Elisa's Journal

I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. I know that, except for one tiny little incident involving sloughing skin and recommendations of skin grafts, mine was just hunky dory. Yep. The Medhus klutz has struck again. In that Venturi tube effect that occurs an hour before the turkey is carved, I'm the usual flurry of Martha Stewart-esque activity. I pour the mixture of hot grease drippings and gravy mix into my blender and, as my eldest daughter cries out "The fill line, Mom. The fill line!!!" My finger, now on auto-pilot plunges into a death spiral toward the on/off switch. My mind (and Kristina's) is shouting a long and totured slo-mo "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" and as it connects with destiny, hot greasy gravy splashed all over my arm. Skin sloughes before my very eyes. I try my best to conceal the damage and continue smiling, what the my parents sitting on the couch with hungry smiles and all, but as the hours wear on, it's all I can do to keep from screaming when Michelle shouts out, "I get the skin?" "How is it, nice and crispy? The skin's my favorite part..." Ew. As the hours march on, I develop a blister about 3.5 inches in diameter and raised with jiggly fluid about 3/4 inches tall. Cool to touch, but makes people gag. Eventually it pops, sending torrents of yellow serum flying. (Grossed out yet?) Now, I'm left with what looks like a third degree burn. It really hurts, too. Every dressing clings to it like it's life depends on it, so the dressing changes are accompanied by mournful wails punctuated by eerie shrieks. Should've been Halloween, not Thanksgiving. But the weirdest part: Kristina pointed out that my blog just prior to Thanksgiving read: "splashes of hot basting grease, and torrential gravy downpours." Psychic experience turned psycho.

All you women out there--you all can identify yourself as one of the Desperate Housewives. Me, I'm mostly Teri Hatcher with my life strewn with klutzy mishaps, but I've got some of the OCD of that redheaded chick too. I love that show!! Tell me which Desperate Housewife you are!

Posted by elisa at 08:07 AM | Permalink

Thanksgiving seems like one of those non-holidays to me. I dunno, all that planning, all the mess, all the napping, all the parades and dull football games, and all the (gulp) family face time. Ugh. Suddenly, your own parents are looking over your shoulder to make sure that time-honored recipe for cornbread dressing that's survived generations is faithfully followed and that you're disciplining the kids just right. Some of you may just snap under the pressure, take a wooden spoon and stuff the dressing up their asses and send them packing with your kids in tow. Hmm. Not a bad idea, really. I hate having to watch what I say, keep my nice clothes clean amidst a flurry of flour, drizzles of mashed potatoes, splashes of hot basting grease, and torrential gravy downpours. I hate having to repent the sins I've brought down upon my innocent thighs. I hate dealing with hungry, hypoglycemic kids who ask "When's dinner ready" every 5 seconds. But I do love being with my kids and husband around a cozy festive table, thinking about how grateful I am to have them all as part of my life, and watching them all clean up the kitchen before Bush flies over the house in a helicopter to survey the damage and declare it a national disaster. Actually, that last part about watching my kids and hubbie clean up...that's my favorite part. Happy T Day everyone.

Posted by elisa at 10:16 AM | Permalink

I'm ashamed to admit it, but my kids eat nothing but crap. And here, I'm a doctor. A doctor, I guess, who secretly wishes some scientist will report some occult ingredient in Pop Tarts and Cocoa Puffs is the key to longevity. A doctor who loves to pamper her kids through their stomachs and so gives in to their yearnings for cotton candy and ice cream. FOr a while there, my kids excluded their dietary intake to food that's beige--french fries, crackers, and cheese pizza. (Okay, don't quibble with me on the color, here, folks.) But I have to face the facts now. My kids have disorders that can be linked to a Omega 3 Fatty Acid deciency and they all have signs of it. So I'm starting the whole family on a supplement program and a more nutritious diet. Here's some info about this deciency which seems fairly exclusive to the Western countries:
The food we eat here on this side of the world is so woefully deficient in essential nutrients, it's pitiful. We over-process the goodies out of everything. Most importantly, we have little if any Omega-3 Fatty Acids in our diets. These are nutrients we cannot synthesize on our own. We must acquire them through our diet. How important are they? Very. For one, they make up the cell membranes in our nerve cells. When we lack O3FA, our bodies search for a shoddy replacement--trans-fatty acid. Unfortunately, these molecules are stiffer and straighter, so the cell membranes become distorted and rigid so that the ionic channels embedded in them aren't very patent. That means, dopamine and serotonin can't go from one cell to the next, synaptic membrane to synaptic membrane. And when we learn, the brain tries to make new neural pathways with this same inferior substitute molecule, so our ablility to retain information, think clearly and stay focused declines.

I think some kids have trouble metabollizing these O3FA from their precursor anyway, so given this and the fact that our diets are so lacking and it's no wonder LD and ADHD are up in Western countries. It's no wonder bipolar disease, depression, and other mental illnesses are highest in those countries who eat the least fish--the qunitessential source for O3FA in nature.

Our cattle once roamed in pastures, eating leafy green vegetation rich in these fatty acids but now they are grain fed and are therefore no longer rich sources for our diet. Fish are now farm raised. The algae they feed upon in these farms are low in O3FA. Our crops are alos deficient because our soils are not longer as rich in nutrients as they were hundreds of years ago.

What are the symptoms of O3FA deficiency? Some have cracked heels, excessive thirst and urination, eczema, allergies, headaches, stomachaches, hyperactivity, poor academic performance, attentional problems, dry hair and skin, thin or brittle nails, low immunity, slow wound healing, among others. It can be linked to gastrointestinal diseases like enteritis, hypertension, heart disease, mental illness, diabetes, etc.

