Is it just me who gets nervous and feels awkward when they have a tradie working in their house? It's probably just me. This would be a typical thing that makes me feel weird, but no one else would seem to have a problem with it. Now I'm just rambling. Another weird thing I do.
We have a couple of plumbers working on the downstairs in our house as we're renovating the bathroom. The plumbers are very nice and normal and I've talked to them and showed them the work that needs to be done and it was fine. They aren't even in the main section of our house. My toddler and I are on a completely different floor, but with every little noise I think, "but what if they come up the stairs?"
And I mean, what if they do?
Therefore, in the possibility that they may come into the main section of our house (which again, is unlikely, given that all the work they need to do is downstairs), I have tided the kitchen and the living room in case they see it and now I don't quite know where to put myself. Should I sit on the couch? But what if they see me and think that I spend 24/7 on the couch? Should I busy myself in the kitchen? But what if I don't hear them come up the stairs? What if they see me typing this piece while my toddler sleeps? Will they judge me?
Yes. I am very much stuck in my own head right now. I do realize that the plumbers don't actually have the time or care to notice what I'm doing, in my own home. I mean, there is COVID-19 happening right now and racism and climate change and I'm just sitting here like, "BUT WHAT IF THE PLUMBERS DON'T LIKE ME."
Welp. My brain is ridiculous. This is what anxiety looks like folks.
Anyway, you didn't come here to read my incredibly boring internal monologue about my fear of the plumbers. In fact, I don't think anyone is reading this at all, and that's probably for the best. I don't even know the point of the piece.
Here is a parenting confession, which may or may not make me a Bad Parent (you decide): my toddler always picks while I'm trying to make breakfast or cook dinner to suddenly need to be picked up and held, even if she was happily playing. It's relatively difficult to chop onions with one hand so I've resorted to letting her take apart the pantry while I get things done. Everything is sealed, so it usually doesn't get that messy, but she does turn it upside down and thoughtfully place the contents all over the kitchen floor. So, while I'm cooking our kitchen turns into chaos with containers of chocolate chips and peanuts and baking soda everywhere. I feel like the older generation would say that she just needs to learn patience and boundaries and if I just gave her some brandy (is that what they used to give to babies?) and let her scream, then everything would be okay and I could make dinner.
Alas, that was a big tangent for a very small aspect of this story. So, I'm trying to make porridge for our breakfast, but the toddler wants to be held and I need two hands, so I open up the doors to Disneyland (a.k.a the pantry) and let her go for it. All is fine and I get the porridge made, hand her a bowl, and start unloading the dishwasher. I look back a few moments later and notice that her porridge is blue? Blue porridge? What? Blue oatmeal? Broats?
(Whenever I use a new word in my writing I always give it a quick Google to make sure there isn't a sinister or offensive meaning behind it #littleanxietythings #cute. Anyway, Urban Dictionary tells me that a Broat also means a boat with one or more bros on it. I guess that works too).
The immediate possibilities for explaining blue porridge that jump to mind include: some sort of bacteria or mold, a new novelty type of oats, or that my anxiety about the plumbers seeing me in the kitchen have made my eyes start seeing literal blue.
Before I can let me brain run into the wilderness any further, I notice that one of her hands is stained blue. Then I see the bottle of blue food colouring on the kitchen floor, an offcast of the Disneyland-pantry situation. Ah-ha!
The toddler finishes her blue porridge and waves her little blue fists out to me. I get her cleaned up, pop her on the ground, and start washing her highchair tray. Lo and behold, when I turn back around from the sink, the bottom half of her face is blue and there are blue streaks all over her clothes.
I forgot to put the blue food colouring away. Of course.
Does this sort of stuff happen to anyone else on the regular?
As I'm trying to scrub the broats off her face and the drool-mixed-with-blue-food-colouring dripping from her chin, there is a knock at the door.
I race downstairs, holding my child who looks like an Avatar, yet not a mystical, ethereal one, but rather a savage, poorly designed Halloween costumed one, and open the door.
It's the plumbers, of course. They want to know if they can turn the water off.
At least I don't have to worry about them judging me now. My toddler is literally blue. They already have.
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