Was awoken at five forty-five am by a gaggle of little boys (about 7 years old actually) not toyboys.
See it was the oldest Toehead’s seventh birthday and I organised the cheapest party I could, a sleepover party.
Given the lawyer fees, stamp duty, a lot more touch ups with my colourist due to the serious grey hair production line of the last six months (still holding off on the botox, barely, even my Gay Best Friend (GBF) almost nodded the other day when I said, I don’t need it yet do I? and he had this look on his face like, Luv it’s time) there was no way on this green earth that Mr. Magnolia and I could afford your typical West London (fuck this decaf cappo at Mike’s café on Blenheim Crescent is perfect. dang) birthday party.
Bet ya’ll have no idea how much a proper, London under 8’s party costs:
∑ Invite entire class, 25 kids (school rule)
∑ Buy £5.00 worth of favours for each child = 125
∑ Hire church hall to contain them all = 250
∑ Hire entertainer (Smartie Artie, Mr. Twizzle, Mad Science, or trendy of trendy, Sharky and George, watch out, Mulberry handbags at dawn) = 300 -500
∑ Food and cake = 50
∑ Ballons and décor = 25
∑ Presents (massive Lego anything) = 70
Yep, got your calculators?
That’s roughly £1,000 quid. I know, I know. It makes your monthly sub to TBW look like good value don’t it?
The party last night coast a total of maybe £200 (before Lego). The economy drive has begun! I even borrowed the Star Wars DVD from my neighbour!
The party was a smash hit and the boys had a great time, but who knows if the boys went home with the right socks….
So by midday today, I was just about feeling human and was coming up the stairs of Notting Hill Gate tube. The sun felt sweet and I almost started to cry.
You want to know why?
Well, one half of me was so happy that my baby boy is growing into this gorgeous, brilliant, eccentric, kind human being and he’d had his first sleepover. It’s a right of passage for him as well as any parent. It’s a big deal. But the other half of me was pretty upset.
I was about to meet someone for brunch and then check into a hotel for the night with him.
Shouldn’t be upsetting right?
Ah but here’s the catch. This too is a right of passage for the newly divorced.
Crossing a line in the sand, the Equator, the Rubicon…that’s what it feels like.
But you see, I didn’t expect it to upset me so much.
Think about it, going somewhere with someone is different from just shagging someone at yours or his.
It’s more, well, more intimate, more coupley. And it’s not that we are coupley, its just circumstance. Mr. Magnolia refuses to move out of the house and the Toyboy has loads of housemates. It was a hotel for the night or Hyde Park (ahem, no!).
The scary thing, is, I am sitting here drinking this amazing cappuccino and am completely alarmed: the only person I have travelled with in 14 years (hell ever, other than my parents or my college roommate backpacking around Europe) has been Mr. Magnolia.
Funny or strange as it may sound, this seems/feels/is much worse than the first time I had sex with someone that wasn’t my husband. And he was and still is a very good friend. It had been on its way for years and well, you know how it is, we’ve all been there, he and I knew it was going to happen one day, we just didn’t know when.
It was a physical thing that you couldn’t and didn’t want to stop. Was emotion really was part of it? Desire, certainly but more than that, no not really.
But this, this morning. It is so hard to put into words. And my cappuccino is salty dammit because I really am crying now. Can’t hold them back. Just can’t.
It’s really over between me and Mr. Magnolia.
And yes, I know it’s the right thing. That we don’t make each other happy anymore and haven’t for years. But am I a little scared?
A little? More like a whole damn lot.
What have I done?
Okay, let’s see. I have traded in my 6 bedroom house for a two bedroom flat (it might only have two bedrooms but it is gorgeous, natch) around the corner from here.
Given Mr. Magnolia the Estate and am about to buy a convertible – any kind! Manual.
Paid my divorce lawyer an outrageous sum of money.
Told the school what is happening and realise that we are going to be the only divorced couple in our son’s classes. I hope they still get invited for play dates (and hopefully the trampoline and the pirate ship in the new garden will help sway any yummy mummies that are considering blacklisting me having crossed to the Darkside, or DivorceShire).
And after all that, I am just about still in once piece, but last night almost killed me.
I felt like my skin was coming off in chunks.
Were other parents all over London having sleepover parties for their children and making exhausted, slightly drunk love to each other at midnight once they had gotten all the kids to sleep?
It crossed Mr. Magnolia’s mind too. I could just see it in his sad eyes.
He said, ‘are we really doing this?’
And with tears in my eyes, I looked at him and my heart shattered into a million pieces for the millionth time.
‘Yes, we really are.’
That’s what hurts so fucking much.
We couldn’t fix it.
Christ we tried. We hurled ourselves at this.
Did we do it right? Is there a right way to fix a marriage? Is there a right way to leave someone you will always love but can no longer live with?
No.
All the counselling in the world, friends trying to help, cups of tea and tears, so many tears.
And dammit I loved that man. Yes I did. Loved him so much I moved half way round the world, leaving my family and friends behind to be with him.
Loved him so much I let my self get swallowed whole. Becoming we and losing me.
Truth is, I will always love him.
He will always be the Toehead’s Daddy.
When he, one day, I hope, is happier than he ever was with me, with someone new, and he is not so angry with me, I know he will make me laugh until my sides hurt over something (like all the legless donkey’s in his mother’s conservatory because she talked all their legs off) again and often.
And sitting here thinking about it, I realise now that some kinds of love don’t survive marriage or children.
Ours didn’t.
That didn’t make it a bad marriage. Lord knows we saw and did some great things and made a pretty good team most of the time.
My phone just buzzed at me. It’s the Toyboy that plays a helluva sexy game of pool and has caught me by utter surprise.
He’s a little late, but that’s cool. I’ll wait and finish writing this.
We’re going to have brunch.
It’s going to be ok.
Hell, I have a feeling rather good, but before we do, I have to say one last thing:
Goodbye Mr. Magnolia. Thank you for 10 years that I’ll never forget. For being my husband, friend and the father of our beautiful children.
Love your next wife differently.
Be happy.
Godspeed.
Ms. Magnolia
