Moscow Rule 6 - Vary Your Pattern and Stay Within Your Cover

So I had a distraction. A distraction that would minimize the importance of the horror show my mother was bent on making of the holidays.

And as it turns out, Mom was having an ever so slight, almost imperceptible change of heart.

Maybe I have Leona to thank for that. Perhaps I should send her a Christmas card.

So while I was enjoying the exhilarating, butterflies-in-my-stomach, giddy, squealing with delight newness of Scott, and all the hopeful anticipation and possibility that brings to one's life, Mom was taking a detour from the Road to Perdition and planning to, perhaps, make a brief stop in my life at the holidays.

I am not really sure how to feel about that.

We've already established that divorce changes everything. And while a lot of the changes are good, like the complete absence of the presence of the one person in the world who rankles you and leaves your nerve endings in shreds, there are some pretty significant losses. Christmas really takes a beating. It did for me as a child, and it did for me as a divorcee. The wholeness and peacefulness of it are dented and dinged and even though you somehow create something beautiful and memorable out of what remains and what you can add from a new life, it is not the same.

This year, like only one year since Lars finally fell through the booby hatch, I will spend Christmas Eve night alone and wake up on Christmas Day without my children. They will awaken that morning with Lars. Joy Noel.

The last time this happened, things with me and Mom were considerably better terms. For reasons that don't compute, she and Bill returned from the Lush's to my house, which was newly quiet from the kids' recent departure. Bill stumbled of to bed, Mom and I put on our PJs and poured some wine. We sat and looked at old family films and laughed at all the stories they made us remember.

This was the plan again this year - at least until my psychotic break and subsequent railing against my mother and the atrocities she has visited upon us for decades.

Make no mistake. I was fully aware that after all that transpired, I could not expect her to keep me company and hold my hand while I boo hoo hooed away the holiday without my beloved cherubs. It was an emotional risk I'd be willing to take. A change of plans that I could not avoid.

Charlotte suggested I join them overnight.

I thought about it. I know I am family and would be welcome for anything. I also want to respect that their family unit deserves to enjoy their traditions as well. I would put on my Big Girl Panties and drink alone.

Charlotte suggested that I join them for their annual pilgrimage to Aunt Paula's house in the afternoon of Christmas Day.

That I could do. Perfect. Someone else's family dysfunction to observe and roll eyes about.

And as it turns out, Scott has custody issues of his own. His ex-wife will have his girls on Christmas Eve too, and he will pick them up on Christmas morning. He'll be alone with his wine and a couple of pooches.

Not if I can help it.

I suggest we spend our lonely Christmas Eves being less lonely together.

And as odd as it sounds, before you know it, I had a date for Christmas Eve.