Mother hysteria: The curious case of the caught nipple


Reini’s evening started something like this:

His one and only son called him at work and announced, “There’s been an accident… In the kitchen… With the mixing machine… And Mum…”

I should probably admit to you, at this point, that we have recently been playing rather a lot of Cluedo.

◊◊◊

I’ve just risen out of a calming bath (despite at least two children being in the room at any one time, babbling) and looking down at my naked body I can see a few tell-tale signs of the week gone by.

For instance, my lower right leg champions five, yes five, bruises. All attained crawling through tunnels and up and down ladders at Sensapolis (I am still completing my challenges ) on Sunday. There are probably a fair few lumps and bumps on my head too because if I wasn’t bashing my right leg then I was beating my skull against something.

My left knee has a long, bloody looking scratch above it, but I can’t remember for the life of me what exactly I scraped it on.

The melted skin on my right palm, from Wednesday’s omelette pan, can barely be seen. And no longer hurts. Thank goodness. I guess it fades into insignificance across from the centimetre long blister, that rose up today, on my left wrist.

But the ordeal my right nipple went through this evening is completely invisible.

◊◊◊

It’s the last day of the mid-term holidays and I was determined to fulfil dreams.

Some wanted to feed the ducks, so we did that.

Others wanted to cook and to bake. So we poured through recipe books and opted for home-made Minestrone Soup with Pesto, and Banana and Walnut Loaf along with Blueberry Muffins. We shoved a shopping trolley around the supermarket and jammed it with ingredients.

Some wanted to play Cluedo. Again.

Some wanted to relax with a foot spa and a massage.

And one person wanted to be read to.

The latter dreams were abandoned. Their mother was too busy drinking vodka after the terrible shock.

◊◊◊

I’m not sure when the fluster started.

I think it was definitely after Aden pricked Akasha with a knife when they were simultaneously chopping mangetout, for lunch.

Yes. I remember still being quite rational in the afternoon. Despite shopping with two bouncy, blabbering children.

I recall though, being somewhat distressed when I opened a cupboard and a spiderman cup threw itself at me. Although what I was actually looking for was a bowl. And I had not been the one to stack him up on top of a much smaller mug. He still attacked me, then fell sharply to the floor, smashing himself to smithereens. I did shout a little when I couldn’t find the dustpan and brush until I’d rooted around in the paper bin. I quietened down once I switched the vacuum on for the second time in a couple of hours. There’s not much point in trying to be heard by those who try not to listen over that noise.

Oh. I know when it was. It was the moment I looked at the time remaining on the timer and realised we had to move up a gear if we wanted to get the soup on and the next cake ready for the oven before the ‘ready’ beep would sound. Too much time had been wasted clearing up broken crockery and searching for tools.

That was the precise instant that my feathers ruffled.

I raised my game. I had one mashing bananas and one washing leeks and one peeling carrots and another weighing out sugar. I raced between them, firing out both instruction and praise in my effort to motivate and march on. I flicked through recipe books. Provided chopping boards and compost bags.

The muffins screeched out about their baked-ness but we were not done. Not by a long shot.

I ran to the oven, purple gloves covering my hands recalling my blunder from earlier in the week *do not pick up hot pan with bare hands, silly*.

I removed the buns from the top shelf and decided, in a split second, to leave the second tray in, for a couple more minutes but only after placing them on the top shelf for good measure.

As I moved in for the manoeuvre I clipped my left wrist on the side of the shelf. Ouch!

I’m an impatient burnt person. I don’t do well with holding my hand/finger/wrist under a cold tap for any period of time. I normally burn myself while cooking and that generally means that I’m still in the midst of it or it’s ready to eat and so my instinct is to get on with it.

So, I have, in my many burned experiences, developed a technique. I shove the blistering skin under the cold tap for a minute or so, then I pop a tea towel into the cold running water, let it soak up the coldness for a few seconds, wring it out a bit and wrap it around the affected area. Ta-dah! I can work on and cool my injury at the same time.

I wrapped my wrist and ran across the kitchen to a bowl of sugar and marg. and a whisk and started beating them together.

That’s, I guess, when my multi-tasking got too much for me.

I was standing there quite the thing. Cooling and mixing and glancing at the recipe book and ordering around talking to children. Admiring carefully chopped walnuts and apologising again for pricking Akasha with the knife while chopping up the courgettes ten minutes before.

The margarine and sugar were almost creamed and I slowed the electric whisk down and pondered over my mixture.

Just a few seconds more. And this stage would be complete.

I glanced away. What’s next?

I called out to the kid with the other recipe book.

I hit the switch to turn the power off, but not quite enough, so instead of switching off, it just carried on whirling at the lowest setting. But I hadn’t noticed, distracted, I tried to set it down. On the table top. It tipped to the side and rolled out of the bowl.

