battered idiot

Instruments of Self Torture

Trying to get ready to go out is so taxing these days, that after last night I'm tempted not to go out anymore til they're both older. I think it would be easier, on balance. Friendship and face to face communication is over rated, right?

I'm torn about whether to post it or not, and share my domestic and parenting failures and mismanagement with the world. I'm shading towards not. It's too depressing. Suffice it to say that David Coleman would have had a footage gathering field day in my house last night. And I got to the pub at ten, and had to leave shortly after twelve. Not even as long as a playdate.

Early in the evening I had a mishap. I'll recount the story because it will no doubt amuse.

I was making promised cupcakes for my friend's birthday - it was meant to be at the end of September, but the night before she got food poisoning at the POWERSCOURT SPA restaurant, and was vomiting for 12 hours, which put paid to her night out. And expensive way to wreck a birthday, her mum said.

So, more baking post Halloween over baking bonanza - of course I thought I'd got everything I needed but of course I'd forgotten the sugar icing sugar, butter, needed fresh strawberries ... so by the time I"d recovered from the night of doctor visits and vomit duty, it was late and I was making cupcakes and icing and dinner all at the same time. Sometimes Bodhi is ok with the electric whisk, and makes rrrr noises, sometimes he screams hysterically and hugs my legs... so with a combination of that, progress was stop and start.

Then, after burning burgers a bit, I did a Stupid Thing. Sometimes my brain turns off. Like the time I was taking baked potatoes out of the oven, someone had put a table knife through them to get them to cook quicker. I picked one out carefully with a tea towel, checked it wasn't ready, then picked it up by the knife handle. The weird thing was, because I was just picking up a knife, my brain couldn't work out where the pain was coming from, so I held it for a bit before I put it down. Ow.

Same thing last night. A duh moment. I was beating the icing on high, when I bent down to the bowl to gauge the flavour by sniffing the icing icing. BANG my hair was caught in the whirring whisks and pulled right in to the machine, the paddles bashing away on high speed against my forehead, right above my eye, noise and pain and confusion. It was all so fast and unexpected (duh, right, what did I expect?) that rather than just turn it off, all I could do was panic and scream in a humiliatingly girlie fashion, with poor Bodhi screaming and crying in terror in the high chair beside me. Thankfully, I think one of the whisks came out, along with a large chunk of hair, leaving me shaken and bruised and stinging, a little traumatised but able to comfort the baby and carry on. I.am.a.twat.

Blood, sweat and cupcakes, eh?