The DHX: The Doughtie Houses Exchange

Sewing new pictures and details on the stockings is my favorite part of the holidays. Sewing quiets the worry part of my brain. My brain follows its rhythms, thinks a space ahead and generates ideas as I need them. I’m in flow. Sewing is my own. It’s not a holiday tradition in any of our families — or it wasn’t before. I’m making it a tradition for us. Doing it delights me, and everyone else seems to get a kick out of it, too.

Spending holidays together is hard. But spending them apart would be harder. For us, at least. When I partnered with G, the holidays changed. Now, every holiday, five people’s desires and feelings come into consideration: mine, G’s, Kathy’s, Chris’s and Jack’s. We don’t feel in isolation. We’re connected. If one person is in pain, it affects others of us — often all of us. So far I don’t think we’ve ever found a configuration where everyone is ecstatic over the holidays, but we’re getting better at finding ways of doing things that people are okay with.

My understanding of the situation may not be entirely accurate, but here is what I see: G and Kathy both very much want to be with the kids on the major holidays. G and Kathy would both be very sad not to be with the kids. When either G or Kathy is really sad about something, the kids feel it, too, and are affected. I’m affected, too. G is my partner and Kathy is my friend. Kathy is also the mother of my stepkids — a vital person in their lives, and mine. I care about G and about Kathy, and I don’t want to see or imagine either of them sad or lonely on a holiday.

Being all together is tense. I feel like an outsider. I feel almost invisible, except as a landmark — a sign that things are not the way they were. I have pretty good relationships with everyone on a one-on-one basis, but when you put all of these people with all of these different histories and perspectives and irritation triggers and overwhelm points in one room, there is a lot going on: ghosts in the room, buttons getting pushed, layers of Christmases past, holiday traditions I have only inklings about. I feel at sea. I feel adrift. I feel like an obstacle. Getting reassuring physical affection from G feels awkward, but I crave it even more than usual.

I am thinking about getting a dog.

I don’t like dogs, generally. But I love some of them, individually. And I think I love cocker spaniels in general. It would be nice to have an extra furry warm little soul around.

A couple of years ago, we did one Christmas Eve separately. I had a lot of the same feelings I had when we are together: ghosts in the room, layers of holiday memories, still feeling like an outsider, plus subdued kids, a solemn G and knowing that Kathy was upset and somewhere else. It wasn’t better. It was worse.

Christmases where I have as much freedom, autonomy, and as many relatively easy social interactions as I used to might be a thing of the past, whether we’re together or apart. Given that, I’d rather be together. Inclusiveness is better. The awkward feelings might not be something we can get rid of as long as we are so connected, no matter what we do, or how we configure holidays. But when we’re together, there’s also possibility and active love woven in with the torment. And conversation. And funny moments. And discoveries — like that It’s a Wonderful Life is actually a beautiful movie. And the torment is actually kind of okay, in its own way. It’s growing on me.

Meanwhile, I’m finding my own things to add: sewing, Christmas movies from my childhood, maybe a cocker spaniel, maybe more people — maybe a full on party! What would happen if we pooled our friends? It could be amazing.

Most of all, though, I’m grateful for the days that aren’t holidays. Because I love G like crazy. And I love having the kids in my life. I love Chris and Jack. They light up my life. And I love Kathy. I love the inspiration and ideas and sense of possibility I get from her. I love our menagerie.