Ho. Ho. Bloody Ho.

So that's another Christmas over and done with.  Well, nearly.  And thank God (or Jesus, perhaps?) for that.  There WILL come a time when it is a day I look forward to and truly celebrate again...and not just dread for weeks and then limp through wanly with a drag queen smile plastered on my face.

At least I got to spend most of the day with my boys, for which I guess I should be very grateful.

They went to their dads the night before Christmas Eve.  The arrangement Ex and I have had for the past 2 years (this is our 3rd Christmas since we separated) is that we would always spend Christmas and their birthdays together.  This was a principle that I insisted upon, because I had always hated the fact that as a child, ever since my parents divorced, we were never able to celebrate a single event together as a family.  And I have always wished that was different.  Christmas and birthdays were never the same again with one parent always absent.

How ironic then, that I seem to be the one struggling the most following through with our agreement.  This year I just wanted to run screaming for the hills rather than face a day with Ex, painfully aware of my every move, gesture and word in his presence.  Unable to relax for a single moment and conscious of every forced conversation - trying, oh so hard, to be polite and cheerful and natural.  There felt nothing natural about my performance today.  By the time I left, feeling guilty about leaving the boys before their bedtime, I was emotionally wrought and physically exhausted.

Of course, it didn't help that plans had, unbeknownst to me, changed from those we had agreed upon over the 'phone a week ago.  Ex confirmed he was going to be alone with the boys - and I was to join them.  I enquired about AG's plans, to a non-commital response, so I took a deep breath and suggested she should join us in the afternoon - and then late afternoon I would leave them to it.

I wake up in my friend's beautiful home and spend an hour with her family, the children tearing their way through the piles of presents while the adults sip coffee and take pains to avoid the dreaded video camera.  My friend has bought me luxurious gifts and written a card that almost has me in tears.  Part of me just wants to hole up in their house all day and another part of me is itching to see the boys.

Before 9am I drive to Ex's home and, of course, who is the first voice I hear before the door is open?  It's her.  She's there.  She's woken up with my children on Christmas morning and is seemingly going to be there all day.  As I stand on the threshold to the house (where I can hear my boys leaping over each other to be the first to the door, to let mummy in) I can feel my blood pressure sky rocket and there is practically steam coming out of my ears.  I am instantly livid to the point of turning puce and feel totally ambushed.  What a disrespectful fucker.  Why couldn't he have warned me?  My little two year old self wanted to have an almighty tantrum.  The teenager in me was in a monumental huff.  Luckily my adult self managed to seize control before the door opened and I was able to stuff my bitch face grimace into the waistband of my control top tights (really, there is nothing that can escape those buggers) and plaster a Happy Christmas smile on my face.

Watch out for the Oscar nomination, folks, in January.  I'm telling you, it's definitely on the cards this year.

There were hugs all round, but I couldn't look Ex in the eye.  Far be it from me to confront the issue and effectively 'spoil the day'.  Ex and AG cooked breakfast, while the boys showed me the gifts they had already unwrapped in their stockings.  AG was as pleasant as ever (I really can't find one single person to say a bad word about her - even those that have made it their life's ambition to nitpick the hell out of anybody and everybody - which is just so damned irritating, isn't it?).  I didn't have much of an appetite (actually not true - I pretended not to be hungry purely to be petulant and because this whole sitting around the table, 'breaking bread together' still makes me feel like a bit of a prune...as though I am somehow being made a fool of by being so compliant with AG in our lives).

After breakfasts, we opened gifts.  And I guess that is when I started to relax and accept the new version of Christmas v.2010.  Of course, the focus was completely on the boys and they were so overjoyed with everything that they opened, it was easy to be distracted.  AG and I sat near each other, but I still can't bring myself to initiate a conversation directly with her.  There is not a single molecule in my body that can feign any interest whatsoever in her life and adventures with my (soon to be ex) husband.  It's all just a little too close to home.  But her presence does make things a little easier between Ex and I.  A buffer.  I try hard not to scrutinise her too closely and formulate questions in my head, like "WHY does he prefer you, exactly?" and "are you a bit of an animal in bed, because I just can't picture that myself?"  I wonder if she thinks the same about me?  Probably not.  Hence the preference, possibly.

The boys bounce all over me, like over grown puppies, lavishing me with affection and insisting that I help out with their new lego projects.  AG has bought me a book that I wanted and written a thoughtful card, thanking me for letting her be a part of the boys birthdays and Christmas.  I have bought her a bag full of Lush goodies from the boys, which seems to go down well.  It's all very civil, verging on pleasant.

Then, unexpectedly, AG leaves to see her family.  I am relieved - yet it is far more awkward without her around.  The next few hours are strange.  As though we are playing happy families.  I keep laughing and joking with the boys, but inside I feel lost at sea and lonely - in their house, surrounded by pictures of their happy coupledom.  I spot a picture of AG and the boys in their bedroom and it instantly fans the flames of jealousy and resentment.  Am I wrong to feel it's a liberty?  How would he feel if the situation was reversed?  Even after 2 years of separation, it still feels way too soon to accept this other woman's place in the boys lives.  I can't stand seeing the physical evidence of all the things that they do together.  It smarts like a fresh wound all over again.  I just ache to leave - not the boys, but definitely this home where I do not belong.  Where I have no place at all.

Late afternoon, I decide to leave.  The boys are sad and ask me to stay.  They want me to sleep over.  How much do they understand of this situation, I wonder?  Do they see us making an effort to get along and think....maybe?  Maybe if we just nudge the situation a little, our family will be reinstated.  At Christmas.

I feel guilty as I kiss them goodbye.  Their hugs are reluctant and I know I am letting them down by not staying longer.  By not having the strength to see this day out to the bitter end.  I leave, berating myself internally, and struggling not to cry as I drive away in the snow.  It's just another day and I have done the best that I could.  But, yet again, I don't think it's been good enough.

It's just not how Christmas should be - but it will be the last one of its kind.  That's the intention.