Fake Christmas

The dark side of Christmas hit today.  I was stalling it off quite well up to this point.   This evening we called for arrangements to pick up my step-daughter tomorrow morning and, first, she wasn't aware that tomorrow we come to get her.  Hey, thanks for gettin' her built up to spend some quality time with her dad, there Mother.  Second she was quick to say that she did not want to spend the night - this is, actually a first in itself.  It is the beginning of deja vu from our first go 'round with my oldest step-daughter....not wanting to come over to our boring house because we don't go berserk with the gifts.  Third, my oldest step-daughter, who has chosen to not have a life with us (and yes, The Mother has threatened legal action to acquire more $ from us), will be coming over as well.   She/they will spend a total of 6 hours at our house - approximately 3 times more than she has spent the entire year.   What, I wonder, will she do for 6 hours with us?  My guess is that they will leave to go shopping, while "with us" for six hours.

We continued on with our evening plan to go to Barnes and Noble to watch all the other folks quickly buy up last minute gifts, and to listen to music.  But my mood was souring quickly.   It just becomes a fake scene of spending "family time" together.  It is merely a gift exchange.   Come on over and get your gifts - better yet, let's just do a drive by and toss them on your lawn and you won't have to bother your Mother to get loaned out to us for some window of time.   I have hated this every year, so much that I was willing to spend large dollars to travel across the planet last year to avoid the whole thing.   Even then, the girls were disappointed with the mall gift cards we gave them to shop to their heart's content.

I've wondered if The Mother has figured out how to navigate to my blog.   I suspect that she would get pleasure out of our discomfort - often my intuition pans out.   I know that she has spent energy trying to accomplish just that - all at her daughter's expense.   They don't know it, and probably won't figure it out until they find themselves in therapy when they're 40.   They don't feel free to roam between the households with security.   Their loyalty is bought with an unrealistic lifestyle and all the expectations that come with having anything one could possibly want and more until boredom sets in.

We decided to give them their gifts right off the bat so they won't feel the pressure to hang around - afterall, they have the new PS3 to get back to...   I heard rumor of them attending Christmas Eve service with us, however things change quickly with teens.  We'll do our own Christmas dinner, and share our own gifts.   How often it has happened that when we reveal our plans ahead of time that coincidentally something comes up to thwart it.   We are learning....learning to live our own life.   From the outside it may look like we don't care about the girl's lives - we have opposing forces in our world though.    We've learned to let go, lest a child's arm gets torn from it's socket.   I've often wondered what potential the girls would have if the bio-parents, well the opposing one in this case, worked together for the good of the kids.   Divorce is tough enough, but must they be bought from the other parent with tangibles?   Must they be made to feel, however covert it is, guilty for loving the other, wanting to spend time with the other?

Suppose I'll check the pantry for cans of soup should we actually get to lunchtime and need to provide a meal...   

Comments

[cakboliv]

Hey Donna -

I really appreciate your honesty. I can only imagine the emotional frustration involved...I know it must be tough - divorce has hit my family (siblings) several times and watching the pain all around has been hard. I bet the girls will look back when they grow older, though, and view everything with a little more understanding. Sometimes it takes the passing of time and for kids to have more life experience, before they wake up and say, "Oh, now I understand." Hang in there.

Love ya,
Carol Ann