You know how sometimes, absolutely everything gets on your nerves?
So Friday, I was going to bake challah (it's that braided Jew-bread).
So I went into the kitchen, and everything was a mess (partly my fault), and I was stressed, and I just got all angry and upset at everything and started yelling and being just obnoxious.
Yaakov eventually took the dog and went for a walk just to get away from me.
Tonight, I decided I needed to sit down and watch our wedding video again. It's important to remember how much in love we really are.
P.S. The challah was AMAZING!
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Surprisingly Unbroken
Some people claim to be klutzy and aren't really. Some people really are.
For example, a college professor of mine broke her finger pulling on a sock. I mean, that's really talented. Funnier, she broke her middle finger, and it had to be immobilized, meaning that she walked around for a month flipping the bird to everyone she saw. Fortunately, when you're a college professor, the whole "absent-minded professor" is somewhat more good-natured than the "spazz" title that the rest of us get.
Anyway, I'm a real bonafide klutz. Using "Juggling for the Complete Klutz," it still took me three months of practicing daily to learn how to juggle. It took until I was 9 before I learned how to ride a bicycle, and I was never all that good at it. I've tripped over my own feet, and during my "sheva brachot," I managed to hurtle myself down three stairs and create a bruisey icky thing that took months to heal.
So what possessed me to try rollerblading? It's all Scott's fault. See. For his daughters' birthdays, he (or maybe his parents) got his girls rollerblades (well, something between skates and blades for the 4-year-old, and real blades for the 7-year-old).
Then he decided that if he was going to take the girls blading, he needed his own, as did N., who he spends a lot of time with lately. So they each bought blades, and then took the girls blading, and then they went blading sans girls later on.
Of course, Yaakov got rollerblading into his head, so he decided he had to go. No problem, we have a skating rink in the local park, and my nieces and nephew, who live between here and the park, all love to rollerblade.
So... we called, and they were on their way out to a birthday party. So I decided to do the next best thing. I borrowed my niece's rollerblades. They fit. I walked around the rink in them twice, holding on to the rail. Then Yaakov decided to take me out into the center of the rink. Using a hockey stick, he pulled me out. It was fun, really. Until I started to panic and broke into a sweat and almost started crying.
Later, I decided I was in a trying things mood, so I tried walking on stilts again. On the second try, I was able to walk about 5 meters, leaning on Yaakov, before my legs went weak and I had to stop.
The good news, though, is that there were no major falls, and despite my klutziness, I am surprisingly unbroken.
For example, a college professor of mine broke her finger pulling on a sock. I mean, that's really talented. Funnier, she broke her middle finger, and it had to be immobilized, meaning that she walked around for a month flipping the bird to everyone she saw. Fortunately, when you're a college professor, the whole "absent-minded professor" is somewhat more good-natured than the "spazz" title that the rest of us get.
Anyway, I'm a real bonafide klutz. Using "Juggling for the Complete Klutz," it still took me three months of practicing daily to learn how to juggle. It took until I was 9 before I learned how to ride a bicycle, and I was never all that good at it. I've tripped over my own feet, and during my "sheva brachot," I managed to hurtle myself down three stairs and create a bruisey icky thing that took months to heal.
So what possessed me to try rollerblading? It's all Scott's fault. See. For his daughters' birthdays, he (or maybe his parents) got his girls rollerblades (well, something between skates and blades for the 4-year-old, and real blades for the 7-year-old).
Then he decided that if he was going to take the girls blading, he needed his own, as did N., who he spends a lot of time with lately. So they each bought blades, and then took the girls blading, and then they went blading sans girls later on.
Of course, Yaakov got rollerblading into his head, so he decided he had to go. No problem, we have a skating rink in the local park, and my nieces and nephew, who live between here and the park, all love to rollerblade.
So... we called, and they were on their way out to a birthday party. So I decided to do the next best thing. I borrowed my niece's rollerblades. They fit. I walked around the rink in them twice, holding on to the rail. Then Yaakov decided to take me out into the center of the rink. Using a hockey stick, he pulled me out. It was fun, really. Until I started to panic and broke into a sweat and almost started crying.
Later, I decided I was in a trying things mood, so I tried walking on stilts again. On the second try, I was able to walk about 5 meters, leaning on Yaakov, before my legs went weak and I had to stop.
The good news, though, is that there were no major falls, and despite my klutziness, I am surprisingly unbroken.
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