Fathers Day {And Every Other} Without Dad

26th July 2012.  Just before 2am.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  It was the day that Herbie turned 7 weeks old.  A few hours earlier, I posted a photo of my two babies on IG with a comment as to how I was the luckiest mum in the world, cosied up next to them & fell asleep.  I remember opening my eyes and reaching for my phone which was in the never slept in co-sleeping crib.  I sat up, stared at the screen & waited.  It was only 20 seconds or so and suddenly it flashed bright and the word "Mumsy' showed up on the screen.  I answered instantly & just said 'how bad is it' as quietly as I could so as not to wake Tim or the babies.  'It's bad' came the reply.  And in that second, I knew.  Just like I knew the phone was going to ring.  Tim had woken up & we agreed that he would go to the hospital to be with Mum & I'd stay with the babes but that his mum would come and be with me.  I couldn't do anything helpful there and if Juno woke up and I wasn't there at that point, it would have been too upsetting for her.  Not to mention Herbs was a total boob monster and was feeding every couple of hours so I couldn't have left him anyway.

Tim got dressed & his mum arrived, I remember hearing them talking quietly in the hallway whilst I sat on the sofa.  He left & we sat, quietly for most of it with bouts of chatting.  Tim had promised he'd call me as soon as he got to Mum & knew more which he did.  He told me Dad was in surgery now & that they wouldn't know anything more until he was out which would be around 5am.  They tried to get me to go to bed & get some rest but I couldn't. I had to prepare myself.  Herbs woke up, though for the first time ever, Juno didn't even stir.  Maybe she sensed something as much as I had & knew it was a night for sleeping.  I fed Herbs and sat looking at the phone again, willing it to ring.  5am came and went,  5.30am.  I knew.  A bit longer still.  Finally, at about 6.15am, the phone rang & all I heard was 'Pops, you're going to have to be here' - I knew.  And I felt so sad that my poor husband had to deliver that message.  I could hear his voice breaking.  I knew he would be as upset as me as he loved my Dad dearly.  He told me that his step dad was on his way to ours now to take me to the hospital & all I could think to do was pass the phone to his mum and go to the tumble dryer, get the nappies out and fold them.  To do something useful.  When I came back, C went to hug me and I pulled away.  I was holding it together but the second anyone was nice to me, I'd have lost it.  Jim arrived a few minutes later & I suddenly got all panicky as we couldn't take his car as I needed to take Herbie with me & his seat base was in mine.  It then meant that Jim couldn't go on to work but he obviously didn't even mention it.  I realised about 3 weeks ago that I could have in fact just used the seatbelt to put his seat in but anyway.

