Merry Christmas, I Don’t Wanna Fight

I live with a monster. It stays in my bedroom. It’s not locked up.  It slumbers, in a small drawer next to my wife’s underwear. The irony is lost on no one in my house, trust me. It isn’t a gun. It certainly isn’t drugs or alcohol. The monster next to my wife’s undies….is my divorce papers.

Six years ago, I decided to change my life. I wasn’t happy, I wasn’t the father to my then 2 year old daughter that I wanted to be. I got a lawyer, i went through “the process”. It should be called a bloodletting because I felt like Keith Richards after he gets his oil changed when it was over. By the conclusion, you’re left with debt and a set of papers, 12 pages in length, that states when and how you see your child, how much money you owe someone you don’t like, and when you celebrate Christmas.

I’ve written about this many times, but in case you’re new, here’s the lineup card. I was married, then I wasn’t. That relationship produced a girl, now 8 years old, legally named Lyla, but called on this blog, Bug. She and I did the single parent thing for a couple of years until we met Deana aka the Bobina age 34, Taylor aka Tay, ag 15, and Carly aka, the Goose, age 7. We got married in November 2008 after only knowing each other for six months. One of the things we didn’t talk a lot about before joining superforces was the holidays.

Christmas is happy time, right? A tree, sweets, presents, cheer, a chubby guy breaking into your house and making everyone squeal with delight. Well, in a blended family, Christmas is

ohcrapwehavelikesevendifferentfamiliestomakehappyhowcanwemakeauntsoandsosandgettomyfolksand  yourfolksonchristmaseveandwedonthavethischildbecausetheyrewiththeirotherfamilyandtheywontgettoseetheresantyclausstuffuntilthedayafterand thenourotehrtwokidswillbeg onethissucksiwishiweredrunk

Let me explain further.

Lawyers go to school for many years, They’re really smart and they dress nice. They can’t tell the future. None of them are Nostradamus or Neo. When my document was drawn up, the Bobina, Tay, the Goose, and Christmas hell weren’t on the menu. As a result, how to navigate the stormy waters of keeping everyone happy during cheery season is lost, like socks in the dryer.

My holiday schedule with my 8 year old Bug is as follows: Even numbered years, I have her from the day she gets out of school for winter break until 2pm Christmas Day, Odd numbered years I get her 2pm Christmas Day and keep her until she returns to school in January. For the public school educated readers ( i was too), 2011 is an odd numbered year, so Bug has been away from us for a week. We won’t see her until Christmas Day after her sisters have left for their other families. That means my children are passing ships in the night (i stole that from my friend, Marian) and won’t be reunited until December 28th. You bet your Ryan Seacrested asses we’re staying up past midnight on New Years Eve.

What’s missing from all of this, is the added stress we go through from our extended family members. They have their set traditions. They want to eat at a certain time. They want to exchange gifts at their treasured moments. This past Sunday we had to miss one of our favorite family get togethers because our 7-year-old, The Goose, wasn’t due back from her other family until early in the evening. It’s a 2 hour car ride for her and asking her to go over to someone else’s house, about 20 minutes away,  and stay up past her bedtime, just wasn’t fair. I know that part of our family was disappointed.

The five of us; me, Bug, Bobina, Tay and the Goose have made a committment to each other. We put each other number one. If this means we miss other people’s celebrations, so be it. We have our own, to make work and remember forever.

Today’s song is from The Ramones. It should be every family’s theme, not stupid Jingle Bells. Here’s Merry Christmas, I don’t wanna fight.

All I Really Want

There’s an open notebook with plenty of blank white paper and freshly sharpened number two pencil within inches of me. In the back page, one of my daughters scribbled a partial list of things wished for Christmas. I’m guessing this is the work of my middle child, the 8 year old orange belt judo student, because number three is  “karate pokemon”. I’m not sure what that is, but if I was 8 years old, I’d ask for it too.

December is stressful. Where I live, traffic worsens, especially around the malls. I live three miles from The Mall of Georgia, which is a false idol, created to worship commerce with mostly bad chain restaurants surrounding. Money is tight around our house; so much so I waited a few days to refill anxiety pill perscriptions and I’m suffering the side effects of non-daily intake through insomnia and irritability. That being said, I’m kind of sick of the holidays because of the misguided thoughts and actions of others.

Yesterday, my 7 year old daughter and 9 year old niece played leads in their church Christmas play. If you missed their 9:30am and 11:30am performances, then you might scour youtube or just wait til they hit Broadway. They were excellent. I’m not smart enough to post the video. They did provide my only Christmas spirit this season. There’s some warmth in the mechanical cockles of this robot heart.

My wife, my kids, my mother, my mother in law, and two people on twitter asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I’m old enough to pull this move, “I don’t need anything.” All of them are furious with me. I kind of dig my new villainous stature.

I don’t need anything. I don’t want anything, materially speaking. There are some things I desire, but I think writing them in this notebook next to my kid’s pokemon awesomeness would be a waste of time. The stores don’t carry them.  So, forgive me for copping your Jagged Little Pill style, Alanis….

All I Really Want

1) Time to finish my book. I’m a father, husband, brother, brother in law, uncle, and employee. Those duties require time and effort before my writing. I can’t tell you how close I am to having a manuscript. You’ll start asking hard questions. (I’m close).

2) Trust in people not living inside my house. The last couple of years have been brutal on my believe system when it comes to friendship. I need to know not everyone outside of the women I live with, is a doosh.

3) For people to believe in goodness. Just because someone is nice or safe or understanding or enlightened doesn’t mean they’re phony or open to your shortcomings. So, get off me, and enjoy Denver Broncos quarterback Tim Tebow’s success. At least you won’t hear about him killing dogs or touching children.

4) The moment when my children, especially the teenager, understand that I may be the biggest dork in shoes, but I have their best interests. I think an out of nowhere hug and kiss would do the trick. Good luck to me on the teenager girl following through.

5) To steal Alanis Morisette’s line, “All I really want is some peace man a place to find a common ground And all I really want is a wavelengthAll I really want is some comfort” ….trust me boys and girls, I’m working on this. I’m getting closer than ever.

What do you really want? Really?

Today’s song is stupid obvious. Break out your air harmonica and stilted Alanis imitations…..All I Really Want

Hello, Goodbye

Last Christmas in our house:

The door bell rang and sadness filled the room. I watched my wife’s deep blue eyes lose their sparkle; partly to the flu, and because our three daughters were leaving us on Christmas Day. 

A swirling dervish of excitement bounded up the stairs, throwing her little six-year-old voice backward.

“I need my new big pillow and my new Bigfoot toy. Daddy, get my boots!”

I took her order and found them behind the couch, then opened the door. Someone my youngest also called daddy stood expressionless as flakes danced around the porch. I said hello, turned around, and my small blond plopped down on the floor with her socked feet sticking straight up.. I slid on her fur lined Christmas gifts. She got up to give kisses to her sick mother then leaned into me for small hug and walked away with the other man.

“It’s snowing, honey. We don’t even get to throw snowballs with them.”

I walked upstairs and saw our oldest daughter packing her overnight bag with one hand and texting with the other.

“He called and said he’s 10 minutes away.”

I extended my arms and she sighed. She finished her message and leaned into me. It was good enough. Her warmth was a present. Her left hand gently touched my shoulder as she pushed away to finish packing. I walked six steps across the hall and peeked into the younger girls’ room. My middle child, only 7, but desperately trying to be like her oldest sister, kept her eyes on the television  as she spoke out out of the side of her mouth.

“When do we leave for my mom’s?”

I suppressed heartache and replied.

“Two hours.”

I walked to the window and pulled the curtain to the right.

A much harder snow began to fall.

***blogger’s note***

This is my 300 word response to Write on Edge’s holiday prompt:

 

This week we asked you to use the holiday season to inspire you to write a piece beginning with “The doorbell rang” and ending with “snow began to fall.”

We can’t wait to see where you took this prompt. Link up, but only if you’ve done the prompt, and let us see who was on the other side of the door.

Red Writing Hood – The Doorbell Rang

We are a blended family. Every Christmas Day is like this, as our 3 daughters leave us at certain times during the day. This year, our middle child, now 8, will come to us at 2pm, but not see her two sister until 2 days after Christmas. This was the scene in our home last year as my wife was sick, it snowed, and the girls left us to be with their other families. Christmas, thus, is both a very happy and sad time for us.

Today’s song is what plays in my head while this scene plays out every year. Here’s my interpretation of The Beatles, Hello, Goodbye.