It started with a Pinterest board and ended with me crying in the car, inhaling melted Haribo from the floor mat like a raccoon in active distress.
The plan was simple: dinosaur-themed party. Some games. Cake. Maybe one of those balloon arches if I got ambitious. What happened instead was a sequence of events so deranged it felt choreographed by Satan’s party planner.
I knew it was going sideways when the cake arrived. Sixty pounds for a T-Rex that looked like it had survived a house fire. The eyes were lopsided, and the teeth — I kid you not — were Tic Tacs glued in with what I can only describe as ambition and regret.
Then came the bouncy castle. Or rather, didn’t come. Apparently the van broke down on the A7, and the guy “wasn’t sure if he even had us in the system.” I had the receipt in my inbox, but by then I was being pulled in seventeen directions, including down a literal drainpipe by my youngest who thought he was a ninja turtle.
And that’s when HE arrived.
My ex.
Late.
With her.
She of the symmetrical face and high-waisted jeans and effortless laughter. Oh, and a puppy. Of course. A bloody puppy. The kids screamed with joy like Disney characters. Meanwhile, I looked like I’d been thrown into a hedge by a wind machine. Which I kind of had — we were in a park, the banner kept flying off, and I’d used my hair as a makeshift duct tape substitute at one point.
Then he had the gall to say:
“Hey, quick one — do you know a good solar panel installer in Marbella? We’re thinking of doing something green for the new place.”
And he said it so casually, like we were just two people discussing brunch. I swear to god, I almost threw a mini sausage roll at him.
What place?
When?
How is she already making eco-friendly upgrades to a life I haven’t even caught up with?
And WHY does he get to talk about solar panels while I’m wiping vomit off a piñata that never even got hung up?
The party limped on. One child lost a shoe. Another got stung by something with wings and vengeance. I forgot the candles. No one noticed. We sang happy birthday slightly off-key while I silently questioned every decision I’ve made since 2012.
At the end, one mum hugged me and said, “Honestly, you’re amazing. I couldn’t do all this.”
Which was kind.
But also… same.
Because I couldn’t do all this.
I just did.
The bar is low, and I still tripped over it. But the kids were happy.
Mostly.
And when I finally got home and flopped onto the sofa, there was a drawing in my bag. Crayon. Stick figures. Me in a party hat. The words “BEST MUMMY” scribbled in backwards letters.
I cried again. But softer this time. Less raccoon, more… exhausted pigeon.
Next year, we’re going to the cinema.
And he can install all the solar panels he wants.