Wednesday, December 15, 2010
(Nick with his new sister-in-law at his brother's wedding in 2005. I mined this from Nick's long dormant MySpace page (!!), which required remembering my own login information in order to access. There was a time, when cell phone ownership was not given and text-messaging rare, that I used MySpace as a primary form of communication. Alien. )
Monday we got back from visiting Nick's brother and sister-in-law (my imminent in-laws. my imminin-laws.) in D.C. They have a quaint rowhouse in Capitol Hill's historic district. We descended on holiday markets and museums and breakfast joints with chatty frenetic energy.
Honestly, in recent years, Christmas has been a source of great unhappiness for me. I long each year for it to be over, to put twelve more months between me and that fraught day, the one that spins me into unfathomable blackness for a week. Because I don't have a steely robot heart, I do adore picking out gifts for all my people and the garlands and lights that adorn December streets, but beyond that I am afraid that the looming days of "togetherness" become something of a Sword of Damocles that I fervently wish away.
So you would think that the notion of perhaps compromising my known celebration to encompass my two new families, as Nick's parents are divorced, would not find me in weepy panic.
You would think.