Christmas Away From Home (Part 1)

When you're from Christmas Island, every day is like Christmas. So when the actual holiday rolls around, we like to pack up the sled, hitch the team and head for sunnier climes.

This year as every year since I got married, we're spending the holidays in Southern California with the in-laws. Usually the Missus flies down for 10 days or so, and I drive down at the last minute, snatch my wholly unearned holiday largesse, and race back to Christmas Island with her within 72 hours of arrival.

This year, however, the presence of the Man Cub upended the usual itinerary. The thought of sending him away with The Missus and not seeing him for more than a week proved even more stressful than the prospect of 10 days away from home. (The Missus would refer to this as a paradigm shift.)

I should explain that ol' Fang is like a rare flower, one that thrives in darkness and definitely doesn't travel well. There's a reason I usually blow into town for just a couple days before hightailing it back home. So this Christmas represents a real challenge for our family unit. For me, it's how long can I deal with being away from home before I go crazy, and for the Missus it's how crazy is too crazy before I divorce this dope's fucking ass.

The story so far - I'd give myself about a C. No real eruptions yet, but I have been by turns petulant, short-tempered, unyielding and hurtful. We gave me a time-out last night, one that will end around lunch today. Fortunately, to quote Sarah Conner in Terminator 2, “I'm feeling much better now.”

This in spite of the fact that the family dog, in his old age and advancing decrepitude, keeps slipping on the in-laws' hardwood steps (lacquered and buffed to a diamond-like smoothness) and tumbling down the stairs on his ass. Not to mention that the Man Cub is on a poo strike requiring manual manipulation of de-constipatory agents, which agents took explosive effect during a lunch date with The Best Man (see next paragraph).

On the upside, yesterday we had lunch in the County of Orange with my Best Man and his family. According the Missus, the salubrious effects of The Best Man's company upon my attitude were immediately apparent. Nobody pulls my head out of my ass quicker than he does.

Unfortunately, he's flying back to his home base today, leaving me to deal with my aberrant-personality issues without his magic to steady me just as the high-profile, Dockers-required family and friends holiday events ramp up in earnest. Looks like I picked the wrong lifetime to quit drinking.

Stay tuned…