Out of Egypt

From slavery in Egypt to slavery in the kitchen. The irony is thick. The upside is that I would probably never clean, let alone clean out, the fridge if it weren't for this ancient festival of spring cleaning. Grumble, grumble.

Call me a bitter herb, but I'm blaming Passover, and Passover preparation, for not blogging recently. I've been too weak to post. How these freaks on Atkins can get anything done is beyond me. Carbs -- of the complex and simple sort, I'm not so picky -- are my friends. One can only stretch potatoes and cardboard so far. At what point in halacha did some sadistic cabal of ascetic rabbis decide that matzah should be a friggin' cracker? I mean, lavash is pretty flat, cooks for fewer than 18 minutes and is yummy. Filo? Tortilla? C'mon rabbi dudes. I can guarantee the ancient Israelites did not flee Mitzrayim with a box of nasty crackers.

It's bloody cold here. It's really inexcusable.

Adding to our afflictions culinary and temperate, Yelena and I have been ill. We are both better, thanks for asking, but it was a bit of rough going on Saturday. She went to sleep Friday cheerful, woke up at 3 a.m. a little fleece radiator. I had been a bit under the weather for the previous few days so it was considerate of her to wait until the weekend so Daddy could look after us. (Daddy who grounded me and prevented me from attending my final dance classes of the session -- 12 weeks working on the level 3 dance and I'll never know how it ends. Waaaa! [Well, I can get the notes from someone, but that makes it seem less tragic and I'm after a little sympathy here.]) Beaucoup de cuddling and fluids later, her fever broke and her appetite returned today -- it is just so sad seeing my little sweetie all pathetic and sick.

Eli doesn't think the 2 pictures I posted the other day are representative of Yelena's cuteness, so I promise to take a few smiley ones in the next couple of days.