Kitchen: Part Two

This was shot on Gwynn's Island. I don't know why, but I just loved the combo of the tree, the swing, its shadow and the incredible sunset lighting up that building. Speaking of swinging, let's shift gears now and hear more from Chesapeake Bay Mother.

Part Two of my mother's story about kitchen mishaps now continues.

From Chesapeake Bay Mother:

"I've had many injuries in the kitchen, which is a combat zone to me and has its own belligerent attitude which must be countered (no pun intended).

There was the time back in the sixties when I was called upon to prepare dinner for father-in-law's guests, who never came. But that's irrelevant. After whipping the potatoes and attempting to remove the beaters from the electric mixer, I accidentally caught three fingers in the blades, which maintained a tight grip on my whole hand.*

Here's the thing: I was 7 months pregnant with Middle Child** at the time. What should I do? Run screaming upstairs where father-in-law is showering, summon him forth dripping-naked*** to render aid?

Yes, that's what I did.
If I hadn't been in such a nightmare-ish , grotesque situation, I might have laughed, which father-in-law would have appreciated. As it was, I focused on the problem at hand (literally).

He recovered composure and threw something on and we went very fast to the doctor.

(To be continued....)

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Clarification and Additional Commentary from CBW:
* I was less probably not quite 3 at the time (providing an accurate age involves math which I don't have time for right now), and from that day forward for a long time, I'd say, "Poor Mamma. Caught her slinga in the minga." ("Finger in the mixer" in Chesapeake Bay Toddler talk.)

**And here we have The Start of Middle Sister's feelings of always being the victim. She may very well have a valid point.

***And guess what: There's another story where my my mother was pregnant with Littlest Sis that involves lack of clothes and an emergency encounter between my paternal grandfather and Chesapeake Bay Mother. Remind me to tell you, because otherwise the story goes right back into the vault where I keep all my dysfunctional memories. This vault is the size of Fort Knox.