"Going to a junkyard is a sobering experience. There you can see the ultimate destination of almost everything we desired." —Roger Von Oech, A Wack On The Side of the Head

I read this the other day and have since been trying to keep it in mind as Christmas creeps closer and closer and my bank account gets lower and lower. It seems that once you have a child there is so much pressure on you as a parent to perform in many areas, and acquiring "stuff" is a big one.

It was at the mall last night, where I was desperately searching for "stuff" to buy for Adrian, that this quote helped me the most.

Looking at rocket ships, dinosaurs, train sets — all overpriced — and parents stumbling over one another to have them; I thought about all of the toys that Adrian has had since he's been born. Then I thought about where they all ended up: either broken and in the garbage or outdated and donated.

We don't have tons of money, at all. Levi is still not contributing and as Adrian's birthday is so close to Christmas I'm still stuck playing a little bit of catch up from that.

As much as I'd like to, I simply can't afford to have a dozen presents under the tree and besides which, are these monetary, materialistic values the type that I'd like to instill in my son, anyhow? The answer is no.

It took a bit of reasoning with myself but I'm feeling okay with it now. Adrian is getting four presents from me (well, two Santa gets the credit for) and we will spend the rest of the day basking in each other's company — and maybe playing in the snow.

Christmas will be about more than gifts. It will also be about appreciating each other and strengthening the bond of our family.

I wish you all a very happy holiday.

Faith

If we took all the parents whose kids will be going with the other side of the family this holiday and put them all in once place, we'd probably have to ask the NFL to give up half their stadiums for a day. Talk about the perfect dating-after-divorce opportunity!

Seriously...parents who end up alone on a holiday are an awkward lot. If it's you, it's easy to fall into feeling sorry for yourself. Lonely, absurd...all the possible uncomfortable words can apply.

Stop it! The kids have it much worse. They are human ping-pong balls expected to pop back and forth between allegiances seamlessly. They don't want to be doing this, either. Trying to please everybody is a royal pain.

Here are 5 attitude adjusters to get you through if you will be solo without your kids for the holiday:

1. For a very short window you have no responsibility...this will pass quickly use it wisely — it's a gift.

2. You can lay on the couch for absolutely no reason, not make your bed, throw your towels on the floor, leave dishes in the sink — everything you tell them not to do — without guilt. Until they return.

3. You can go wherever you want, with whomever you want, and do whatever you want and not have to be home until they come back.

4. You can hit the road and be an adventurous visitor to people you never have time to catch up with.

5. Kids are telegrams for family gossip — you'll get all the latest dirt about everything and everybody when they return.

Critical reminder: It takes kids a few days once they get home to come back from loyalty to the other side. It's not you...give them a break.

Leave me a comment saying "solo on the on holiday"...and I'll drop you one back...because my kid's going with her dad and I get it.

Email Debbie anytime: [email protected]

Okay, so Peter from Pelham never panned out. But the hits, they keep on coming, complete with lots of pep talk ("we're excited you're interested in Joe The Plumber!) and mumbo jumbo about my chemistry profile: it seems I'm a negotiator/explorer who is gracious, enthusiastic, and flexible (why thank you very much) who would have "jolly times" and "hearty laughs" with my matches.

And so far, I certainly have had some hearty laughs over their idea of my matches. I couldn't have been clearer that I'm a card carrying, blue state, bleeding heart liberal. If there had been a box that said Would Bear Obama's Children, I would have checked it. So why is chemistry.com sending me so many conservatives?

Or liars, like Wayne, who billed himself as being 53: "I'm a creative, caring, and passionate renaissance man who is 68 chronologically, but 53 in mind, energy, and spirit."

And Stuart, with his "cool Riverside pad" who is "looking for a lifelong romp or casual encounters." He too admits to being 57, but says he "looks 45."

Then there are the scary, grammatically challenged guys like the 6'4" correction guard, who presents himself like this, verbatim: "Just a nice guy looking for a companion friend at first...Not into liars, cheats, or game players. Trust is big in any type of relationship. I don't {like}people who will do certain things just to curb their curiosity. If your (sic) a person willing to have an affair with a married person then your (sic) a cheat even if you say you love them. I don't like liars and cheats your (sic) hurting alot of people when you do. I like up front and honest people who don't play with your emotions." EEK! More than a little angry?

In bed the other morning, we're laying there talking or arguing, whatever you want to call it, about the same old issues that never go away. Because they don't. And the thing that's worth bringing up here has nothing to do with the issues. At this point, they're all just blah, blah, blah.

What's different is how we start talking and keep going and no one walks away before we're done. That was how we used to do it. Walk away. Hold it in. Spit little sharp nails of spite at each other, that passive-aggressive bullshit. But never talk about what we weren't talking about.

When I have to tell the truth, Sam and I still have a lot to learn about the finer points of using our words. But give some credit for trying. Now what I recognize when we fight is it's the words not the ideas we're reacting to, the words and their delivery make it more argument than discussion.

I can stop the whole thing and talk to Sam about not knowing how to talk about it. And I do; it's a new thing I've been doing. When I say I don't know how to talk about whatever it is, suddenly the idea becomes the focus, and we're trying to figure out what that idea is and what we each believe about it.

We still have the same problems, they're the kind you can't talk away, and at the end of three hours taking them apart, we weren't any closer to resolving them, but I left the conversation satisfied. It's a huge improvement.

