A normal Sunday? A question of competence I must be awake at some point been between seven and eight.
fact is that I only really got up a while later when I had heard noises in the hallway.
My mother was already in the kitchen (because of the pills my first port of course) and announced the first that - contrary to the announcement the day before - would not bake in the morning, but wanted to clean first. Originally they had planned, the same morning to bake, because right now they want to eat carbohydrates again, and was therefore cost in the first half of the day of their pastries. So I had my mind set then out for breakfast or just try then to the result.
I then touched my dough, put it on the floor (with underfloor heating) in the corner of the dining room, as usual. Then offered my help with cleaning, and went off to call out the beds. Before that I already had a group of Christmas decorations from the Ficus Benjamini fished. After kneading
3x and in between each 10 minutes of rest time should the batter rest for an hour. My mother was somewhere in the house go.
I screwed up in good spirits to do on their computer for a bit Internetkram. It then took account of the lameness of the computer significantly more time than an hour.
Before that was my mother during my Teigvorbereitungen herumscharwenzelt occasionally me. Did I want to make the dough not to go in the oven? I had taken the biggest bowl that exist in the parental home: a transparent plastic bowl.
[My parents acknowledge with great regularity all plastic containers in the dishwasher. Not a few are bent in the many years - almost every time I have (! At least 24 years old) indicated that the vessels, the high Temperatures in the machine may not be tolerated. Guess who had to listen to, to tell silly nonsense?]
When I had finished my work on the computer was my mother about to wipe the floor in the dining room. It was a quarter past twelve, about three quarters of an hour earlier had called from below, if I wanted to combine my laundry.
The bowl of the dough "of course" no longer on the ground. At the door stood the neighbor first so that I could say nothing. After I had the dish in the oven and found myself on the temperature of the bowl (a little over the hand) wondered the neighbor adopted soon. I asked my mother now - in a normal tone, but quite a bit irritated - what they had thought about leaving the dough and the plastic bowl in the oven and the latter also stoked up. Since he would have been good. Only she had the doors open to the kitchen and the living room and had opened there in each case the window. Because the dough would have been standing still on the train. And so on ... a counter word led to another until I had peppered her favorite after half an hour in my helplessness on the chair cushions around the ears. (I have too much jitter to give someone a slap.)
Instead, I twisted myself into the kitchen, hit (almost) the door and burst into tears from. Somewhere the pent-up emotions had to go somewhere.
After the recipe I would now divide the dough into ten parts, all roll and roll again to determine.
So I rolled out the first piece of dough and was just beginning to reopen it when I was again all too much. I then put the dough on the baking sheet only as to where they should rest for another 30 minutes and covered it with a towel. Meanwhile, heated the oven to 220 degrees before.
baked bread I have finally at 220 degrees 25 minutes. On the top shelf, was because of the oven thermometer because no other place in the oven.
In between I had removed my underwear (before lunch! Time record!), The clothes horse again evacuated in the laundry room, set on a machine with some of the sheets and place on the lines created by I had taken off the dry stuff.
the rolls were finally about 30 minutes before my father would have again used the oven, done.
As he stood in the kitchen, my mother brought up this theme again and demanded that I should show her with a hug that I would have calmed down and it would be better disposed to return. I pointed out that they could actually know that I want to negative criticism is not very flexible, responsive, and ultimately they know me for over 30. Whereupon she even went with the statement that they would just as mimosa, if you live alone for so long. (I've mentioned then a further comment.)
the evening, my mother and I are sitting watching TV. Hindenburg, Part 1 My mother has to comment on any action. Because what would happen when?
I'm still not down yet come true, but keep my mouth shut. Tear me instead of the lip and have to (of course) once again be asked if I knew then, what I look like when I look at the lip outline. Sure, if I am for about 15 years is not interested, it will do so now ...
Later, in bed, I read yet almost half an hour, then try to sleep, but only nightmares and wake up at about twelve fifty again from a kind of epileptic seizure on. The fluttering around my leg legs of the pajamas my trigger, as is the much too large and too heavy felt blankets. The duvet cover is not made of smooth fabric, also contributes to the triggers.
I sneak a stick deeper, to the television, somehow I must come down. On the night
RTL is a repetition of Hindenburg that I look, as well as the subsequent documentation about the actual incident.
Then it just before three, I go back to bed and sleep like a stone until the alarm clock at 6:30 rings.
I have this morning left the house before my parents would have been gehfertig (although it was a quarter to eight), I had so say goodbye to my mother when she was in the bathroom, I forgot in my excitement of the bag with the bed sheet and pillow case, which I had placed next to my rolling suitcase. The case was already pretty full last night was when my mother still put the bedding on it. The duvet cover I had just put so still can.
hardly that the doors of the train to Frankfurt were closed, is an SMS, what this strange because adoption would need to be. And now what they please with my bag have done.
early March will take my mother back to Zurich. I am also scheduled, as well as for the celebration of the 80th Birthday, my grandmother a week later. I could "in no case" does not come along.
I can not help, write back that they should register if they want to go alone to Zurich. I see no point in me stay in front of my sister, my niece and my brother in law that triggers.
I've been thinking for a while, whether I should write here.
It is not always the case with us, but something exemplary, this story nevertheless.
And usually I swallow this down simply because yes me no choice.
PS: The recipe
at
Latin cuisine and a picture of my buns, which are very tasty way:
