Holidays on Ice, with a Twist

And then, it was the holidays. I was fresh off the Rock Star vacation and feeling pretty good about things. I decided to get my act together and get my Christmas cards in order.

I am sure you are thinking that the Christmas cards are more a “Nero fiddling while Rome burns” kind of thing. But you’d be wrong.

When my son was just a few, and I do mean just a few, months old, I discovered quite surprisingly that I was pregnant with my daughter. I had only just sent out the announcements and baptized the first and already was unpacking the wretched maternity clothes to accommodate the expansion for the second. It was just weeks before Christmas, and we’d just gotten pictures taken for use on the first ever Christmas card featuring His Royal Cuteness, and I decided to kill two joyous turtle doves with one stone.

I signed the cards from the three of us “and Baby makes 4.”

Which was loads of fun because it prompted everyone to call, and I got to brag about my little guy and hear all kinds of useful advice from far more experienced mothers. (Like don’t go overboard at Christmas. The kid will not know if you wrapped up a box of Q-Tips, he’ll be happy to play with the wrapping.)

So, in similar fashion, I took this opportunity all these years later to come out as a soon-to-be-divorcee.

Because really, except for the people you call and boo-hoo to, not everyone is completely informed of your harrowing status change (Facebook notwithstanding) and it’s not something you send out cute postcards about, like when you change your address (unless of course you do actually return home one day to find your locks changed and your belongings on the lawn exposed to the elements – and eventually take up residence in a different dwelling…)

So, I took some cute pics of the kids, with a disposable camera because Lars claimed the good one on his list (and thankfully my son soon broke it...nasty break, loser) got them printed in multiples, and found cute cards to insert them into – scrawling a warm holiday wish and signing just my name and the two kids’. No Lars. No explanation.

And again. The phone calls. And the advice from far more experienced divorcees, natch.

And then out of nowhere, J.’s mother called. She’d not sent out cards this year but had just gotten mine…the kids are adorable...and was I OK? Did I realize I’d forgotten to sign my husband’s name?

Oh yes, I’d realized. There was a reason for it.

And that is when she told me about J. He too was freeing himself from the bonds of matrimony.

God help us, everyone.