I have a love-hate relationship with the holidays. I’m a giver at heart, and I love to bless the people I care about as best as I can. The holidays are supposed to be filled with joyful moments, and while there’s definitely some of that, they also bring a lot of anxiety for me. Between coordinating schedules with the kids, figuring out who will be where, and trying to make the most of the time we have, it’s overwhelming. There’s always a part of me that wants everything to be picture-perfect, but the reality of blended family life doesn’t always fit that vision.

We don’t really have a set schedule for Halloween. It’s always been, if you have them on that day, then you get to take them trick-or-treating. I can only remember one year since my husband and I have been together that we’ve actually had the kids for Halloween. We do take them to local events or trunk-or-treats if they’re with us, but it’s hard to justify going all out on costumes when we’re not sure they’ll even get to use them on the big day.

Halloween isn’t really a major holiday in the traditional sense, but it can still be tricky when our youngest asks why her siblings won’t be going out to get candy with her. It’s hard to explain that sometimes they have to be with their other family. I always struggle with questions like that, because I don’t want her to feel like she’s missing out or that her siblings aren’t a part of these fun moments. But at the same time, I want her to understand that family time looks different for us—and that’s okay.

Thanksgiving tends to be a little better. We rotate each year who has the kids for the week, and this year happens to be our turn. If it’s not, we still make a big meal for them the next time they are with us, even if all they end up eating are the Hawaiian rolls—which, let’s be honest, is pretty standard for kids on Thanksgiving! We did miss one year that was supposed to be ours, though, when my husband and I both had COVID at the same time. It was during the height of the pandemic, and we didn’t want to risk the kids getting sick, so we had to sit that one out.

This will be the fourth year that we’re heading to my mom’s in Oklahoma. It’s a lot of fun, even though we all pack into her three-bedroom house. We bring air mattresses and turn the living room into a fort using couch cushions. The kids love it! Our 10-year-old has this tradition where he always requests my mom’s monkey bread. That’s the only thing he wants for Thanksgiving. When I told him recently that we were going to my mom’s again this year, the first thing out of his mouth was, “Yes! Is she making monkey bread again?”

It warms my heart to see how much they enjoy being around my family. Even more, it means so much to me that my family has opened their arms and hearts to four bonus grandchildren. Watching everyone bond together over the holidays reminds me that there is something so beautiful about the way love brings us all together.

Christmas, on the other hand… Christmas brings anxiety on strong. Like I mentioned earlier, I’m a giver at heart. I put so much thought into the gifts I give because I want everyone to feel special, I want everyone to have an equal amount of presents, and most of all, I just want everyone to be happy. Our Christmas schedule is a bit complicated, but it stays the same each year. We get the kids for a few days after school lets out, and then on Christmas Eve, they go back to their mom’s house. After a couple of days with her, they return to us and stay through the new year. It does hurt that we don’t ever get to wake up on Christmas morning with them. I think where the hurt comes from is not getting to see our youngest open “Santa gifts” with them. 

The Christmas I was pregnant with our youngest was by far the worst Christmas I’ve ever experienced. It was our first Christmas in our new house, and I was a month away from having a baby. To say I was stressed is an understatement. Back then, we didn’t have the current holiday schedule in place. On this particular year, we got kids on Christmas Eve for a couple hours, but I was determined to make it special.

I already had anxiety because the previous year, we had set a time on Christmas day to get the kids. It was three hours later that she finally dropped them off and said, “I didn’t figure they would miss much here anyways.” So I opted out of picking them up and sent my husband by himself. Our oldest was already at our house helping prepare the meal.

We had dinner nearly ready when they arrived, and while I was trying to hold it all together, our then-10-year-old was in a mood from the moment he walked through the door. He didn’t want to come down for dinner, didn’t want to join in our conversations, and was just… distant.

My husband and I went upstairs to check on him, hoping to figure out what was wrong. At first, he wouldn’t open up, but eventually, he told us he didn’t like our house and didn’t want to be there. I felt this wave of sadness wash over me as I listened to him. He finally said, “My mom’s house has a trampoline, and there’s a TV in my room.” I was crushed. I’d spent so much time trying to create a special Christmas for them, and downstairs there was a brand new TV and Xbox waiting to be unwrapped. But none of that mattered at that moment.

The rest of the conversation is a bit of a blur, honestly. I was trying to hold it together, but when my husband asked him if he understood what he was saying, our son looked at him and said, “I hate you, and I hate coming over here.” Then he turned to me, looked me straight in the eyes, and repeated the same thing.

Crushed is the only word that comes to mind when I think back to that moment.

We decided that night to have him sit out on opening gifts until we could process everything that had happened. We explained to him that he wasn’t “grounded” for how he felt, but that because of the hurtful things said, he wouldn’t be playing with his siblings’ new toys that evening. We told him that once he came back from his mom’s, we’d sit down and talk things through again. But that night, we got a phone call from his mom. He’d told her that we said he could never play with his siblings while he was at our house. The hurt just kept piling on.

At that time, I wasn’t in a good place physically, mentally, or spiritually. My pregnancy had been tough, and I was struggling not just with my own emotions but also with how to respond to the kids and my husband when things didn’t feel right. I believed in God, but looking back, my actions didn’t reflect that belief. I was trying to control every aspect of our blended family life, especially during the holidays, and it was taking its toll.

Since then, I still feel some anxiety around the holidays, but I’ve grown stronger in my faith. I’ve learned that no matter how hard I try to make everything perfect, God’s plan is always greater than mine. It’s comforting to know that even in the messiness, there’s a purpose behind it all. Sometimes, I think about how much easier it might be to just go on a trip instead of putting so much energy into gifts for each kid, but I don’t know if we’re quite there yet.