Elisa's Journal

My whole freaking family has been sick for the last month with crud. After being symptom free for the first three weeks, I started to brag (albeit cautiously) about my Kevlar fortified immune system. "Years of being a doctor...innately strong DNA...impeccable hand washing techniques...blah, blah blah." Ha! I spoke to soon. First the inauspicious sentinel--that scratchy throat advising me that a Mack truck tucked away in a viral capsid was making a bee-line for my lymphocytes. I braced myself for the head on collision with vitamin C, DHEA, rest, burning snake oil and birch branches, you name it. Little good it did me. The snot faucet got stuck in the open position. Plugs of mucus started playing Pinochle in my bronchi. My throat felt like it was the size of an official NFL football. And my body was wracked (I just love that word) with fever, aches and weariness. Nobody got as sick as I was. The thought of doing any work, much less homeschooling Erik in Honor Algebra II and Chemistry, was nauseating. (The prospects of getting out of contagion-spreading and menial tasks like cooking, washing dishes, and unloading the dishwasher was the only thing that kept me going.) Now, after a week from Hell, I'm on the mend. Still hoarse. Still coughing. Still sounds like a string quartet playing in my middle ear canal after every nose blow. But at least I can scrape myself off the floor again. My question for you: Why the hell would anyone be interested in a detailed account of someone's snotty nose bug? Get a life, people!

Posted by elisa at 09:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I am SOOOOOOOO proud of my eldest baby girl. I don't know where she gets the talent, but she has a sense of aesthetics for photography that I've never before seen. She's winning awards right and left, and she deserves every one and then some. How she does it with her pre-med course schedule is beyond me. Here are some photos of hers to drool over! Check out her site: www.eightyfour.net,

Posted by elisa at 04:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Well, I hope everyone had a great holiday and that only a modicum of time will be required for the recuperative process. I just hope and pray that the Christmas lights won't, as they do annually, come to life in my attic and worm themselves into an impossible tangle. Kinda like my hair does during the night. My kids all loved their presents. It was, according to them, the best Christmas ever. One look at the Mastercard bill reminded me that they had no other option but to be thrilled. This year we went for the expensive but durable motif. When they were younger, we could get buy with el cheapo disposable toys, but nine times out of ten they'd be crushed underfoot before I even mustered enough energy to assemble them--309 labels included. If they did survive the first week, it was usually because they were the toys they ignored. My husband bought me a kick ass electric guitar. Only drawback...I actually need to learn how to play it. My commitment is to buy some lesson books and teach myself the basics before hiring a teacher. But I REFUSE--and I mean REFUSE-- to buy any lesson books containing the songs "Buffalo Gals" or "Red River Valley" or "Kumbaya." No way! I did get a pretty cool book called "You Can Learn to Play Guitar, Dammit." My first song is "I Used to Love to Play the Guitar." After a few tries, I thought, 'someone from the family is going to be a smart-ass and say they used to love LISTENING to the guitar. I'm just waiting in the wings, preparing my malicious revenge. I also had knee surgery over the holidays. What the hell i was thinking is beyond me. I guess the idea of squeaking in while some of the deductible was met is part of my reasoning. It also got me out of taking down all the tacky Christmas decorations inside and out. Plus, I can't exercise to my satisfaction with a torn meniscus, so just a glance at Christmas cookies and candy canes makes the cellulite in my thighs giggle and swell in delightful anticipation. Now, I can't do crap. But I do it any way. The doctor told me I was ready to wean off the crutches so I immediately thrust them into a storage closet and spent six minutes mentally saying my farewells to the evil instruments of bondage. I'm not graceful with the suckers and felt a broken tibia was a mere crutch-assisted footstep away. I'm almost healed, but that's just between you and I. I need to get some mileage out of this before things return to the usual crazy and chaotic baseline.

Posted by elisa at 11:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)