Sometimes, I make Scrooge look good

Every other year around the holidays, I go on a crazy emotional roller coaster ride. I sometimes downright scare my kids and my husband, it's so bad. I turn into this mean, unhappy, anti- Christmas thing. But I've got good reason. I don't like to share. And every other year, I have to.

My girls, Alli and Abby. It's an even numbered year, which means that Christmas is not spent with me but with their father, which just plain SUCKS!

I've figured out that on these years, I spend a whole lot of time dwelling on the fact that they won't be with us on THAT day, rather than taking advantage of the days that they are home. It was easier when all the girls were younger. We'd totally reschedule Christmas. We'd write Santa a letter letting him know that we needed him to make a special stop on this night instead of that one. When the girls had no idea what a calendar was, it was so much easier.

But now there are two other sisters who are avid followers of every stinking advent countdown thing in our house. So there is no rescheduling Christmas. And there is no we'll just wait for your sisters to get home to celebrate. Could you imagine if I told them they couldn't open any of their gifts under the tree for a few extra days? Do you really think they would believe now that Santa makes special trips just for us when they've seen or read a billion versions of what happens on Christmas Eve, and only Christmas Eve?

Alli and Abby miss out on so much when they are gone. It hurts to think that they are not sharing all the celebrations with us. On our trips to La Grange or the children's service or Christmas Eve at Granny's or mimosas and cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning. And in all of our "family" photos during the season, our family is not complete.

I have to know that they are with their father and his family, who do indeed love them to pieces. I have to know that they are having fantastic celebrations of their own. But I can be a little pissed that they aren't here with me.

After all, I'm the one that carried them, that birthed them, that struggled as a single mom with them, that nurses them when they are sick, that gets them to school every morning, that buys them socks and underwear, that grounds them, that forces them to eat their peas, that comforts them when friendships go awry, that takes them for their dental cleanings, that runs out at 10pm for a white poster board, that yells at them to clean their rooms, and every other joyous thing that comes with being their mother. So yes, I'm a little bitter, all Bah humbug if you will, when every other year, they aren't here.

Not that I think their father doesn't deserve that time with them as well. But I'm the one that does all the grunt work and gets none of the glory. So I kinda don't feel bad that I really want them on that one day of the year. I'm speaking as a divorced mom and a child of divorce myself. Sometimes, Christmas just sucks!

But this year, I'm trying, I really am. I'm trying to be positive and fight off the gloom and doom that sometimes washes over me. I'm trying to not fall to pieces as I did in those early years when they were gone and I was all alone. I'm trying to be happy for the man and the children that are here with me. And I think I'm doing okay, so far.

In a few days, it might be a different story.

I could still be happy. Especially if I keep spiking that egg nog.