First Christmas Alone for Mother (Part 2)

Copyright (c) 2010 Suzanne Wells

So I lay there in bed on Christmas Eve and reflected on the next day; my thoughts teetering between self pity and relief. When the great morning arrived I stumbled out of bed, patted the dog on the head, handed him a bag of bones and tossed a catnip toy over to the cat lurking in the corner. "Merry Christmas" I murmured, and shuffled off to make my tea.

It was weird and very, very quiet. I kept saying "It's Christmas" to the chairs and sofa as I passed them on their carefully placed posts perched throughout the house. I reminded the dog and cat several times throughout the day that, "It's Christmas, remember?" The house seemed so normal because I hadn't done any holiday house decorating at all this year. Forlorn, the kids finally brought in a branch from the old pine tree outside and stuck it in a vase on the kitchen table.

"Look Ma', a Christmas Tree!" they proudly peeped from their little kids circle around the table. I glanced over at the lonely little branch sitting there in the dry vase.

"Yeah, it's cute" I offered, trying to sound brighter than I felt. I was hoping to rally some leftover remnants of last year's Christmas magic or something. Instead my voice came out flat and oddly overly cheerful. The sentence seemed to hang in the room for a moment between us all and then sadly drifted onto the floor. Alone on Christmas morning I peeked out my windows and wondered if the neighbors realized it was Christmas. I peered into their houses across the yard to see if I could make out any Christmas-like activity going on in the neighborhood. For all I knew I knew it could have been President's day or something. People are shocked when they realize you are spending Christmas alone. They get a nervous twitch in their faces and their voices start to shrill with desperate attempts to help you. My mom called two sets of cousins to make sure I received proper invitations for dinner on Christmas night. On the phone, my sister made several suggestions to ease my apparent pain.

"Go to our cousin Jay's house" she insisted, "It'll cheer you up, it will be good to get out."

"Did Aunt Norma call?" my mom insisted, "you remember where she lives, right? I'm sure you'll be welcome there."

I muttered, murmured and assured everyone I was fine. But I wasn't really fine and it did feel weird, this silent little Christmas with furniture and pets wordlessly staring at me. For days I shuffled around the house unable to propel myself anywhere but to the fireplace for another smoke. It's one thing to be single, living on your own and merrily take on the festive tasks of visiting relatives on Christmas day. Everyone wants to know all about your single life and adventures. They'll even tell you how grown up you look up until the age of 33. It's another thing entirely to be a recently divorced, tired mother of three, alone on Christmas. People offer sentiments like, "How are you dear?" and "Are you making out alright?" They gaze at you with unbearable puppy dog eyes and clandestinely console you for your loss through too big smiles and too loud "Merry Christmas" voices. The thoughts of sipping stale eggnog with relatives I see once a year and being thrust the last present under the tree; the one reserved for unplanned houseguests, felt like more than I could bear this year. No, I wasn't man enough for it. So I chose to spend my 'First Christmas Day as a Single Mother' alone, flipping though Verizon Fios channels and popping the remaining kernels of corn I found at the bottom of my dwindling food cabinets. It wasn't really the merriest Christmas and not a particularly festive one, but it was the first time as a mother I had spent it alone. I've learned a lot about 'firsts' this past year and a half and the good thing about them is you never have to go through them again. Next year I'll at least toss a few Christmas balls on that pine branch in the vase on the dining room table and maybe I'll buy a new couch.

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<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC '-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN' 'http://www.w3.org/TR/html4/loose.dtd'>; <html><head><title>Article Intelligence | First Christmas Alone for Mother (Part 2)</title></head><body><h3>First Christmas Alone for Mother (Part 2)</h3><br><br> By: Suzanne Wells<br><br><p><p>Copyright (c) 2010 Suzanne Wells</P><p>So I lay there in bed on Christmas Eve and reflected on the next day; my thoughts teetering between self pity and relief. When the great morning arrived I stumbled out of bed, patted the dog on the head, handed him a bag of bones and tossed a catnip toy over to the cat lurking in the corner. "Merry Christmas" I murmured, and shuffled off to make my tea.</P><p>It was weird and very, very quiet. I kept saying "It's Christmas" to the chairs and sofa as I passed them on their carefully placed posts perched throughout the house. I reminded the dog and cat several times throughout the day that, "It's Christmas, remember?" The house seemed so normal because I hadn't done any holiday house decorating at all this year. Forlorn, the kids finally brought in a branch from the old pine tree outside and stuck it in a vase on the kitchen table.</P><p>"Look Ma', a Christmas Tree!" they proudly peeped from their little kids circle around the table. I glanced over at the lonely little branch sitting there in the dry vase.</P><p>"Yeah, it's cute" I offered, trying to sound brighter than I felt. I was hoping to rally some leftover remnants of last year's Christmas magic or something. Instead my voice came out flat and oddly overly cheerful. The sentence seemed to hang in the room for a moment between us all and then sadly drifted onto the floor. Alone on Christmas morning I peeked out my windows and wondered if the neighbors realized it was Christmas. I peered into their houses across the yard to see if I could make out any Christmas-like activity going on in the neighborhood. For all I knew I knew it could have been President's day or something. People are shocked when they realize you are spending Christmas alone. They get a nervous twitch in their faces and their voices start to shrill with desperate attempts to help you. My mom called two sets of cousins to make sure I received proper invitations for dinner on Christmas night. On the phone, my sister made several suggestions to ease my apparent pain.</P><p>"Go to our cousin Jay's house" she insisted, "It'll cheer you up, it will be good to get out."</P><p>"Did Aunt Norma call?" my mom insisted, "you remember where she lives, right? I'm sure you'll be welcome there."</P><p>I muttered, murmured and assured everyone I was fine. But I wasn't really fine and it did feel weird, this silent little Christmas with furniture and pets wordlessly staring at me. For days I shuffled around the house unable to propel myself anywhere but to the fireplace for another smoke. It's one thing to be single, living on your own and merrily take on the festive tasks of visiting relatives on Christmas day. Everyone wants to know all about your single life and adventures. They'll even tell you how grown up you look up until the age of 33. It's another thing entirely to be a recently divorced, tired mother of three, alone on Christmas. People offer sentiments like, "How are you dear?" and "Are you making out alright?" They gaze at you with unbearable puppy dog eyes and clandestinely console you for your loss through too big smiles and too loud "Merry Christmas" voices. The thoughts of sipping stale eggnog with relatives I see once a year and being thrust the last present under the tree; the one reserved for unplanned houseguests, felt like more than I could bear this year. No, I wasn't man enough for it. So I chose to spend my 'First Christmas Day as a Single Mother' alone, flipping though Verizon Fios channels and popping the remaining kernels of corn I found at the bottom of my dwindling food cabinets. It wasn't really the merriest Christmas and not a particularly festive one, but it was the first time as a mother I had spent it alone. I've learned a lot about 'firsts' this past year and a half and the good thing about them is you never have to go through them again. Next year I'll at least toss a few Christmas balls on that pine branch in the vase on the dining room table and maybe I'll buy a new couch.<br></P></p> <br><br> <b>Author Resource:-></b>  Suzanne Wells is an freelance writer, poet, author and mother of 3. She is a teacher of yoga, dance and Ayurveda and can usually be found at sunrise ushering the sun over the horizon with song. Her unfinished book lies floating in pieces in the Internet clouds at <A href="http://www.roundearthsquarepeople.blogspot.com">http://www.roundearthsquarepeople.blogspot.com</A><br><br><br><b>Article From</b> <a href='http://www.articleintelligence.com/'>Article Intelligence</a><br></body></html>