Elisa's Journal

Yikes, summer is just around the bend. Although it has it's advantages, like not having to pry yourself out of bed every morning, not having to pester your children to get up until they twitching erratically or lunge for each other's jugular over cereal box rights, not having to go to square dance shows and plays and musicals and pretend to actually be as entertained as you'd be at a Led Zepellin concert, not having to browbeat them over homework, etc, it has its downsides too. Sure, my time is once again my own, but my kids seem to think otherwise. I know, like every summer in the past, they'll assume I'm their official cruise director with an immediate solution to the ever-ubiquitous "I'm bored, Mommy." I know I'll spend so much money it'll be leaving my wallet like crap from a goose. I know I'll be tortured by incessant begging. I know that, in Houston's summer heat and humidity, I'll melt and run down my boots and hassle with bad hair days that make Don King look like he's had a buzz cut. I know I'll look forward to revitalizing my friendships with lunch dates, trips and coffee house meetings only to play tag with conflicting vacations and scurry to book 37 meetings the last week before school. I know I'll yearn for that long-awaited manicure and pedicure only to have it repeatedly usurped by orthodontist and dental appointments. I know I'll suffer all these trials and tribulations of summer with it's unrequited promises, but I'll love it nonetheless because I'll have more free time with my kids who I adore enough to endure it all.

Posted by elisa at 09:38 AM | Permalink

Kristina came home from college Sunday with her favorite movie in tow--Phantom of the Opera. Even though she's yet to see the Broadway production, she's been in love with the story and the music for years. When the actual movie version came out, she became practically epileptic. Naturally, this meant we all had to watch the movie several times in her presence (she wanted proof positive.) The only hold back all these months has been my husband, Rune. But last night, he had run out of excuses. The begging was intolerable and the evoking of those "if you were a good father you'd watch this with me" guilt feelings rose to a fevered pitch. He warned us of his deep seated fear behind watching this musical--that he'd turn gay--be we ignored him. Thing is, he watched the entire movie with a sappy grin on his face and demanded we pause it when he had to get up and do something important, I dunno, something about a kitchen fire or wetting his pants, I'm not sure. We continued watching without any problems, but I'll have to say I became I got alittle unnerved when he started going over new wallpapering ideas and fluffing the accent cushions on the sofa. Without delay, I sent him away to gap a couple of spark plugs, hold a belching contest after a few beers and rotate the tires on my car.

On another subject--Michelle has a new job! She'll be working at Petsmart--get this--cleaning out cages. She was so excited to get to job, probably because she will no longer have to get money out of my white knuckled fist by groveling on bloodied knees. Anyway, she got the job after two interviews, drug testing, etc. She said she was a slam dunk because she talked about all the various animals she has owned from exotic birds and salt water tropical fish to lizards and snakes that grow big enough to reqire a daily diet of goats. Obviously, she neglected to mention just how many went through that figurative revolving door from her room to the graveyard. Hmmm. If they only knew!

Posted by elisa at 10:20 AM | Permalink

Rune and I engage in the sporadic habit of looking at new houses--we're talking houses we would never buy because they're either too far away or too expensive. We've done this for years, but it comes in waves usually triggered by one look into any of the kids' rooms. Lately, worn tile, peeling wallpaper, chipped paint, or a visit to a friend's house (most of whose look like a showcase home in Architectural Digest compared to our kid ravaged one). Why don't you just fix up the kids' rooms, you ask? Ha! I spent countless hours remodeling the boys' room--repainting, cleaning the carpet, putting up wallpaper border, buying and assembling new furniture (twice, since I usually assemble each piece backwards first), etc. Now, you walk into that same room and it looks like Hiroshima Part II. We're talkin old computer monitors lying in a ball of tangled electrical cords, broken dresser drawers, piles of clothes, unlabeled CDs, empty cracker boxes, spoons which have become glued as a permanent fixture to the desk top, and so on. The only upside is you can't see how stinkin filthy the carpet is under all the debris, but for most, the smell is a dead give-a-way. It looks like nothing had ever been done, remodeling-wise. Although I still have the bruises and the drained bank account to prove it, try telling that to the city inspector when he tacks up a condemned notice on their door. All the room needs is a mummified sibling and thirty seven neglected cats wallowing in their own excrement to make it onto the six o'clock news. Anyway, back to the main subject. Things like this drive us to look, but we can't bear the thought of leaving our neighbors and we can't afford the kind of house we really want, so...we slink back to our ever-deteriorating pile of bricks and mortar and vow to fix it up from stem to stern when the kids move out. Of course, by that time, I'll need to outfit it with handicapped railing, wheelchair ramps, a place to hang my teeth, and a cabinet for my Depends, but that's life in a house of five kids. We're here for the duration.

