I'll Have A Blue Christmas

Christmas morning comes along as it always does. From where I lie in my bed, trying to avoid waking the kids by getting up and peeing, it seems twinkling, and sun-kissed and fresh and beautiful.

I risk it and get up to pee. I have been waiting since 6 am, there is no sleeping through the twinges my bladder is sending to my brain, and it is after 7 am, so what is there to be gained by staying in bed? If I am lucky, I can sneak downstairs, start the coffee, plug in the tree lights and feed the cat before I hear the first stirring upstairs.

No such luck. I am still seated on the toilet when Pat stage whispers through the key hole informing me that it is Christmas. He asks if he can wake Hil. Why not? Just don't wake the dead in doing so.

I bargain with them for a few minutes. Wash my face and brush my hair and teeth lest I end up looking monstrous in Pat's YouTube video or get sent to all of Hil's phone contacts looking like Sea Hag. I tie my robe, find where the cat has stashed my slippers and head downstairs to inspect things. All is in order (no Grinch has stolen Christmas while we slumbered) and I plug in the lights. Let the games begin.

My "film" rolling, the kids barrel down the steps and come to a stop at the tree shrieking in delight. There is frenzied gift unwrapping and more shrillness. Both kids are overjoyed. I've duped them into believing some gifts would not materialize under the tree. They are so surprised at what they've found there after all.

And then Pat realizes that there were a few gifts from Aunt Charlotte and from Scott that were not to be opened until Christmas morning. Where are they? Hil catches on and wonders the same thing.

"Oh," I explain. "I had a little trouble bringing everything back down from the third floor," I say. "Maybe you all can help with that. There are just a few more things. Come see."

I make my way around the winding staircases and landings to the attic door and pad up the soft carpeted steps to the loft just a few steps ahead of them. I let my camera roll again as the kids come in to look around. It takes a moment but as soon as they see the giant flat screen TV, the XBox console and Wii console they are shrieking again and jumping up and down. More gifts and envelopes are opened and gift cards for game stores and games themselves come spilling out. More shrieking.

All is right with the world.

Once the noise level has dropped and we've begun to take things from cartons and assemble what needs to be assembled, I pour more coffee and begin to make the Monkey Bread my kids so love and associate with Christmas. The smell of brown sugar and cinnamon and coffee mingles with fresh pine. Bliss.

It is my turn to open gifts. This year, instead of relying on hateful Lars and his cheapskate budget for a gift for the kids to give me, I made a deal with the kids. I would help them buy each other gifts, and would let them take the money from the change jar and use it for gifts for me. They could combine the money or go separate ways, but either way, they had money to spend and a more reasonable budget(as in more that $5 so we don't have to choose between the slipper socks and the coffee mug.) If there was more than they needed they had the option to use it to buy more for each other. It is a perfect arrangement. A little latitude to demonstrate their maturity. All I had to do was unleash them at the mall one day and stay in touch by phone and text.

They have really outdone themselves. A beautiful silver necklace with my last initial - and they were kind enough to remember my last initial is not the same as theirs. A funky, chunky bracelet and cool bangly earrings. A darling clutch. Some lovely shower gel. I am so touched. Not so much at what they've purchased (which is all wonderful) but in the pride they have taken in picking out special things, thinking about my taste, wrapping the gifts and hiding them. The joy on their faces at my reaction. Their Christmas Spirit is what has truly touched my heart. I can hardly speak I am so overwhelmed.

Soon all too soon, we must shower and dress. My deadline for getting them to Lars is noon. Hil uses her new straightener to touch up her hair. And then mine. She uses her new makeup to make us both fabulous. Pat hooks up both iHome clocks for their rooms and helps me water the tree and clean the cat box so we are not all so rushed.
Hil makes careful outfit choices to make sure nothing that she has just gotten will be confiscated by Lars and not make the trip back with her. Pat loves his new NHL hat but won't wear it because Lars might make him keep it there. It is a burden I hate that they bear.

Once we are all prepared, and the cat is ready to be alone for a few days while I am at Scott's, and the kids have helped me put all of Scott's gifts and his girls' gifts, and cookies and luggage and wine into my car, we are ready to pull away from the curb.

And I get the same bilious familiar twinge in the pit of my stomach. I am sending them into the lair innocent and defenseless on what should be a joyous day but most likely won't be. I am torn. I am so happy to be going to see Scott on our second Christmas together but heartbroken at being separated from my children. I am worried for them and they are worried for me (what if I get them there one minute past 12 noon? What will Dad do?) I try to remain positive, match their joy about more presents at Dad's and still try to soak in the tenderness of the moment. I have written them each a note and tucked it away in their things. Each one letting them know how much I love them and how special they have made my Christmas. I am enormously proud of them and hopelessly in love with them, and on this happiest day of the year, I am fighting back tears and barely able to breathe as I pull away from the curb.