feeling smug

When I was raising my kid, she and I were our only relatives in our watershed, in Minnesota. I started out single parenthood trekking dutifully to spend 'the holidays' with my family of origin so the kid would have better holidays.  My dad and most of my siblings were in Chicago, along with, as Rosie got older, a few cousins for her. My mom, and another sibling or two, with another batch of cousins could be found in Ohio.

Everyone travels to spend 'the holidays' with kinfolk, right? Esp a single mom with one lonely toddler.

Gradually, I noted that virtually any time we traveled between November and March, we'd run into snow. We drove a lot. When it snows in Wisconsin, the interstate near Madison turns into a hellish vortex. It's some kind of pocket for misery, sucking in intense winds that knock you off the road and into hotels.

The last time I drove during winter months between Chicago and Minneapolis, I was with my mom, my daughter and a friend who had caught a ride to Chi-town. We had to go all the way into Madison before we found a room and it was expensive .. but, at least, it had an indoor pool. When we had no swimsuits, we went out and bought some.  It always feels so great to pull off the interstate to get out of a blizzard after driving for several hours in hell. The room, even when it is a dingy crap hotel, feels cosy, toasty, homey. Whatever food you eat tastes great, even if it's just crap in the machines in the hotel laundry room, like candy bars and potato chips.

Eventually, by fiat, I announced that we would never travel for 'the holidays'. Even when we went by plane, a snowstorm somewhere would mess up travel. You don't have to be in the city with the blizzard to have your flight cancelled.  There just has to be a blizzard somewhere to mess up travel.  I hate being stuck in airports or airport hotels, if you are lucky.

So Rosie and I, from the time she was four or five, stayed home for Christmas. We had Cornish game hens on Xmas Eve, opened some presents early and then more on Christmas Day. On Christmas Day, we went out for Chinese food at The Great Wall restaurant and then to the movies. If Katie were speaking to me, she might tell you about the Christmas Day -- I am hanging my head in shame, this is proof that I am unworthy of her love, I admit it -- I took her to see The Prince of Tides, a noisy Barbara Streisand movie.  I thought it was a romantic comedy. Barbara plays a psychiatirst who treats Nick Nolte for childhood sexual abuse, with him and his siblings. It was an inappropriate movie to take any child to see, much less on Christmas.

I should have just left when I realized how awful it was. But all the theaters at the multiplex were stuffed with people. One reason I had chosen Prince of Tides was simply because tickets were available. It's not like we could duck out and duck into another movie.

So I toughed it out. And she threw that bad judgment in my face many times.


I always wonder if she thinks of me on Christmas. And if she remembers The Prince of Tides.