Elisa's Journal

Well, I've created a monster. Okay, besides my kids. Yep, those squirrels I raised and released to the wild--one of them has been taking entirely too many liberties. I open the door to let the three dogs in, in she runs like she's part of the pack. I expect her to start barking any minute. Once, she scrambled up my leg which you probably can surmise, if you know your squirrels, hurts like bloody hell. For you S and M ladies out there, chuck your Venus razors and buy a pack of squirrels to scurry up and down your legs repeatedly and you're ready to slide on thse panty hose. Me, I avoid pain at all costs. So when I see my baby running for me with wide eyes that scream "feedmefeedmefeedmefeedmefeedme...NOW" My first instinct is to dive headfirst behind the nearest couch. Instead, I usually toss a pecan his way faster than Clements can throw a fastball. The other day, she actually ran after my car as I was backing out of my driveway. Lest she become a furry speed bump, I stopped. There she sat on her hind legs just beside my car door, looking up at me with mournful eyes that said, "Mommy, where are you going? You haven't served me my breakfast yet." Once she understood I wasn't going to drive back into the garage and get out to prepare her a seven course meal, she jumped on top of the back tire and peered out at me with an expression that read, "I ain't goin nowhere til my tummy is full, lady." I had to call Kristina to come out and toss some nuts as a diversion. Chaffing 101.All in all, it's cute, but it's also become a tad annoying. I wonder hat squirrel meat tastes like?

Posted by elisa at 08:04 AM | Permalink

Oh my God. My worst fears have been realized. Lukas's transition from homeschooling 6th grade to pulbic schooling 7th has been a disaster. My first clue was when he came home repeatedly with a blank planner. "No homework!" he'd reply. An immediate email to his teachers confirmed my suspicions. He did have homework but didn't write it down in his planner. So now I have him getting his planner signed by each teacher, whether he has homework or not. The results have been spotty and ladden with creative excuses. Not only that, he lost his binder--the second time in a row--and it's exact location remains elusive to date. I knew I should have embedded that GPS transmitter, dammit. Plus, he's only just now figured out the whole opening the locker thing and has been late to nearly every class. One itsy bitsy reason for those tardies might be that he's inherited my dubious sense of direction. His 2nd and 3rd periods are in adjacent classrooms and he's only just now figured that all out. For several days he's been circumnavigating the campus to get from one to the other. That's like circumnavigating the globe to go from my front door to the mailbox. Works for Ferdinand Magellan but not for 7th graders. Sure, he's going through what his peers went through last year, but his teachers don't seem to understand that. I've gotten more teacher-written emails than I'd care to discuss describing his blank stares, incomplete work, and aimless doodling. One ended with "Help. Ms. Lane." So I've written my expectations for him in the form of a contract. If he doesn't complete and turn in his work, get his planner signed daily by each teacher, and so on, he'll have to free time that day--just homework, snack, bath, chores, dinner and bed. Time to pick his nose? Nope. Time to pet the dog? Nope. Time to scratch his butt? Nope. A severe life, indeed. (Okay, I'll have to admit, I started thinking and talking in occasional British quips like this ever since watching Pride and Prejudice.) Needless to say, I am seriously displeased with his comport. I must insist he take an earnest interest in his future lest it be tainted indelibly. All this and he still adores mmiddle school. Enough of that. I must make haste and change my load of wash. Toodle Loo (sp?)