We didn't speak.  Well, I didn't and the closer we got to the hospital, the more sick I felt.  We parked up, got out the car & walked towards the building.  As we got to the big, spinning doors that look like they're going to swallow you, I stopped.  I gripped the handle of the pushchair so hard & stood with my feet so still they could have been glued to the ground.  Jim said something, I honestly don't remember what, but it made me walk.  I knew what I was going in there to do, and I knew that by the time I left, my Dad wouldn't be here anymore.  I'm not sure if anyone else could have made me start walking again that morning & I'll be forever thankful that he was with me.  When we got in, we headed for Resus and the Matron came straight for me.  I left Herbs with Jim & they went to sit in a little relatives room to the side.  I can still smell it, hear the noises and remember how bright the lights felt.  She put her hand around me & told me what I was going to see when we got there.  As we turned the corner, there were two little curtain covered cubicles.  The first was empty, that must mean he was in the next one.  As we walked past, there was a gap & I saw him lying there.  My mum standing next to him.  I took a deep breath and went in.  We didn't say anything, just cried and hugged for what felt like hours but was probably a minute, two at most.  We pulled apart and wiped our tears, Mum moved & I walked closer to him.  He was so still.  There were tubes and tape and noises.  And his head was bleeding.  His face looked different, partly because the arse had grown a full on beard in the week since I last saw him! I held his hand, kissed him & told him he was a dick head.  He'd have expected nothing less.  And he was.  A total dick head.  The Matron explained things to me: the fall had caused extensive internal injuries as well as a head injury.  The surgery wasn't a success and in simple terms, we were waiting for his heart to stop.  His arms were out but he had nothing on and he felt cold.  He hated being cold. We put another blanket over him and held his hands under it. Tim had left shortly after calling me to drive up to get my brother who lived 45 minutes or so away and he arrived back with him around 7.30am.  We explained what the Drs had just told me to my brother & we all stood, chatting again what a total arse he was.  And how he was never going to just go to sleep and not wake up as that would have just been too boring! It was around 8am when I noticed him start to look different.  I don't know what it was but something told me it was almost time.  At 8.15am the nurse said that this was it.  He was passing now and that sometime soon, his heart would slowly stop beating.  Tim was with Herbs so I ran to get him & we got back, I held his right hand, my brother and Mum on his left.  I kissed him and he went.  And that was it.  My Dad.  Gone.  I can't explain the feeling of holding the hand of someone you love with every part of your being as they go.  It's the strangest, most surreal thing in the world.  But also, so comforting.  We were there.  I was with him.  I was holding his hand, stroking his head.  He was surrounded by the people that he loved most in the world.  It's almost like he waited for us all to get there so he could have his big moment, much like he did in life! We said our goodbyes and went to the relatives room where Herbs was ready for a feed.  And that was it.  There was this tiny little ball of life that had no idea what was going on next door & who quite frankly, wasn't going to change his fairly demanding routine, dead Grandfather or not.  It sounds harsh but it was true.  And my Dad would have been the first one to tell me to get on with things.  We had to sign some paperwork and then they came in to tell us that he was ready for us to go back in.  The tubes had been removed, he was off his spinal board.  He looked so peaceful.  Like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.  Truly.  He looked taller.  Stronger.  Fuller faced, less drawn.  He looked like my Dad from a year or two before.  He looked better than when I'd last saw him alive & 'well' a week before.  And I cried.  I cried and cried and cried.  I cried because I was sad.  I cried because I was happy.  Nothing could hurt him now.  He could be at peace.  The pain of the years just gone couldn't hurt him now, nor could the memories or the people.  Nothing.  And as much as I would have given anything, anything, for it to be different, it wasn't.  And now, we had to start to our new 'normal'.  Our life without Dad.

And I'm going to leave it there for now before I turn into one of those super ugly, snotty tear monsters.  I don't know if it's because it's Fathers Day, or the run up to the anniversary of the accident, but I needed to get that down somewhere.  Maybe I'm worried I'll forget.  Who knows.  And maybe I'll come back tomorrow and get some of the background down.  But for now, I'm going to go and kiss my babies another time, pour another drink and toast my auld man.  I love you Dad.  And I miss you.  So much.

Ramblings Of A Mama

It's been a while.  Long time no see.  Been busy.  All that jazz.  I've also had no idea what to write about, partly because it seems that since becoming a Mum I have these fairly regular brain farts where everything that I know or am capable of doing well goes out the window, and partly because I got too caught up in, and concerned with what I 'should' be writing about. And that's not really what this gig is about.  Not for me anyway. It's supposed to be something that I can pick up and put down as and when this crazy old show called Motherhood lets me. Somewhere that I can ramble away about the strength it took me not to hit the gin at 3pm when the two small humans were testing everything I had by being, quite frankly, little gits.  By the same token, I want to shout from the comfort of my sofa when they have those utterly delightful days {rarer, but they have been known].  And also, about other things.  Anything.  Whatever takes my fancy really & without too much thought or it being too contrived.

On that front, I have decided to link my IG profile to the blog so, if by some weird internet mis-hit or typo, you have found me via a different route, then it would be lovely to see you over there.  You can find me at @popsieandherpages - It turned out I was utterly rubbish at keeping more than one account going and as much as I wanted to shield my visiting friends from the true reason for the clothes pile, I also wanted to talk about the little balls of character that make my life so crazy & manic but massively full and rewarding.  So, here we are.  And I guess on that note, maybe a little bit about us might be a good idea.  I'm Mrs P, or Pops if we're friends {a nickname given to me by my Dad when I was a teeny, screaming bundle of noise & which has stuck ever since}.  I am a 33 {for now} Scot who moved South 18 years ago, met a boy, fell in love, married him & had two awesome babies.  Not necessarily in that order; it was more love, baby, six weeks later a wedding and then the other baby came along.  Anyway, we live in Surrey and those babies turned into Juno & Herbie, the two most amazing little humans who keep Mr P and I on our toes daily & take every part of us, and some, but somehow they give it back ten fold.  We both work & juggle the whole kid thing between us &, like every other parent out there, have moment of 'how the actual fuck are we going to do this'  But we do.  And we have two happy, healthy kids who, for all the promises from people that we were making these massive rods for our own back through the way we parent, are giving us the proof we need daily to stick our fingers up and poke our tongues out at them {blog post on that to follow as it's one I think I could write all day long about}.  We also have a dog called Dan.  He's massive and a total pain in my arse but we wouldn't be without him now.  Most of the time.