I still had the handle loosely in my hand so I tightened it and tried to take control.

I outstretched my fingers and flicked at the power switch again.

But in the wrong direction.

The beaters whirled and whizzed and the machine turned itself around to face me.

The rest is a bit of a blur. Thank God. I remember the beaters, somehow, catching a hold of the bottom of my top.

And my top twirling around and around in her spokes.

It was like she climbed up me.

Wrapped herself in my clothes.

And then she went for it.

My right nipple.

I don’t know what to say.

How to describe it.

There was pain.

And screaming.

A lot of screaming.

Mostly from me.

But also from four children.

There was also some giggling.

There was fear.

My fear.

Of losing a nipple.

To an electric whisk.

To an electric whisk.

How the fuck could I explain that to the ambulance men?

I whisked my nipple?

There was turning. And Whirling.

And I kept trying to hit the switch in the wrong bloody direction.

There was no blood. No blood at all.

My son My hero pulled the plug from the socket and it all stopped.

There was no more turning and whirling.

No blood.

The pain left.

Shock I supposed.

Hands helped. Unravelled. My top. And my nipple.

I yelled around for people to check if my nipple was still intact.

And it was.

I laughed.

And I cried.

Hysterically.

I cupped my precious nipple and they poured vodka down my throat and in the background I heard a boys voice saying, “There’s been an accident… In the kitchen… With the mixing machine… And Mum…”

96 thoughts on “Mother hysteria: The curious case of the caught nipple”

  1. Oh my gosh, you got 4 kids and what’s going to get your nipple is a bloody mixer??? You never cease to amuse me, Sarah!
    I don’t know if you saw my post on FB a few months ago, when the fridge door suddenly came off when I opened the fridge and the bottom shelf on the door came off. The only thing that broke was my big bottle of wine. A full one… I cried and I laughed as I was cleaning it all up. Then I swore a lot trying to put the door back in place and tightening the bolt that someone who put it in the first time didn’t do right. Rrrrrrrr….

    1. I know!!

      I didn’t see that post. You must have got a fright!! I was at a supermarket toilet once and I opened the door and it came off it’s hinges and smacked me in the face.

      1. Until the wine bottle broke?

        I was really shocked. When I informed the staff they just thanked me for telling them about the door!

      2. Doors are very dangerous. I also broke my new glasses recently by opening my car door into my face. And I can’t blame my poor eye sight for it because… I was wearing my glasses. You and I would make a pathetic pair of klutzes…

      3. Oh no! And they would be your new glasses.

        Imagine we actually met. We could make our own reality TV show to entertain people (with paramedics available at all times, of course).

      4. Oh man. You’ve just helped me through a very boring wait at the notaría. Although all the other poor sods waiting and wondering what I’m laughing at. I doubt many of them can read english though. Sorry for laughing at your misfortune, by the way…

  2. I laughed until I had tears….not at your accident, mind you, but just the whole sequence of events! It is amazing that so much could happen all in one place. Hope all the bruises go away soon.🙂

  3. Sarah, I don’t know whether to be sympathetic or laugh hysterically. I mean why should it happen to you, in the midst of all your busy-ness, after burning yourself once again? I’m sorry, but the hysterical laughter wins. But I hope you understand I’m laughing around the sympathy…

  4. OMG Sarah, ooooooooooooooooooh myyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy goooooooooooooooddess.
    You are the absolute master of writing about disaster in such a way that I can’t stop laughing. Out loud.
    I am so sorry you had to go through all of this. And admire your courage of continuing nonetheless. I would love to have a cup of tea with you one day and see what happens hahahaaaaa😀
    * sweet weekend hug *
    Remember, keep it safe!😉

  5. You had me wetting myself with laughter (the cough has taken over my bladder again). You, funny, ditzy girl! It could only happen to you.

    The Hub’s trying to find cheap flights again but I think I’ve changed my mind about visiting…I want to go home whole.

    Thank goodness for your son!

  6. My question is, how did you fit them all into that kitchen?! Pmsl (sorry). Today Cam ran me over with an electric go-cart…at least yours was an accident. Xx

  7. OH MY GOSH. That’s like my worst nightmare. I’m pretty sure the mixer could get several inches of boob in there before I thought to turn it off. AAAAHHHH. My nipples hurt just thinking of it. The other day I was frying something without a bra on and ended up with some awesome grease burns on my boob. NOT EVEN CLOSE to the same thing, I know. But still, a boob injury.

    1. It seems like boob injuries are on the menu at the moment!

      I am so, so glad that my son thought to pull the plug. If he hadn’t I’d probably be walking around rather imbalanced by now.😉

  8. You’re at the top of your game, I see. Brings back the joys of motherhood in all their magnificence and helps me remember why I began commuting to an outside job. My psychiatrist told me it would help me (true story).

