Kitchen Calamity

I'm finding it difficult to type this tale. You will soon find out why. When Momma C was here a few weeks ago, she inspired me to cut down on the costly canned baby grub and cook my own. After all, Jack eats like a pregnant woman. I had also expressed my frustration of preparing separate meals for everyone... you know... the strain of opening three different TV dinners. Ok, I'm not that bad, but we were in need of healthier, simpler alternatives. She divulged a recipe bound to satisfy all for days... homemade beef vegetable soup, as it could also be blended into a scrumptious mush for our toothless one.

Unfortunately, this involved actually chopping, dicing and mincing (yes...I now know what all those words mean) several different vegetables. Feeling ambitious yesterday while Rocky napped, I tossed Jack into the pack n' play. When left to wander, he systematically topples both standing plants then proceeds to tangle himself in our computer desk cords, ripping many from their sockets, when he's not busy clinging desperately to one of my legs, grunting, while he balances precariously on one leg of his own. Not wanting to spend the time prying myself lose from his iron grip, I ignored his whimpering pleas for freedom and began browning the beef. Then, while chopping the onion, the 2nd of 7 vegetables, I slipped and sliced some finger instead. Since my pale skin resembled the opaque onion shards, I may not have noticed if it weren't for the blood that began streaming down my hand. After a moment of reflection, it occurred to me that I literally had chopped off a piece of my middle finger.. luckily not my favorite. So I rinsed the raw flesh, threw a band aid and an ice bag on it and went back to the beef browning. Clearly lacking experience with open flesh wounds, I solved the whole blood-dripping-down-the-arm-into-the-meat-dilemma by tying a towel around my wrist. That should soak it up, I thought. It didn't, so I took that arm out of the equation by holding it behind my back. Finishing the vegetable chopping proved more difficult minus the stabilizing appendage, so I called EMT Rich and returned to the sink to sanitize and redress the wound. Lest you accuse me of exaggeration, I will assure you that it was a small slice of skin. I don't know why it bled so much. After work, Rich walked in to find Jack wailing in the pack n' play (what was I supposed to do... saturate the kid in blood by hoisting him out of there) and me, holding a bewildered Rocky in one arm while the other arm dangled, still dripping, over the bloody sink. Vegetables lay unchopped, but I had managed to brown the meat. He did the unexpected... snatched the cayenne pepper from the spice cabinet and poured it on my throbbing finger. It felt like how you would expect from such a spicy substance. It BURNED. It seared as if someone had lit my finger on fire, after slowly peeling the skin down and shoving tiny daggers underneath. It was like rubbing sand paper over raw flesh. Not recommended. But it cauterized the bleeding, so the cooking continued. Needless to say, Rich chopped the remaining vegetables. Today, I'm realizing how underappreciated middle finger guy was. He was useful. I won't make that mistake again. Nevertheless, the soup was a success! Delicious! Jack gulped his blended version down with a smile. Let me know if you would like the recipe. I would invite you over for some, but we never did find that bit of finger. Oops.