moving on out

So, this past weekend my husband and I made a trip to our hometown to see our families and such, and to be bombarded will all of the things of our past. I went home hoping to find a smiling happy family, who was just waiting to see my smiling face again...and I went home to a smiling happy family who thrust a trash bag in my hands and had me get to work on sorting through my things. Luckily, they had gotten bored during previous weekends, and had done some pre-sorting, which made things eaiser. Who knew I had all this stuff!? Why did I ever think I needed more stuff!? You never realize these things until you have to take them to your own house, which lacks the space for these things. I miss my storage facility...um house... where I was able to keep things. But no! As soon as that second ring got placed on my finger, its out of the house you go, and in goes the excersize equipment. My room can't even be changed into something original...like a home theatre or a wrapping room or a shrine to the dog. Its going to be the excersize room. If it were bigger, they'd probably stuff the sewing machine in there too. sigh...I guess I'm all grown up now.

I would have written all of this riviting news sooner, had I not been an idiot. I've gone almost two months of wifely cooking without serious injury. (not counting burning myself with spaghetti sauce, that wasn't serious) But lo, I have had my first injury as a married woman. I was pulling a pan out of the oven, with my right had, which was protected with my piggy pot holder, when the urge struck me to move the pan further back on the stove, and while I'm at it, why not give the right hand a rest, and use the left hand. Did I protect this hand...no...did it hurt to touch a pan that came out of the oven just seconds ago...yes. I am a klutz, and am afraid of the supermarket. Perhaps there is still hope for me yet? I guess we'll have to restart the injury counter. We came so close this last time.