Posted by elisa at 09:03 AM | Permalink

Kids seem to lose teeth at different rates. For instance, some lose one every 6-8 months while others shed them as though it were wheat harvesting season. The latter pegs my youngest daughter, Annika, to a tee. Nothing for years. Then, within a week, people start asking me when I decided to sign her up for hockey. Hell, you could run a Peterbilt 18-wheeler double wide through a couple of those spaces. In some ways, this has made life easier for her. She now has handy little straw holders in her mouth. She can make all sorts of interesting sounds that she wasn't able to make before--sounds with serve to enrich her skatelogical humor, of course. (Look it up, lazybones.) Plus, she's raking in a veritable fortune in Tooth Fairy dough. For me, there's only one advantage: it's a helluva lot easier getting her up in the morning when I shout out, "Get up and see if the Tooth Fairy left you anything" compared to "Get up and take a bathe, eat, and unload the dishwasher so you can get to school on time." The rest are downsides. First, I have to remember to make the swap. This requires me to stay up longer than she does which, as I've grown older, has become no easy feat. Usually she's barely asleep,meaning I have to be particularly stealthful and lighthanded. In my extensive experience, this is tough when your eyelids are propped open by toothpicks. If she does awaken, I have to scramble for answers to questions like, "Mommy, why is your hand under my pillow? Are you stealing my Tooth Fairy money?" Plus, it usually takes some time to calm her hysterics at the site of Mommy Dearest coming at her with eyes the size of salad plates and lids skewered with toothpicks. I can only imagine the therapy bills that loom in our future. And she usually loses her teeth at around 10:30 at night, meaning I better have correct change or else. I'll scour the sofa cushions before I plunk a 20 under her pillow. Plus, I don't think she accepts Visa or Mastercard. Last, losing all those teeth at once can strain the ol' pocketbook (sadly, that word probably certifies me as a genuine antique.) If she loses any more, the Tooth Fairy's gonna have to file Chapter 13. Makes Community College look pretty sweet, actually. On a positive note, I always know who to hit up for a loan.

Posted by elisa at 11:21 AM | Permalink

Some people are just slow learners. Yep, I'n one of them. Charter member of the National Slow Learners Association, right here. Why, you ask? (I'm ignoring your answer because I'm going to tell you anyway cuz I need to vent. So there.) Okay, ever since I got my first computer and joyfully threw away my slide rule collection (a bit prematurely perhaps,) I've gotten myself into a world of trouble tinkering around in dangerous territory about which I know enough to fit in a thimble and float. This happens notoriously every time I get a new operating system upgrade. This week, I installed Mac OS 10.4, also known as Tiger. It worked splendidly until I thought to myself, "Okay, that installation when well. I AM a computer tech goddess and the virtual world is mind to rule. Hmmm. Think I'll do a maintenance check on the volume structures and defrag the hard drive." Needless to say, it did not go well. I spent probably 6 hours a day for 5 days trying so many things to resurrect what had become a heap of useless wires, plastic, transistors and little square thingies with Japanese squiggles and numbers written on them. You know when you're so deep into the bowels of computer hell that you don't even know where the crap you are and what the crap you've done or not done? You're looking at the person (or the person's blog, anyway) who's traveled that rocky path with gun and camera. The Clark and Livingston of that whole journey. By the way, did those guys ever make it back? Anyway, I digress. Basically, my computer's state of existence continued to plummet down a slippery slope of deterioration and demise. I wound up having to reformat my hard drive until it was as squeaky clean of my mistakes as the driven snow. In other words, it took alot of blood, sweat and tears to tame that Tiger. This was not all without casualties, however. I am left with a bruised knot on my forehead the size of Rhode Island from beating my head against the monitor while mumbling unmentionables to myself. And this nightmarish cycle will repeat itself with the next upgrade. I can swear by it. Fortunately, I've learned to back up my drive before the installation. Live and burn, uh, I mean, learn. Anybody out there got a slide rule I can borrow?

Posted by elisa at 10:18 AM | Permalink

My husband may seem gruff on the outside, but whenever he's alone with small animals, his softer, more feminine side shines. For instance, you know the baby squirrels Annika and I raised by hand? Rune adores them. He always wants to be the one who feeds them, and anytime they appear at the back door expecting their usual 7 course gourmet meal, he announces in a squeaky little voice through his broad grin, "We have little visitors." And when he's alone with our smaller dogs, we can all overhear his high pitched voice as he talks to them, "How are you, Peanut?" "Do you want to come it, Penny?" I mean, his voice gets so high, it raises the hair on the back of your neck. Makes me wonder whether he had one long motorcycle ride to many. But it is cute; the kids love it and snicker behind his back, and it should give all us women out there hope that there IS a feminine side in most men that screams to come out. Might take a flea-bitten squirrel or a pugnacious chihuahua to bring it out, but it's there!

Posted by elisa at 10:50 AM | Permalink