Elisa's Journal

As always, we went to see relatives in Norway for Spring Break. We have a chalet way up in the Tundra above Hol, Norway. We're talking WAY off the grid. Quiet, relaxing and cold as hell. As nice a time as we had, it wasn't without some jinxes. First of all, Kristina's boss informed her at the last minute that she wouldn't be able to take the time off. One paid ticket wasted. Next, during the flight over, I lost my palm pilot-my life, my central headquarters without which all the universe comes to a screeching halt. To make matters worse, when we landed in Oslo, our luggage wasn't there. Apparently all four bags decided to party it up on the Champs Elysees rather than huddle in the sub-zero belly of an aluminum behemoth. Hmm, very weird. So I've gotta tell ya, hanging around among the moose in the tundra is loads of fun in short sleeves and funky 5 day-old underwear. I was expecting the Norwegian Health Board to place a moratorium on contact within 30 km of our chalet, but we got lucky, ha. On day 5, our luggage finally arrived. So we actually got to wear warm, clean clothes for the last 4 days of the trip. On the first leg back, my wedding ring slipped off my finger and down god knows how many rows. All the hands and knees searching was for nothing, because it was nowhere to be found. The flight attendants told us they wouldn't be able to make an announcement for the passengers to look around the floor under their seats and basically blew us off, despite our wide-eyed stars of despair and panic. We never found it. Last but not least, when we got home to Houston, our bags were not there...again! That slow turn of an empty baggage carousel became a sickeningly familiar sight. That said, I've had enough traveling for a while. I'll post some pictures on my facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=17703&id=768318069

Posted by elisa at 09:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I know what you guys are thinking: toddlers. The terrible twos. Potty training. Defiance. Putting scrambled eggs in the VCR. Oh, I wish your troubles disappear after that, but I'd be blowing smoke. Eighteen, that magical age when our kids are adults but have year to grow a brain and think that we don't have one. They slip into this psychotic delusion that they can do what they want because of their adult status: smoke, stay out late on school nights, go off on road trips, neglect their chores, etc. What's a parent to do beside pull out their hair and contemplate shoving them into the nearest recycling bin? Got just the answer for them. The old adage our parents used on us that we, the age of permissive, democratic parenting, cringe at. To get to the point, as long as their being sheltered, fed and clothed, they have to follow your rules. If they balk, let them go to school on roller skates to school. Better yet, let them pay for their own education. Throw their dirty laundry on the front porch so they can wash them in the nearest river when they're finished loitering for hours at the nearest Starbucks. Make them pay for room and board or nail an eviction notice on their bedroom door. GET A FRIGGING JOB AND MOVE OUT! The real world is chock full of rules. That's reality. Whether it's the workplace, relationships, or laws, we're all governed by rules, fair or not. The freedom of adulthood comes with a price. That said, you gotta tell your newly psychotic 10 year olds that if it's too hot, get the hell out of the kitchen. See how that works, but don't let them know who told you or I'll haunt you forever. Really.

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