Here Come Santa's Claws

And with a singular stroke of genius, I somehow moved the conversation with my mother from the fiery bowels of Hell to safer, more familiar territory.

The tactic? I told her to "vote with her feet." A term I use in HR all the time. When people don't like something, like their boss, their benefits, their bonus check - they vote with their feet, and walk away. Find a new gig with an emotionally stable boss, or more robust benefits, or a less measly bonus structure.

I told her that if the ladies of The View were so very offensive, and so universally loathsome, so over-the-top outrageous, rather than sitting there in clutch-the-pearls horror, aghast at the nerve of them, people should change the channel. And if enough tight-assed little old ladies did exactly that, Whoopi and her gal pals would find their contracts going unrenewed and their show off the air. Problem solved without an act of Congress.

This idea seems to get some traction with Estelle. I see a sandwich board and a picket line in her future.

So, having survived the hailstorm of First Amendment Rights debate, but only barely, I was oddly relieved to be tiptoeing through the tripwires of Planning for the Holidays.

Excuse me while I pour a little Scotch into my French Roast.

The holidays are complicated when you are me, and we are us.

We've already established that I am divorced. And have the custody agreement designed by a Special Master who has the sensibilities of a pit bull. This year, the overnight into Christmas morning belongs to Lars, so I only have Christmas Eve, and only until 8 pm sharp or Amber Alerts will be flashing on highways across America, to celebrate with my children.

So Christmas Eve will come and the kids and I will bound out of bed pretending it is Christmas and have a perfectly lovely Christmas morning, one day early.

And since Charlotte and her family always celebrate with our family on Christmas Eve, because Christmas Day is with her in-laws, we've got a lot to pack in in a dozen or so hours.

Normally we'd celebrate at Charlotte's, but I will host this year, so that too much drive time doesn't leave us feeling rushed and cheated.

Simple enough, right?

Don't go betting your Christmas Club money on it.