I recommend all kids and adults begin taking O3FA supplements indefinitely. My family does.If you're pregnant, this is particularly important. In Japan, parents put their kids on these supplments to raise their grades in school. Hmmm. Think about it. Asians tend to excel in school and they eat alot of fish! Gerber uses trans-fats in their baby food but is thinking about changing to O3FA instead.

Anecdotal accounts are exciting. Kids who are not longer learning disabled, ADHD that disappears, etc. It may not be the cure-all for some but it's imperative to incorporate this essential nutrient in our diets at the very least as a preventative measure.

Posted by elisa at 10:53 AM | Permalink

Boy, I just can't get over that lady who, at nearly 60 years old, just delivered twins. And get this, she actually paid big bucks to make it happen--restretching those stretch marks, puking on new territory, fraying those barely healing nerves once again, and getting up in the middle of the night not only because you need to pee and dry off from your hot flashes, but because you need to feed two babies. God bless her. Better her than me is all I can say. But what happens to the kids as she gets older? My 10 year old freaks out enough that I'm more gray and wrinkly than her peers' parents at those PTA meetings, these twins will be escorting their mom to Portfolio Sharing Day bracing herself on a walker. She'll be unable to chaperone for those field trips to the zoo without changing her Depends. She'll have to watch their highschool graduations from her nursing home bed. And I doubt if she'll ever revel in their weddings. As much as I love having children, I'm wondering if this is all fair to them. Whaddya think?

Posted by elisa at 08:51 AM | Permalink

One of my teenage daughters has really been testing our nerves and patience lately...even more in the last two weeks than in the past 18 years. It's gotten to the point that I find myself sneaking into her room while she's asleep to search for the 666 emblazoned across her scalp. We're thinkng of changing her name to Lucifer. Until then, I keep telling myself "Wait til she has kids of her own." Naturally, thought is accompanied by the appropriate evil snicker. Anyone know of a teen kennel nearby?

Posted by elisa at 10:41 AM | Permalink

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

Posted by elisa at 10:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My father, known by his friends as Jose Antonion Ramon Augustin Ribelles Barraquer, is from Barcelona, Spain. His aquiline nose and his goatee make him look like one of the Spanish conquistadors who explored the new world. I've told him and my kids that I think he's a reincarnation of Hernando Cortez or Cabeza de Vaca. Unfortunately, my 15 year old took it seriously and told everyone he could that his grandfather was an actual conquistador. Course I should talk. When I was a kid, I told everyone he was a matador (this is what he had led me to believe) and a lieutenant from the Spanish American War. (Probably fought hand in hand with Teddy, himself.) The lies we tell!. I'll post a picture of him.

Posted by elisa at 08:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Now that my eldest in college and knows so much more about how I should take care of myself, she leaves little Vivactivs around to harden my bones, reminds me to put on my seat belt, and gives me the latest ins and outs on self-defense (in case some hardcore criminal is able to sneak into our nearly impenetrable microcosm to assault my body as it sags and wrinkles before his very eyes. Well, this weekend, she came for a lovely visit--in part because she missed us and meals that didn't include Hamburger Helper, and in part because she needed to lick her wounds after tests in Biology, Genetics, and some other course I can't pronounce. Before she left, I noticed a pink little key ring now held my car and house keys. I thought, "Wow, a cool little flashlight!" like the world would actually dare to let me drive after dusk when my depth perception is rotten enough in broad daylight. I tried hard to push all the little buttons in different sequences to no avail. Finally, as Kristina and I were headed off to Starbucks, I asked her why the heck she put a broken flashlight on my key ring. "What? Mooommmmmmm, that's pepper spray." So what do I do? I look at the tip--yup, looks like a nozzle, then point it away from my face and push the button in (finally) the right way so that it emitted a stream of noxious fumes. We had to evacuate the car and my garage for an hour or more. "What were you thinking, Mom?" "Look, Sweetie, no caffeine, no thinkie." Of course now my 15 year old son wants to buy Pepper Spray for his own personal use, wide-eyed, trembling siblings not withstanding. Ha!!! Right!

Posted by elisa at 03:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Nothing irks me more than when supposedly eloquent people punctuate their oration with "if you will." If I will what? What the heck is that supposed to mean and can't they just say "Uhhhhh" and look dumb like the rest of us? I was watching the election returns last night and realized I was wincing every time the phrase was uttered. Brokaw was a prime offender. I started to wonder if he was asking me to go fishing with him as soon as his retirement started. Maybe he was asking if I would bring the beer? Bait his hook? Gut the fish? If anyone has answers to these momentous yet elusive questions...uhhh, like, you know, write me back, 'K?

Posted by elisa at 08:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Mondays are always hard for us. Getting the kids up requires planning, perseverance, and either a Polka band or an atom bomb. I thought today would be difference what with Daylight Savngs Time ending and all. That extra hour is worth my weight in gold, people. But sadly, the day is a drizzly and somber one. Our first cold front--and I mean a front that doesn't just drop the temperatures from 94 to 90--is trying in earnest to trudge through Houston, leaving the morning gray and oppressive. Right now, Lukas is stretched out on the sofa sound asleep. I couldn't peel him off of it with a putty knife if I tried. So he's giong to have to converse, by phone, with his homeschool teacher and get read the riot act (whatever the hell that is.) I can't blame him though. I'm pretty lethargic too. Heck of a time to switch to decaf, man.

Posted by elisa at 09:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)