Approximately 1.8 billion people, including children and infants, live without indoor plumbing, and the water source that they may have is often as much as a mile away.

I'm not getting up on a soap box; but this fact is important when you are trying to explain to your 12- and 13-year-old kids that our pipes breaking and being without a commode or bath for two days is a minor setback in the grand scheme of things.

Our plumbing broke, and there was no male counterpart to even pretend that he might be able to fix it. It was my problem. I called the plumber, but it was Sunday. He came Monday afternoon. We went to my brother's home to bathe, but as far as that other necessity, well, let's just say we improvised. 

No man. Well, there are many, many things I can think of that are much, much worse, in the grand scheme of things. And, on those rare occasions when I find that I actually have time to share with someone, over the age of 30, I'm so exhausted that it's a fleeting thought at best.

No man to fix my plumbing in my house, in my soul, in my body. And, that's alright. It may turn out to be alright for, well, forever. If men are only useful for plumbing and auto mechanics and, if you're lucky, garbage detail, but are not going to soothe your forehead when you are sick or rub your feet when you are tired or make dinner or run a bubble bath or buy some flowers, then to hell with it. 

So, I'm alone, like so many of my fellow FWW'ers. And, it's okay. Sometimes it's wonderful. Sometimes it's incredible. Yes, I wish I had a full time partner to share my life with, but I don't. However, what I do have is indoor plumbing, so I'm headed to the shower to bask in hot, running water, soap, steam, and my life, which, for the most part, is a very good life. 

For as many years as I can remember New Year's Eve has been an evening of excitement, good times, laughter, and anticipation for me. Ranging from small to large get-togethers with good friends to standing in Times Square, shivering and waiting for the ball to drop, it's always been a joy. I can remember that feeling of newness and starting fresh surging through me for weeks after New Year's Day.

This year however, was different. In all honesty, it just kind of snuck up on me. And, with Adrian's birthday, the anticipation and stress of Christmas, and the subsequent sigh of relief after it was all over, it's no wonder New Years wasn't doing much for me this year.

I had to work on New Year's Day, so going out the night before wasn't the most realistic of options anyway, but as it turns out, even if I had wanted to go out, babysitters charge a fortune on New Year's Eve.  It just wasn't worth it to me.

My best friend is also a single mom. "What are you doing New Year's Eve?" she asked me. "Nothing." I replied.

She wasn't doing anything either, so she invited us to her house for dinner and suggested that we could watch the ball drop on TV that night.

So, that's what we did. It was a windy, freezing cold night in New York on New Year's Eve. We went over to Rachel's house and had a fabulous dinner. Adrian played for a few hours and was the first to conk out around nine. Then Rachel and I then climbed into her comfy bed and popped in a Desperate Housewives DVD (I'm getting all of my friends hooked on that show) with plans to turn off the DVD and switch to the Times Square coverage a few minutes before midnight. We were both asleep before the first episode was over.

I slept, for a solid eleven hours for the first time since Adrian has been born. I awoke feeling rested in a way that I never thought I could feel again. A new, rested, ready-to-go me in time for the New Year.

It was while wrapping Christmas presents that I thought of him. The memories tend to sneak up on me like that now; something unexpected will trigger this explosion in me and they come flooding back in.

I thought of our last Christmas together. The one where Adrian was just twelve days old. That one, where I was still white knuckled, sick to my stomach, clinging to the hope that he wouldn't do exactly what he's done: leave us. I did everything for him, his way, hoping that he would stay. Right down to circumcising my son (which I didn't want to do) and giving Adrian his last name (which I've come to regret more than you can know). I understand now that desperation will do these things to you; make you give parts of yourself that you otherwise would never consider.

I thought of that day, how stressed out my body was from just giving birth and the lack of sleep that ensued, but how in comparison that was nothing on how stressed out my mind was. 

I remembered how I tried to push everything away and fight the reality of the situation. How I tried to make myself believe that everything would be okay despite how wrong everything felt. Despite how it felt like my whole universe had come undone.

"That was two years ago," I said aloud to myself.

Wow, two whole years and sometimes it can still hurt like it was yesterday.

But the pain is different now. I'm no longer that tortured woman. Now I wish I could go back and shake that lady that was once me. "What are you thinking?" I'd say to her. "Can't you see this is all about him? Where the hell did you put your self respect? Why are you compromising yourself for someone who obviously doesn't love you?"

