hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh (I just had some chocolate on the 'h' key and needed to wipe it off.)

That's true actually. The director of something or other brought it by in a tiny little box of them for me, while saying "ho, ho, ho."

I found out today that I won't get to see my father at all over Christmas. He wrote me an email inviting me to his friend's house with him for Christmas dinner. But I don't think that will work out. I asked my boss if I could take my get out of work free, half day shopping day on Tuesday so I could meet up with him then, instead, but she said I couldn't. I almost cried I think. Not because I couldn't see my dad for Christmas, but mostly because I realized that I don't have control over my life. It's difficult being told "no," when everything would have worked out.

I'm sure it will all work out. It's funny, this Christmas dance, my mother begging for me to spend more time with her and getting angry that I can't, and me trying to fit into my father's schedule so I can see him for a minute. Which is sort of the way it always felt when I was growing up. I grew up with her saying things like "you bend over backwards..." "you settle for crumbs..." "when will you ever learn..." It wasn't really nice of either of them.

They've been divorced since I was five. Christmas was always weird. It wasn't like two Christmas', but instead, it was like a pitstop over at my fathers house to get presents. This happened with very little ritual. They used to compete over Christmas presents. They used to compete until my dad started just giving us cash. I was seven when $500 was washed in my overalls pockets. Who gives a seven year old $500 in cash? We opened the dryer door, after searching for hours, and there, these wadded-up $20 dollar bills all came tumbling out, some were still wet and stuck in a green mushed wad in the pocket of my osh goshs.

Christmas, was confusing, we'd hear stories from my mother as though my father had long since died, about how he burned his finger on a car's cigarette lighter, or how he saved the day, one Christmas. With a turn of her head, we'd hear about the automatic camera, my mother spotted in the back of his car, and got all excited, that he loved her again...But never got it, because it went to his girlfriend instead. "must have been," she'd say shaking her head and staring. "And when you guys would start to sing carols he'd say 'shut up these damn kids, J.'" My father would call the house on Christmas morning with such a soft, sad voice, as we rambled on about the Betsy Wetsy or the the big green tank 'that goes'. And we'd be smiling wide, all of us, trying to prove that we could all smile wide, for mommy, and mommy for us, and he'd say "ho, ho, ho" in a pathetic way at the end of the phone line. And that was the way it was.

So, my family is this dynamic and incredible un-unity with tears and screaming and sore spots and all of it. The good and the bad are both constantly in flux and everything feels like it is always swirling around. It makes you dizzy and nauseated but you love it. Well you love it and hate it, just like everyone feels about their family.