Posted by elisa at 12:49 PM | Permalink

Okay, I have no idea what a "whatnot" is, but it sounds so silly, I couldn't resist using it. Anyway, for all you mom's out there with sons, I hereby call for a collective march on Washington to insist the legislature pass a law requiring all home builders to install urinals in the bathrooms. The One Million Urinals March. Seriously, my son's bathroom looks like he's being playing the part of gunner in an F-15 fighter for TopGun 2, mistaking his weenie for an AK-47. I don't care how poor your eye hand coordination is, no one should be so off target. Sure, we have him clean it up, we send him to bed earlier, we charge him money, so short of having him mop his splatters it up with his tongue, which might be a tad degrading, I'm at a loss. Guys need to sit down, there's no 2 ways about it. Putting the seat up and whizzing away doesn't do a bit of good when the toilet rim and a two yard radius of tile flooring is drenched in pee. Do we have to install toilet seat warmers to convince them? Or how 'bout debunking the "real mean don't sit" myth by making public service commercials showing The Rock or Tom Cruise peeing while sitting. I would have used Arnold, but I have no idea how to spell his name. Still, it'd be cool to hear him say, "Sit your ass down if you want to live." Anyway, welcome to my pee-infested hell. Now, moving along to less disgusting stuff. I'm alittle concerned about my daughter's education. Yesterday, she was recounting her daily school schedule with great enthusiasm and in painful detail. Then, she told me which subjects she liked the best and which she liked the least. Her favorite: language arts. Why? Because it's the "funnest." Hmmm. She also wants to join the FFA next year. No problem here. Let those smelling critters bunk across the freeway for a change. I don't think she's going to grow up plowing the back forty or anything. I just think she loves raising and taking care of animals. She wrote a note on a Post-It while I was out on date night that read; "How odd do you have to be to join the FFA." I think she meant "How OLD do you have to be..." buy I can't swear to it. She's still pining away for a kitten, and I have no problem with that. In fact, last time I spoke with him about it, Rune seemed reluctantly okay about it too, but now he's saying no way. I guess I have to pull the big guns and manipulate him mercilessly. Any suggestions, Kathy?

Posted by elisa at 10:06 AM | Permalink

Ever seen those tv commercials for life insurnace. Okay, I know it's the responsible thing to do and I have some of my own in case I croak, but I thinks it's a tad inappropriate that the people that have bought a policy sit there grinning from ear to ear as they watc their kids play on a swingset or sleep in their cozy beds. Seriously, like I'm going to be all bubbly and happy thinking, "YAY! If I die, my kids will have loads of dough> Never mind my being six feet under while they spend all that dough on twinkies and beer." I mean I'll be dead, so what's the occasion for celebration. Sure, make a TV commercial touting the benefits of buying life insurance to protect your family, but have the guy wear a solemn look that says, "I'm a responsible guy whose done the right thing. I pat myself on the back. And if my kids spend this money at the race track or brothel, their ass is mine. I will rise up from the grave and haunt them so mercilessly that they will beg for forgiveness everyday from within a padded cell at the institurion. " I think that would be a much more appropriate tone for such commercials, but hey, that's just my opinion.

Posted by elisa at 10:20 AM | Permalink

A hectic summer has finally ended with only the 300% humidity and wilting hairdos to show for it. You know when summer is over though, when you and the kids have pretty much run out of things to do. I took my cue when we were all gathered around the TV watching, with great interest, the KitchenAid instruction video for the double oven we've long since replaced. On a side note, I wish to hell I'd watched it when the oven was new, cuz it had some pointers and advice I shouldn't have done without.

I do have some concern about Lukas transitioning from homeschool to 7th grade public school. Sure, he's excited, but he's also pretty innocent. Not many 7th graders make sandart jars for their homeroom teachers and fewer yet survive the predator-lined hallways leading to that homeroom. I told him he might want to wait until the second day, hoping that a) he ends up hating his homeroom teacher, b)he sees that most of his peers bring brass knuckles, not loving gifts, on the first day, or c) it accidently tips over so that, thanks to the two inches of empty air at the top of the jar, it all gets mixed up and too ugly to present. We can always hope. This morning he took Penny on a leash, thinking I would walk him to his homeroom. But seeing the survival of his reputation and sef-esteem as paramount to a five minute walk with a fuzzy canine, I refused the request. He'll thank me someday. I'm anxious to find out how this day is going to pan out!

Posted by elisa at 10:08 AM | Permalink

Okay, so I'm a slacker. I feel terrible about not writing in my Blog for a couple of months but summers are hell and I'm not just referring to the heat. We've been out of town alot. But don't panic, I'll have fresh material when school starts up and I've had a chance to lick my wounds and debulk all the itineraries and such from my feeble brain. Til later!

Posted by elisa at 12:57 PM | Permalink