What Kind of Mother Am I?

An interesting thing happened on Father's Day. I noticed changes in my two daughters I call Thing 1(oldest) and Thing 2 (youngest), and I learn some things about myself. On this Father's Day, my daughters and I were going to try to make sweet potato fries as a side-dish for the special meal. My family is not a fan of sweet potatoes, but we can scarf a plate full of those fries. We were eager to begin...

To make the fries, we had to peel the potatoes, then cut them into fries. I was excited to use my new mandolin cutter that would cut the potatoes instantly into fries. My husband cautioned me about using the mandolin on the sweet potatoes because they were tougher than regular potatoes. He suggested cutting them the regular way with a knife. I assured him I would be careful, and I was, sort of. So ...

We started with step 1 - peel the potatoes. Two of us, myself and Thing 2, were armed with paring knives, and Thing 1 opted for a peeler (she always was a cautious child). We peeled most of the potatoes and had started on step two - cutting the potatoes on the mandolin - when the first accident happened.

Now, before I explain the accident, let me tell you, you can cut sweet potatoes on the mandolin. You have to use a holder for the potato as you cut, and keep your fingers away from all of the blades. I did notice that my husband was right about the toughness of sweet potatoes. I had to push hard on the holder with the potato as I pushed it across the blades.

Now back to the accident. I had already cut some fries when Thing 2 let out a very controlled "Oh!" I looked over and saw blood coming from the palm of her hand. She said, once again very controlled, "I stabbed myself with the knife as I was peeling the potato. It kind of hurts. Ew, it's kind of deep. What should I do?" I was so amazed at how composed she was as she watched herself bleed from a gash. I thought back to when she was a youngster of 5 or 6 and I would chase her around the house with a brush just to brush her hair. She was known as the one with a low tolerance for pain! I took her to the bathroom and helped her clean and bandage her wound and returned to the kitchen to find Thing 1 ready to take up the sweet potato cutting on the mandolin. No problem I thought, this is my tough kid.

She makes a few cuts, then oops! She cut herself across the knuckles of three fingers. She hops around the kitchen vigorously shaking her hand and spraying blood across the kitchen island counter. All the while crying out "AHHHH! That hurts! That hurts! That hurts! AHHHHHH!" I'm thinking oh dear, it's ER time! I get her over to the sink to wash off her fingers. One of the cuts looks deep, and I ask her (she is a nurse BTW) do you think we need to go to the ER? She is laughing and crying at the same time "What's happening to us? First, sister gets cut and now I am cut too!" I think she is going to be ok, but she is walking/hopping around the kitchen holding her hand in a bloody paper towel laughing and crying saying how much it hurts. I have never seen her act this way. This is my tough child who does not feel pain that we ordinary citizens feel. When she was little, I took her to the doctor because she was a little fussy. Turns out, she had a ruptured ear drum from an ear infection! She is the nurse who is supposed to know if she needs emergency help.

Well, when the blood finally stopped flowing I noticed that my two daughters had switched roles. Thing 1 is now the weenie and the worst patient, and Thing 2 is now the master of her pain.

I also noticed a few things about myself.
What kind of mother am I to laugh at this?

I should teach my daughters how to use sharp instruments in the kitchen.

Gee, my husband was right about those sweet potatoes and the mandolin.

Will blood on sweet potatoes wash off?

My husband should appreciate these precious sweet potato fries for his Father's Day meal -made from the blood, sweat and tears of his daughters (and he did).