Elisa's Journal

As you can well imagine, I was quite disappointed to hear the breaking news about the lab mice that successfully received human brain cells. If I had known that were possible I would have put myself on the waiting list immediately. But nooooo, we lowly humans aren't good enough for you scientists. You guys want to grow human brains in all mice so you can have an entire army of minions who will help you match your socks, fill out your grant proposals, sew on your buttons and take over the world. I can only hope that if you had known the sorry-ass shape my brain is in after tolerating 5 "challenging" (ha, what a euphemism) kids for a couple of decades, you'd have put me, out of compassion, at the front of the line. You guys suck.

Posted by elisa at 09:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I really love Christmas. Almost everyone is in a good mood. Merging into traffic is actually possible. People say excuse me when they bump into you. Your kids are nice (okay, so what if their intentions are questionable. I'll take whatever I can get.) And all the decorations, Christmas carols and other signs of the season are so heartwarming. I think that's the reason we're so willing to stoop to new levels of humiliation, especially when it comes to our apparel. We wear things--out in public no less--that we otherwise wouldn't be caught dead in. Bulky sweaters with Rudolph emblazoned across the front, blinking red nose and all, Santa hats, headbands with reindeer horns or snowflakes, red and green socks with little jingle bells on them, and so on. I have a pair of Christmas tree earrings, myself. That'a about as humiliating as I'm willing to go, since I get a pretty generous serving of humility from just being a mom.

Posted by elisa at 09:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I think one of the things I'll be remembered for by my children is the number of shoes I've untied while driving like Dale Earnhardt Jr. towards their schools. It's always down to the wire (or shoestring, in this case) with both child and mother hopin against hope that there will be no running to class with one shoe in their hand and untied laces flailing about helplessly on the other shoe perched precariously on the end of their toes. Lest you trivialize this task let me tell you this is no small "feet." For some reason, my kids take delight in knotting each lace a minimum of 237 times each. And every knot is tied with the skill and technique of a neurosurgeon. So there I am, steering the car with my knees, picking wildly at bits of stubborn lace clinging tenaciously to its sibling, shouting out last minute school related reminders with the likeness of an AK-47, and fishing around for lunch money in the drink holders. Must look odd to innocent bystanders. This, of course, explains the absence of neatly manicured nails but my only hope in that regard is Velcro. Nevertheless, I pride myself on a perfect record.

Posted by elisa at 08:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)