My daughter babbles, in email, to her boyfriend, a word I still pronounce as though it were another language entirely, enunciating clearly. She lists plans that are considered for this holiday, excited to take part and also looking, I think, for something in them to make uniquely her own. It is exciting to her, as it is to the sons of the flesh. And now I think her brother will also take some part, and between them they wish to create something of the sort in my new home, for Anala and Asher and Aden, and Caprice and Lark and Whimsy if they will come.
It gives me a head ache. I know already it is an argument I am destined to lose. If my two eldest children wish to make the Christmas for the younger and their cousin-siblings, then they will, and my role will be to tell them where to place the candles and to enlist Lyria to make the food. But I cannot imagine what stories will be told, what songs to be sung. I know about carols of course; I have played and sung them at times, most recently this morning with Noah. But in my own home? I am not certain I can have them echo.
And the songs we would have sung of old of what comes at Christmas would have been very different.
But to bring this into my home…they say what is the harm to try it. What is the harm? I cannot even begin to express what this question means. Not only is there the past, but there are memories of opening San’s gifts, and then the memory of last year: conceiving Asher and then, a week later, the leaving.
Ah it annoys me. San is very stupid. He could have been with me in this, amused, watching our children create all this. He could have come to the meal and laughed with me. Instead he allowed his system once again to destroy love and our bond and for what? Because, it seems, Lohr was unamused at a joke about alimony. Ah that is unfair as I am certain there were other reasons, but once again they were not explained. San and I had plans for that night. And then…nothing. So disrespectful. Disrespect is a hallmark of this holiday, with these others and these parents.
If he were sitting in it with me perhaps it would be more tolerable. Well, the San of old, in any case. Not the newer one. And Mikael, for all that he would sit well I think, is not their father.
I waffle between a stern no, and a tentative all right.
The warrior queen says the only manner to deal with cognitive dissonance of the sort is to have a glass of wine and go along with it, to take the good and make note of what to avoid the following year. I suppose it is good advice. But I may also say no to my children. I could ask Lyria if they might use her cottage, even if she weeps for Mary. I will consider.
I edit to add: I like this post very much.