We've had a busy few weeks and it's all change again soon.  Herbie turned 4 last week, though, he think his birthday was Saturday rather than last Tuesday! Parents of the year, right?! There was good reason though, they were both at school and us at work, and apart from the fact our kids need dragging out of bed on a school morning to make it on time, anyone that knows the blonde beast that is Herbie, knows that there is no way that you are separating him from that new 3ft Batman toy he just opened! I doubt we'll ever get away with it again but it worked out really well, and it's one to tell him when he's 18!

Speaking of school, we are on the home run for the end of term and almost 3 months of Summer holidays.  The next two week is full of trips, sports days, parent teacher evenings & trips - and I somehow need to remember and be prepared for all of them.  Not. A. Chance.  But thankfully I have some top Mama friends who know I am shit {human} and so send me texts to remind me of the important stuff like feeding them and getting them to school each day. It's then a long arsed holiday where we desperately try to entertain them and juggle work and then come September, Juno will be in Year One.  Or that Herbie could be going into Reception. They both seem so little still.  And it's for this reason that Herbs will spend another year in nursery, just like J did.  They are both Summer babies and it has worked perfectly for Juno & we feel it will for Herbs too, and that's all we can ever do.  Go on what we feel is going to be best for these precious little humans you have made and who carry your heart around with them.

Right now though, I can hear them causing a level of destruction in their bedroom which I am half tempted to leave, but should probably go and investigate to save both their almost guaranteed Lego to the foot injury and my sanity.  And maybe tomorrow, I might get another ten minutes and I will write about something with an actual point to it.

Operation: Clean Out All The Crap

What a gorgeous weekend we had - it was the most relaxed I had been in ages.  Even the small humans played ball and were quite lovely for the majority of it.  It's amazing how everything seems better when the sun is shining and the 7am weekend get ups after a 1am bedtime are easier to deal with when you are sat in the garden rather than trying to stop your toes falling off with cold because you forgot to turn the heating timer on as you stumbled into bed totally ginned up!

I'm on a bit of a mission at the moment: Operation Clean Out All The Crap.  The amount of junk you amass as a parent is untrue.  Plastic bits of this.  Coloured bits of that.  Random dolls heads. Every time I open a cupboard or a drawer, a variety of useless stuff falls out on me and I curse it - but then I push it all back in and get on with my day.  Well, no more.  Starting tomorrow {always tomorrow} I am on a one woman mission to take my house back.  Room by room.  Cupboard by cupboard.  If we don't use it a lot then it's fair game.  Charity, Tip and eBay {just because I don't come across enough fuckwits in my day to day life, I thought I'd add a bit of auction, no paying,  timewasting fun in there, because we all know how much fun that is} will all be my 'friends'.  I have to time this right though as you know those toys that the small humans haven't looked at in 8 months will suddenly become all time favourites again if I don't get them bagged up and out of view before they see them all. 

Worse than them maybe, is when my sentimentality kicks in.  'Oh but I remember them wearing these' 'That was SO cute when it fitted 4 years ago' 'That one must go in the memory box'.  You know it, you've all done the same {haven't you?!}.  I am sentimental or attached to nothing else.  I'm really good at separating myself from things.  But when it comes to a rag of material that one of our offspring wore for 3 seconds or more, I am useless.  I don't even have the 'keep them for the future thing' as this baby making set up has closed its doors and won't be opening again.  It's got to the point that the biggest small human now asks for me to put some of her clothes in the memory box for when she has a baby! And how can I say no to that!?

