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A Real Family Christmas

by Kay Bolden    

In those first, terrifying years of single motherhood, I would bite my tongue so I wouldn't respond with the first thought that came to my mind: Oh no! It can't be Christmas again already! I haven’t put a dime into my Christmas Club since March! And I still don’t have that perfect new stepfather I’ve been meaning to get the kids .

But wait! Maybe I can meet the man of my dreams, fall in love instantly and get married on Christmas Eve. Yes! I can lose 20 pounds by Friday, get that fab new haircut on Saturday, and then, and then ... oh God, please don't let it be Christmas again already!

One of the worst Christmases was the year when every other adult in my large extended family was newly married and euphorically happy, while I was newly divorced and pretending I liked it that way. That was the same year my son asked the Santa at Marshall Fields for a brand new daddy. I spent that Christmas with the shades drawn and the TV unplugged, and only Fannie Mae for company. Well, Fannie Mae and the kids.

But the kids were small, and it was easy enough to distract them with toys and goodies. As they got older, however, it was harder and harder to ignore the fact that we were different. Missing some parts -- missing that daddy thing. My son never helped his dad put together a new bike or an elaborate racetrack -- the guy at Wal-Mart did it for fifteen bucks. My daughter never modeled her new velvet dress for an adoring father. Instead, she twirled for me.

I worried all the time; were my kids going to scarred for life by my divorce?

Then one year when my daughter was in junior high and I was alternately sweating and crying over an oven full of homemade gingerbread men, I heard her talking to a girlfriend.

"Sure, if your folks are giving you the flux, you can just come over here on Christmas Eve," my Rachel said. "It'll be cool. The only rule is we have to eat up everything in the fridge to make room for the Christmas leftovers."

"Everything?" her friend asked. "What's everything?"

Rachel shrugged. "Whatever's in there. Bologna, hot dogs, spaghetti, cheesecake. Everything's got to go!" Then she laughed out loud. "Just tell my mom you love her gingerbread, and feed it to my brother's dog when she's not looking. My mother is totally brain damaged."

I worked extra hard on my gingerbread that year (luckily, my brain damage has not affected my hearing), and gave Wolfie plenty of Pepto-Bismol.

The year my son turned 16, he was invited to a holiday ski trip with some of his best buddies. He turned them down without even talking to me about it. "Rick," I told him when I found out, "You can go. It'll be fun. You always wanted to learn to ski."

Rick rolled his eyes. "They're leaving on Christmas Eve. What kind of idiots want to be away from home on Christmas? And anyway, you people wouldn't survive 4 days without me. Who would pop the popcorn for It's A Wonderful Life? Rachel always burns it. Always. And you'd never remember to walk the dog, you'd probably feed him cherry pie ..." his list was endless. I was speechless.

My kids aren't so little anymore. My gingerbread remains a work in progress. I occasionally forget to walk the dog. I still don't have that cute new haircut or that perfect stepfather I've been wanting. God only knows what we'll be eating on Christmas Eve. But anyone can ask me what we're doing for the holidays, and I won't even blink. We're going to have a real family Christmas, just like always.


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Kay Bolden is the author of Dear Santa: Please Bring Me 21 Fast & Easy Holiday Ideas! at http://www.booklocker.com/books/795.html .