Monday’s are long days, especially your first Monday back after a couple of days off ill at the end of a snowy first week back. Monday’s have an extra lesson and a training session added onto the end of them and I’m just well a bit like Bob Geldoff and I’m not keen on Monday’s. I try all sorts to boost the positivity on a Monday, I make sure on a Sunday I do some baking or cooking and have prepped a scrummy breakfast (my homemade protein granola this morning was lush, even if I did then sit in a meeting with a piece of pumpkin seed stuck in my tooth #embarassing) and lunch, I plan a fun activity to do with toddler P when we get home before bed, whether it’s pre-story silly selfies in bed, blowing bubbles in the bath or sliding down the stairs on our bottoms. I just try to make it a bit better.
Today I forgot to do that, I dashed out the house sneaking away from a hot, sniffly, bunged up little P who was speaking in voice like Joe Pasquale, crying tearly “mummy come back” because the poorly little lamb didn’t want leaving. Cue mum guilt on the way to work. I didn’t have a bad day to be honest, but I was tired after a long night of hot sweats, calpol, cold feet and potty trips. So was glad to get home, kiss my girl on the forehead and watch the Gruffalo on the sofa. Routine goes out of the window when she’s ill as with all toddlers, she sleeps when she needs and wakes when she doesn’t, picky eats and in general is up and down and off it. So my slick regime to ensure life is prepped, school is prepped and that I have some downtime to myself has all be a bit higgle-de-piggle-de and in true me style, I got a bit unnecessarily stressed, not badly, but I could feel it brewing, it was there about to begin. The slow build up of angst and frustration and irrational thoughts of my varying home and work to do lists as if I was under pressure to fix and do everything immediately whilst nursing a poorly toddler.
Then he paid a visit. I was in the car, iPhone plugged in, no playlist selected, when I heard it, the famous synthesizer, du du, dudu dudu, duu du, Dire Straits. Poppa M loved them, played air guitar in the most unco-ordinated way, singing badly (even worse than me) with his weird lip pout that he saved for drunken red wine snoozes on the sofa or his rock anthem performances! #cringe Suddenly, everything in the world felt a little better. Like he’d popped down just to say “Hi Princess”.
That’s just it, things hit you suddenly sometimes, I mean I think and talk about Poppa M all the time, his pictures are on my walls, he’s still a part of my life, but there’s still the unexpected moments, the sudden surprises. I’ve written before about these and how they catch you off guard and bring back the hurt of grief. Today wasn’t like that, if anything it did the opposite, sometimes the surprise memories make you feel good, a little better. I can’t really describe it, it’s not big, it’s not euphoric but it’s just a bit like that casual “hello, aw it’s nice to bump into you” you get when you cross paths with a nice acquaintance that you’ve not seen for awhile. That, thanks for stopping by, it’s be a pleasant surprise sort of feeling.
So thanks Poppa M, it’s been a grey rainy sort of day as I busily brought myself back up to speed with work whilst simultaneously checking in on a snotty grotty 2 year old and your song just made it a bit brighter. Thanks for stopping by, it was nice to hear a rare rendition of Walk of Life. I wonder what they next fleeting visit will.