Yes, we are back home, and yes I have many inappropriate pictures of rocks.
But the day after we got home, I got some insane hair to roast a chicken.
I blame the chicken.
I never had roasted a chicken before, being a relatively new convert to meat and still afraid of bones...and now I doubt I ever will again.
It was the chicken's fault.
Not the fact that I was using one of my new, sharp knives (because listen to me: 'Dull knives injure, dull knives injure!'...I am an idiot!) to slice a lemon, or the fact that I turned my head away from the knife to shake a toddler off of my knee...I still blame the chicken.
Although I am at least glad that it was lemon juice and not chicken juice that was on the knife when it sliced the tip of my finger off.
Pad of my finger?
Have I mentioned my day job?
AS A PIANO TEACHER???
(I am an idiot.) (I hate being a idiot.)