    Did I ever tell you about the time my oldest son tried to reheat the uneaten biscuits from our evening meal? At the same time my neighbor called to tell me my youngest son had taken his diaper off and was running around the front yard? Son #2 then pooped on the front porch. He understood it was not good to soil your diaper. As I cleaned it up, smoke billowed out the front door warning me of the burned biscuits below. Oh god. I knew there was a reason I preferred grandchildren…especially the grown ones. Dianne

    1. Dianne,

      I totally loved your story!! I told it to my husband and each of my children. (It’s entertaining to look back on, isn’t it? But not so much at the time…)

  9. yep…. You and I have similar methods and reasons for ignoring oven burns or at least taking minimal treatment… After yet another assault on a hot oven rack by my clumsy person I had one burn sting a bit longer than usual and eventually it was so bad I had to get medical intervention.

    Turned out it was a deep third degree burn, and I now sport a small but permanent scar just above my left wrist…
    Don’t you dare give my mixer any ideas…

    1. I told my children, “Cooks always have burn marks and cuts from slipped knives, that’s just the way it is.”
      It was, however the wrong thing to say, they looked truly horrified and afraid of the kitchen.
      What I meant was: Your mother is a clumsy clot who spends a lot of time cooking. There are always accidents in the kitchen but don’t worry about it, you get used to it and you get over it.

      I am avoiding telepathic communication with your mixer…😉

  10. Are you sure your name is not Calamity Jane? You could start a craze based on a whole series of posts and giggles with your stories of disaster and mayhem. Laughing hard and looking like an idiot as my co-workers gaze at me with concern (open plan offices are the pits)

    1. You got me!! I changed it by deed poll!!!😉

      You are not alone! One of my friends reads my blog on her phone and is often caught out, laughing loudly on the bus.

      To be honest, I’m not sure which is worst: in the office with co-workers or on the bus with your neighbours?

  11. Glad to see this shared on one of the blogs I follow…. not that I’d relish in the hilarity of your pain…. but I’ll follow your blog in case there are more events to be covered….. Thank you.

  12. Oh my. It’s all in a day’s work of motherdom. You described the incident so well that I could just imagine the pain and the shock of “this can’t be happening and how do I make it stop” while I was laughing. You poor thing, your kids are incredible.:)

    1. I never even expected such a thing could happen, so it was a real shock.
      The kids were fabulous. I didn’t think to pull the plug at all. And the vodka truly helped, on a purely medicinal level, you understand.

  13. This brilliant … funny and hysterical. Glad I don’t have a mixer …. because I can feel your pain – glad there was vodka in the house. *smile

    1. I’ve had a few ‘funny’ incidents with mixers. The contents spraying completely out of the bowl. The beaters exiting the mixer while switched on. The beaters getting jammed up inside the machine and never coming back out again. But this one really took the biscuit.
      Perhapy I should stay away from mixers?

  14. I watched the most brilliant comedians on earth make me laugh less than this. But then my sympathies kicked in on umpteen levels and I cried. Do you want me to make you a proper oven cloth? I seem to have come up with a foolproof design. (Sorry, I could have phrased that more tactfully).
    Half term is almost over and you can relax again.

    1. I love making people laugh so I couldn’t ask for a better compliment.

      I would absolutely love a foolproof oven cloth. Thank you! I only seem to have foolish designs.😉

      School again – and I can get back to my book!

  15. Oh. MY!
    Tilly was right; this is for LAUGHS!
    I kept cringing in the mammary appendages, but knowing it wouldn’t help because you, DEAR, such a great story teller, were gonna get it!
    I remember when we first met. I was posting about eggs and you love eggs. Never forgot that. Thanks for this hilarious bit of unfun. If you do pare up for TV with your friend above, it’ll be like Lucy Ball!!!😆

  16. Glad I followed Tilly’s prompt to visit. I felt every twist of that mixer. My last fall about five weeks ago had me land like a tree in a storm. This time I squashed my right boob and bruised my ribs, it is still sore, so I can empathise with your pain. By the way, the best thing for burns is white vinegar. It takes away the sting & heat immediately and means you have no scarring,

    1. Firstly, thanks so much for the vinegar tip. That particular burn stung for a while, and then, somehow, I caught it and ripped the top right off. And then, of course, it nipped ALL OF THE TIME.

      I’m sorry to hear about your fall. I hope that you’re, at least, on your way to a full recovery by now. My boob injury was the right one too, so I’m sure you could feel my pain.

  17. I laughed till I choked over this! Luckily my mouth was empty or my computer would be covered in some sticky liquid. I could just picture the mixer wrapping your shirt up & going higher & higher.

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