That's what two years gives you — a lot of perspective and enough time for a fresh start.

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: dnigro@firstwivesworld.com

My husband and kids are coming upstairs. I'm in the kitchen preparing lunch and it sounds like my husband is having a rough time compelling my daughter up the stairs. He's losing his patience and my daughter is starting to freak out. Suddenly I hear my daughter cry and she runs up the stairs.   

"Daddy hurt me!" she yells, crying and hugging my legs.

Let me make sure you understand something: We don't hit our kids. My husband has never laid a hand on our kids in anger or discipline, so my guess is that he was carrying our son up the stairs and stumbled over our daughter. So the issue here isn't that my husband beats our kids, because he most certainly does not.

No, the issue here is how my husband reacts to this situation. Suddenly he's in front of me, saying, "I didn't hurt her! I didn't hurt her!" He sounds like our three-year-old son. For a brief moment, I have three kids instead of two. This is a common scenario when my husband gets frustrated with our daughter. His reasoning and reaction is temporarily comparable to a preschooler. It's maddening.

I wish he would remain the adult when dealing with our kids. I understand sometimes losing patience and getting frustrated, but my first instinct when my daughter is hurt is to help her to feel better and then deal with the details afterwards.

I'm not going to stand over her and argue whether she's really hurt or not. I'm going to make sure she's okay and then talk about what happened. If I had stumbled over her on the stairs I would apologize profusely instead of expending so much energy making sure everyone around me knew that it wasn't my fault.

In an instance like this where my daughter is hurt and my husband is also seeking my attention, my first priority will always be my daughter.  I don't know if that makes me a bad wife, but my husband is an adult and my daughter is four. Who would you turn your attention to?

Thanksgiving week has all the wind knocked out of me. Could just be my reaction to going down, down, down the rabbit hole. The Holidays are here.

Only thing I know is the only thing I want to do is curl up under my big old comforter and sleep. It’s the lack of time that has me feeling so defeated. My kids don’t have school all week and we don’t have childcare, don’t have the money for the extra child care, I should say, so what happens? I don’t have time to work.

We are caught right smack in the center exactly what I feared getting back into this. I have no time to work because we can’t afford to cover the business hours I need so jobs are left unfinished leaving me feeling further defeated and my pay further behind, which adds up to less childcare that we can afford and fewer things completed. It goes on like this until I’m right where I am now.

One big miserable puddle of blah. And I blame it on the marriage, when actually I should blame it on me.

My reasoning, skewed as it may be, is that when we were apart a couple things were absolute: I had several days every week to work because the kids were with Sam and I had to make it work because the alternatives were homelessness and starvatation.

This week, I’m giving thanks for my two beautiful, healthy girls, and the ability I have to back up, reconsider, and try it again. But I'm also questioning how much of my current situation is a self-fulfilling prophecy and why I can't have the structure to make room for work in the same way I did when I was separated.

Off topic here, I know, but my mind is still spinning around Obama, President-elect Obama and the Democrat's election night party last Tuesday in Portland. Until I write this, I won't be able to write anything else.

I took Roxie down to the Oregon Convention Center for the big party, past her bedtime before we even got there. She's been hooked on Obama since the primary last winter, back when she was half-way through kindergarten.

That this will be her earliest political memory. This election. This night. This president. Wow. I mean. Wow. Me, I'm stuck with a 36-year-old snapshot image of Richard Nixon's motorcade passing. Warren, OH, five days after my third birthday.

But, Roxie. She's got Obama and I know just the moment I want her to hold, the one she'll detail when she tells my great-grandchildren about the night he was elected.

There are 7,000, maybe, 8,000 people at convention center and John McCain is on both big screens conceding the race. We're at back edge of the crowd where it's less claustrophobic, Roxie on my hip so her head is the same height as most adults in the room.

You can't hear McCain over the noise.

There's an older African American woman, late 60s, early 70s, coming out toward the edge from deeper in the crowd and she stops in front of Roxie. Two teenagers behind her stop, too.

The woman takes Roxie's hand and holds it, looks her brown eyes into Roxie's blues.

She says. "We did this, baby. You and me."

And, I realize, for the first time in their lives I have hope for world my girls are growing into.