If I manage this, I might think a bit more seriously about the KonMari (Marie Kondo) thing, but a huge part of me knows that it would just never stick here.  There are two tiny mess makers that would see to that! It would just be nice to have some 'space', where everything wasn't crammed full of crap! So we'll see.  For now, I'll take being able to get my knickers out my underwear drawer without having to claw my way through pay slips from 1996 and my part time job in Sports Direct {why are their mugs so massive?? And why do they desperately try and sell one every time you log into their website?? If anyone can enlighten me I'd really appreciate it}

First Day Back To Normality

So, today is back to normal. School.  Work.  Normal.  You know, being screamed at on a new level because you do not have the exact type of cereal requested, even though the one dishing out the relative bollocking picked the offending offering themselves.  Even though you checked 14 times to make sure as you wanted to avoid this exact situation.  Dragging small humans out of bed with just enough time to get dressed and out the door because all other attempts to wake them gently have gone ignored.  You know.  Normal.  And I successfully got them out the door and to school on time. And as I walked past the other parents on the way to class, I wondered if they too had been presented with the same levels of fuckery that I had been.  And if so, how they hell did they then find time to make an effort?  I mean, the kids clothes?  They might be clean. Maybe. Mine?  Well, I'm pretty sure I wore this t-shirt to bed on Saturday and my washing machine hasn't made a noise since.  Two children are safely delivered to their respective classes and I can breathe a sigh of relief & head home to coffee, potter and work.

It's a nice morning here, sunny & I allow myself to start to relax.  This isn't so bad, everyone is where they need to be and things are being done.  I fling the hoover around a bit half arsed but enough to get the majority of the breakfast that was lobbed my way & I figure the dog will get the rest later.  I sit for a minute and it's quiet.  So quiet. And then I notice the time and it's almost pick up for the smallest human but that's ok.  They're normally in good sprits and they had a new toy to take in to show their friends today so all will be well. And there was my mistake.  The assumption that my mellow would not be harshed.  For what I was actually presented with was a small human who had apparently lost the ability to speak and could only do the single most annoying thing they can do {you know the one.  Not talking, not crying, not screaming.  Just THAT noise}. The child who until they had noticed me there, had looked like the happiest person in the world. I instantly wondered if I could get away with leaving the bundle of coat and hair which was now on the floor by my feet here for the rest of the day but figured as I was already here, it may be frowned upon. Instead, I smiled, thanked the teachers and took to my heels hoping that on the way to the car, we didn't pass any of those parents.  You know the ones who have small humans who would never have a shit fit?  A mix of that and that if we did, it would be before I joined in with the crying and arm flailing too.  We get to the car, I bundle in a grunting, sweaty small human who was still making that noise.  And we drive home.  In relative silence which considering the last 7 minutes of my life is actually quite welcome.

We get home, I park up, small human gets out of the car without my help as if to press home just how pissed off they are that I do not have the 'treat' that it turns out had triggered this whole thing (that and the fact that almost zero sleep was had last night I imagine but I figured pointing that out wouldn't really help the situation).  We unlock the door, go in the house and I ask if a cuddle would help.  Apparently not.  Not one bit in fact.  So I take myself into the other room and leave them to it.  A few minutes later, a small hand appears on the door, followed by a little sweaty face. I thought the cuddle I had previously offered was going to be called in but no.  Instead 'Have we got any wraps?'  And just like that, it turns out that a flat bread product can be just the thing to bring you all back to a level playing field because thankfully, I did indeed have wraps. So I'll take that parenting win and go with it.  And I am now using these tools to assist me with the rest of the day because quite honestly, I can not be fucked to deal with anything like that again today.  And sometimes, that's ok!

Toilet Stops Post Children

One of my favourite blogs, @hurrah4gin pretty much nailed it with this. If I'm lucky enough to get in the toilet and whip my knickers to my ankles without the small humans knicking the toilet from under me, standing pointing and loudly telling me my arse is too big for the seat or inviting the entire road in for a get together, then I'll take that opportunity to lock myself away and scroll through anything that takes my fancy. If I've remembered to stash some snacks from a previous bath time, all the better. However, sometimes I forget that it's not great when out and about. Like at the weekend at my inlaws. I crept off whilst the grandparents entertained the kids for 5 minutes and happily sat there {no snacks though disappointingly}. For about 30 minutes. When I had read enough memes, saw enough dancing cats & bought our dream home with an imaginary lottery win budget, I decided I'd best rejoin the party. No one said anything but Mr Pea gave me the look that said he knew exactly what I'd been doing {& that he was massively jealous of the alone time I'd just had} but that the parents thought I'd had a dodgy curry for tea last night. I didn't care. I'd just had the most "me" time I'd had in a week. And they have a lovely bathroom. I simply smiled and asked if they had more cake. They did. By my standards, that was a pretty good 45 minutes 👍

Bank Holiday 'Fun'

Sometime, long, long ago, I remember how a Bank Holiday Monday went down.  We'd wake up around mid morning, have some breakfast, watch a movie or go do some shopping {for us, not house items or brightly coloured plastic, loud, irritating tat} & we'd finish it off by jumping back into bed for a few hours before ordering in some food all whilst tanking a bottle of something cold & alcoholic.

