loves to collect the challenging pets. A couple of years back she had a Rainbow Lori that greeted us from the inside of a Ziplock bag in the freezer when we returned from vacation. West Nile virus victim number whatever. That same vacation, her gaggle of geese were gaggling in the backyard when one of the dogs got into their pen and mistook it for an appetizer. My neighbor and best friend, Kathy, took it to some obscure vet god knows where (hard to find geese doctors, ya know) because the foot wound was getting infested with maggots. Ugh. The whole experience was surreal. I mean, how many times do you get to sit in a waiting room full of weird pets, feces and urine pooling in random areas, holding a honking, maggot-infested goose in your lap. Hmm. This last vacation, my daughter asked Kathy to feed the fish in her saltwater aquarium. Little did Kathy know that "feeding the fish" also included "getting a full degree in chemical engineering." The tip off should have been the three page, single spaced instructions with chemical additions, body removals, and how to tie rotten pieces of smelt on a string to feed her Trigger fish. We lost four fish in all, but to tell you the truth, that's the usual attrition rate for her tank. They probably lived a lot longer under Kathy's care than anyone else's. So we're waiting until they all die before we go on our next vacation because even the best of friends have their limits.

Posted by elisa at 09:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's official. I'm getting older. I had a great time in Alaska, but getting back into the saddle again here in Texas hasn't exactly been a picnic. I'm still on Pacific time, but I still have to get up early and work. When I wake up, I could swear that, while I was sound asleep, I was shoved into a boxing ring for a bout with Tyson, taken to every light night bar by a band of hooligan friends, given a full body scrub with the coarsest steel wool (including my eyeballs,) forced to debate the Iraqi conflict in front of the Senate and the Parliament, and coerced into completing an Ironman competition--all in one fell swoop, whatever the hell that is. Ugh. Plus, now I'm back to being poached by 300 degree, 500% humidity so that the mildew that had once sprouted in my every wrinkle and crevice has found new life. The weird thing about it: my kids are all chipper, bright-eyed, and bushy tailed urging me on to play all sorts of crazy games, making a disaster of the house that was spotless when we left, and, well, it's all rather disgusting all that energy they have. But I'm so glad I unpacked, cuz now I can crawl back into an empty suitcse and hope some Good Samaritan will check me into the first flight to the West Indies. Anyone want to join me? (After eating 24/7 on the cruise, I'm afraid there's only room for me in my spacious suitcase, so you'll have to travel in your own. Sorry. Anyway, I'll meet you on carousel 12.)

Posted by elisa at 10:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)