If the groundhog crawls out from his hole and sees his shadow, he make's silhouette bunnies with his little paws. They're pretty good really; he can't do butterflies without opposable thumbs, but hey, we all make do with what we have. That's how I survived the holiday.
I poked my head out from the holiday rubble yesterday. I really wasn't a groundhog, I was a scared survivor crawling out of a bomb shelter. Pushing away my downed fence, I looked around. I'd spent the first half of the month stocking my bunker with blinking lights and edible rations, before hunkering down for the defcon 1 holiday. Now it was time to evaluate how I did. Was spring coming, or was I in for a long cold half-life of nuclear winter?
Everybody knows holidays suck for the divorced, right? Standing in the smoke and ash, I performed my cursory check for all limbs and discovered something: The holiday didn't suck. Oh, and maybe I should get out of the fireplace; smoke and ash isn't good for you.
I lived through Christmas. It wasn't as cool as when I was a kid, but when has it been? I don't know about you, but my adult Christmases haven't been nearly as cool as my childhood ones. Since I turned 18, and moved out, I have not received one Stretch Armstrong, or Six Million Dollar Man. Not even a He-Man. Ok, anyone else notice I'm tossing around guy names? Let's try this: I didn't even get one Easy Bake Oven. Good, now I feel secure in my masculinity…
Still, being a kid during Christmas was great, even with divorced parents. Actually that made it a little cooler. I had 2 families trying to buy my affection and one-up each other.
"I got Robby a Lego Village."
"I got Robby a real village. It's just outside of Quartzite. It's more of a Hamlet really…"
And when both parents remarried, it rained grandparents from heaven! Who knew that each parent came with a set of grandparents? And if the grandparents are divorced…it's like…like…like…It's like Ali Baba finding the treasure cave! WOO FREAKIN' HOO! It's a toy downpour!
As an adult, you find that these are all people you need to send gifts too. Not to mention visit…what the hell? No, being an adult at Christmas isn't the same. I was worried that I'd find the transition from married to divorced would be the same yule tide ebb and transitioning from kid to adult. I didn't think I could afford another emotional tug like that.
It wasn't the same. I've been single before. Yeah, I know this isn't the same as that either, but it's similar, and that similarity makes all the difference. It's like finding a sweater that smells like mom. I can't toss it in the kitchen and expect it to make me a bowl of soup and a sandwich, but I can smell it and remember the times she did. This Christmas is about times I did, and survived. Smell my Rob-sweat stink and tremble, you unbelievers!
So I made it through. I've got one Christmas under my belt, and I'll do just fine. I just need somebody to come over and clear out this rubble. Do you know any good groundhogs I can lash to a debris-sled, and call them by name? Well If they don't come out until February, I think I could find a few chipmunks instead.
"On Alvin! On Simon! You too Theodore! Dash away! Dash away…!"
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