Today? Well, at approximately 6.42am I was woken up by the sound of the TV being put on full blast - having never had the desire to be the most irritating human on the planet before, I have fought any urge to keep my finger on the + button until it maxed out so I wasn't sure how loud a TV actually went.  Turns out it's really, really, really loud. The kind of loud that you think might make your eyeballs bleed.  You see, this is one of those parenting cross roads.  In part, it's great when the small humans get to the point where they are happy to get up & play for a bit themselves, but by letting them do so, even for 5 minutes, it can cost you the rest of the day as the carnage they can cause in that time is something that will need you to be sorting for the next 7 hours. It's a tough call.  The pull to stay in bed for those extra few minutes is strong.  Like the Force.  But the desire not to spend your day again picking up and putting away more crap that you don't even recognise {as your Mum in Law has most likely smuggled it into your house} is fighting with your lazy arse self & wants to win.  Bad. 

Anyway, back to this morning.  Once I'd lept out of bed with the grace of a newborn cow & bolted {ok, I couldn't bolt anywhere - maybe stumbled around at a slightly faster pace}, I could find small humans nowhere.  And yet, the TV was screaming at me at a level that said it too was pissed off at being woken from it's Bank Holiday slumber.  Of course, the remote control was nowhere to be seen either so a quick fumble of a load of hidden buttons & there you go.  Silence.  Now, where are the small humans I am betting are responsible for this? By the instant yelling of 'Muuuuuuuuum.  We were watching that' I trace them to a bedroom.  Both laying totally hidden under the duvet which I am assuming is an attempt to save their eardrums from exploding.  Really?  Watching it? From under there? 'Yes Mum - we arrrrrrrrrrrre'.  Ok.  So why are you hiding under the duvet? 'Can we have breakfast'.  Obviously. And that's me up.

Instagram Life

I am a huge Instagram fan.  Maybe an addict.  Maybe.  Some might say.  Anyway, I have just set up another account over there so if you are like me and spend way too many hours scrolling through hundreds of photos, filtering the shit out of our knackered faces and oooooohing over all the pretties, then come say hello.  I'm TheLifeAndTimesOfMrsPea......see what I did there?!

Ps: I should say, I may eventually link my personal account to the Blog but for now, I think the freedom to be totally honest and open and write about real things without worry of people I 'know' getting up in arms about the fact that sometimes {ok, a lot of times} the reason my bra is laying on the floor where you stand in our lounge isn't because I dropped it from the washing pile on the way through to the kitchen but because that is where Mr Pea and I found ourselves getting the opportunity to have actual grown up sex last night as opposed to a fumble through a sick covered t-shirt & I totally forgot to move it. 

Well, Hello There!

So.  Blogging.  I've thought I might like to have a dabble for a while now.  And then I'd think whoever would want to read anything I had to say? I mean, my life is hardly exciting.  I work.  I wife.  I mum. But who doesn't do those things? So, why would anything I could say about this normal, everyday and if we are being honest, sometimes {ok, a lot of the time} fairly boring stuff mean anything to anyone.  And then I realised, it might just mean something to me.  On days when I feel like I am about to loose my shit for the 786th time, if I can sit down & take a few minutes just to put the no doubt ridiculous situation into some kind of context by writing it down & most likely using a lot of expletives, then it might just help me.

And so here we are.  I'm not sure how it will go.  I'm not sure if I'll be any 'good' {& while I'm at it, why do us women do that? Why do we worry about being good at things rather than just enjoying doing them? Another post for another time maybe as it's way too heavy for my first tentative steps, especially on a bank holiday weekend when there is gin to be drunk shortly}.

If you've found me then it would be awesome if you hang around, see where we go & join in this crazy, fun, knackering journey that is life.  And for now, I can hear what sounds like a heavy metal show coming from the small humans bedroom so I best go and make sure it is just them & that they haven't smuggled an actual band in there - nothing would surprise me with those two.

See Ya!