Fumbalina and Prince Charming

As some of you know (especially my sister!), I am quite the klutz--or at least my husband and sister like to frame me as such.

One of my husband's endearing, yet sometimes relevant, nicknames for me is "Fumbalina"...I do drop a lot of things in the kitchen and find myself often breaking the inviolable "knife rule," which is to "Never Ever Under Any Circumstance, try to catch a knife that falls out of your hand." I don't know why, but usually the reasoning kicks in after it is too late.

Lately, Jon has been reminding me that there is ice on the ground outside because, for some reason, I just prance outside as if I lived in a rubber playground, only to be met by the slick unfriendly Ohio sidewalk, yikes! I trip, I bump, I crash, I roll, I drop, I break, I cut, I pretty much have no concept of space, grip, texture, or outcome.

For instance, in the span of a few days, I was able to drop an entire bottle of olive oil on our ceramic tile floor...AND a bottle of red wine only days after. Different occasions, same fine motor skills' deficit. Hence the plastic bottles you will now find at our house. Not to mention the plastic drinking cups, and anything else that my husband can buy to secure my "safety." We are very classy over here. Actually I feel like our place is already childproofed just because I live here!! I am too aware of the situation, however, to be embarrassed by this.

To complete this semi-long entry, tonight Jon and I were reflecting on some of the incidents that stand out from the last four years that we have been together:

(being silly)
Me: Remember when I had the surgery after the molar pregnancy?
Jon: Remember when you got food poisoning and dehydrated and went to the ER?
Jon: Remember when you cut your hand and had to get stitches?
Jon: Remember when you sprained your ankle?
Jon: Remember when you got shot out of a canon?