To weigh up chilling out after getting back from Sweden, we went to take B’s youngest son back to university. Because we’re being ever so healthy and now are non-smokers, gone is the smoker’s headache we used to wake up with and so we both bounced up this morning and had breakfast way earlier than we needed to despite setting off at just after 9am.
We got to the house where B’s ex still lives (that he’s paying half a fortune to keep her in, I might add) and collected his son. I tried to make myself very small in the car so she wouldn’t have to see me – no need to rub her nose in it, really. As we pulled out, B went “jump out and post those letters for your parents”, nodding to the postbox right by the driveway. Er… NO! A) I might get shot, and B) let’s find somewhere else, eh? Why on earth get out and parade myself right on his ex’s front step? God knows what he was thinking.
Got there and met up with his oldest son too, who is studying for his Master’s at the same university, and had a lovely lunch with both of them. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – they’re great kids. Let me correct that. They’re not kids. They’re 20 and 22, hardly nippers. They are great people, boys, guys, young men.
Sometimes I do wonder what is the hardest – have your parents divorce when you’re too young to remember it later (like Monkey), have your parents divorce when you’re too little to understand the ramifications emotionally (like me) or have your parents divorce when you’re legally speaking an adult (like B’s two sons) and can therefore both feel their pain as well as understand it all?
I have no answer.