Any progress is good progress.

You don't KNOW if you don't TRY. So I'm applying myself to my marriage to see if it might work. And things are shifting.

Then at our last counseling session Rob spilled to our therapist that I had complained our work with her had been overly focused on him. I had told him that in confidence! I was horrified when — apparently unaware this would be a problem — he let on. I was left sitting there sheepishly, making excuses as to why I said what I said ("It was in jest!"), trying to convince her I had no problems with how things were going.

Anyway, I didn't mind the neglect. Rob is paying for these sessions; I guess the unbalanced attention allowed me to feel okay about not contributing to the fee. So as the therapist spent our time week after week asking Rob about his relationship to drinking and encouraging him to work on communication and connection, I didn't argue. It's not like I wouldn't benefit immensely from his improvements in those areas, so I watched patiently and hoped the work would stick.

And I assumed she felt it important for me to witness his determination and growth. Why else would she kinda ignore me for him all those times?

Whatever we're doing there, it seems to be working. I've felt more kindly and warm toward Rob. We're both more quiet and calm — with each other and others. I mean, I didn't even blow when he told our therapist about my complaints. It felt like a betrayal for him to embarrass me like that, but whatever. Perhaps I've finally learned not to sweat the small stuff.  

"Who is he?" the Good Doctor asked me about Jack, my new man. I looked at her quizzically. "Where have you seen this person before?" she said. "He must remind you of someone in your past for you to be so comfortable with him so quickly."

Oh. We'd agreed that my ex, Edgar, was my father. (Yikes!)

I thought for a moment (one of the very expensive moments that come in a 50-minute hour) and drew a blank.

"Nobody," I said. "He doesn't remind me of anybody else."

He was far more honest and open than the other men this sick puppy had been involved with. And he was eager to help me with pretty much anything — something else I'd never seen a lot.

I concluded that he was different from all who had come before, which made him ideal.

There are none so blind as those who will not see... 

Jack and I have been together for months now, and I think I've figured out who he is: both of my controlling parents.

Oh, dear.

This didn't occur to me until I read Elaina's post from Friday. "We seek," she wrote, "not only what we know, but what we know will force us to grow."

Great. As if living once again in the same town as my parents wouldn't be enough to stretch me.

I have no idea yet what I'll do with this insight. I have decided that running down the road screaming isn't an option.

For now.

I know that when I'm not mad at Jack, he's fabulous. When I am mad at him, I'll try to recall that my history may have something to do with it.

Either way, he's a blessing. And way cuter than many of the other hard lessons I've chosen for myself.    

Isn't social networking great? Not only can I hop on the FWW Network and chat with women who are in a similar situation, but I have also reconnected with a bunch of people through other networking web sites whom I thought I would never speak to again. 

It's a little weird how ex-boyfriends and lukewarm friends from the past suddenly request to become "friends" on sites like Facebook. I had one friend look me up recently; things did not end well with her 10 years ago. She ended our friendship with a diatribe about how selfish I was and lo and behold now she's sending me messages saying she's so happy to find me, we really need to catch up, yadda, yadda, yadda.

My best friend from my early twenties found me online the other day. We were inseparable back when we were young and single, but job assignments took us to opposite ends of the globe and we eventually lost touch. Last night we chatted a bit and it's funny how similar our paths have been: We both got married, quit working, had kids, and became disenchanted with our marriages.

Here is where the differences become incredibly clear. She makes a swift decision to divorce her husband, gets offered a fantastic high six-figure job in an exotic country, travels the world with her child in tow and now spends her days writing a novel. By the way, she looks fantastic, like she hasn't aged a day.

Then there's me. I languish over whether to divorce my husband or not. I know that a divorce would mean a huge dip in income, and I would probably wind up in a tiny apartment with huge financial difficulties. I've gained a bunch of weight from the stress of the relationship problems, and no, I don't look as though I haven't aged a day. I look like I've aged about a billion days.

I wonder if men would change their behavior if they could be a woman for just one day.

This thought occurred to me as I was walking in downtown New York this morning.

Still in my pajamas, donning a big, billowy winter coat and hat with a cup of coffee in my hand waiting for the walk sign, a man stops his car at the light, rolls down the window and shouts, "Yeah, baby" and "I'd like to get a piece of that."

His hollering then provokes the other cat callers in the neighborhood, and trust me, there are enough of them.

Yuck.

All I feel is gross and embarrassed as I try to quickly scurry up the block.

And how else should anyone feel?

Do these people actually expect me to feel flattered? Does that man think that just maybe I'll approach his car window and give him my phone number — or even the time of day?

What's even more shocking is that this kind of behavior is everywhere. It's in the cities, the country, it's even in other countries. The fact that it's so prevalent leads me to believe one of two things: One, that someway, somehow this kind of behavior gets desirable results. Meaning that this kind of talk works on some women. Or, two, these people are just stupid — or worse. I don't know.

All I do know for sure is that now that I'm single, men not only look at me differently, they treat me differently. If I had been walking down the street with Levi this morning, nobody would have dared to say anything. (I wish I could say the same if I were walking with my two year old son, but unfortunately, a child doesn't deter them.)

I guess I had forgotten what it's like to be a single girl out there.

I'm not sure I like it.