Eight days to go until Christmas, and we finally have a tree. After getting back from seeing Annie and Ruth, the kids and I bundled back into the car and picked out a six foot Douglas fir from the Christmas tree farm down the road and Otto and I managed to get it up with minimal swearing. There may have been an expletive or two when I trapped my finger between the trunk and the stand, and a couple more from my son when we stood back to admire our work, only for the tree to start tipping to the side.

While I sit by the electric fire sipping my lukewarm gingerbread latte – we stopped in at Betty's on the way back and Iris chuckled when I bought three more cinnamon rolls – I watch as Hannah cuts her cinnamon bun in half and then cuts one half into even smaller pieces, little bite size chunks of sticky dough for Ava. Hannah is careful not to get the frosting all over her hands, but Ava doesn't care. She grabs each piece her sister hands to her, gleefully mashing it into her mouth without a care in the world about how much sugar coats her fingers.

"You're such a good sister, Han," I muse. Hannah jumps at the sound of my voice over the Christmas music that's been playing all afternoon as we've dug out boxes of tinsel and garlands from the loft. She smiles at me and feeds another piece of bun to Ava.

"Thanks, Mom," she says quietly. "I love spending time with Ava." She puts an arm around Ava and says, "You're my favorite sister in the whole world, Avie-poo. You're the best baby and I love you so much."

Otto, who has been stringing lights up on the tree, says, "What about me? Am I your favorite brother?"

"You're my only brother," Hannah says. I can't help but wonder if that will always be true. If one of these days, their dad will settle down with someone and start a new family.

"Which means I'm the best," Otto says with a self-satisfied smile, pulling over a box of ornaments once he's done with the lights. Every year, my kids each buy one ornament of their choice to add to the tree along with all the decorations from years gone by, which can make for a rather eclectic bunch. There's no sense of cohesion – Hannah loves anything cutesy, especially if it's soft, and most of her choices have been felt animals, whereas Otto goes for anything kitsch, whether it's a dinosaur in a Santa hat or Father Christmas in a Hawaiian shirt reclining in a hammock.

This year is no different, and now Ava is added to the mix. I haven't seen their choices yet. When Hannah picked out hers and Ava's ornaments at TJ Maxx, she took my card to pay, keeping it a secret, and Otto got his last weekend when he was with his dad.

"What monstrosity have you chosen this year?" I ask, finishing off my latte and standing to help string up fifteen years' worth of ornaments, including a gaudy robot holding a wrapped gift.

"So rude, Mom, when have I ever chosen a monstrosity?"

I bend down and pick out the first decoration I see. A glittery tin of sardines, the lid pulled back to reveal four sardines looking out. He chose that one last year. He grins when I hang it up out of sight. "You have no taste, Otto Jacobs."

"Or," he says, "is it you who has no taste? Maybe I'm super cool and you're too stuck in your normie traditions to realize that my taste level actually exists on a higher echelon?"

"Echelon?" I look at him, eyebrows raised. "Since when did you say things like echelon?"

He goes pink, and I wonder if it has something to do with the girl he wanted to have over a couple weeks ago. "I can know big words," he says, taking out a second Hawaiian Santa, this one in boxer shorts with a bright yellow swim ring around his waist.

"I know you can," I say, trying my best not to sound patronizing when I was only teasing him. "I'm just not used to you saying things like that. You must be growing up."

"Well, yeah." He shrugs one shoulder and I hope I haven't blown it. Teenage boys are like wild rabbits, I've decided. They scare easy, and the smallest thing can set them off. "I mean, we don't spend that much time together," he says after a moment.

I sigh. "I know."

I wish it wasn't that way. I love how independent he is now, but I miss when Otto was my shadow, back before Hannah was born and Christian was at work all the time and Otto and I did everything together. That didn't change much when Hannah came along – the three of us still did everything together, my kids and me against the world – but now they're growing up and they don't need me so much, and half their weekends are spent away from me.

"Next game night, we should play Scrabble," he says, pulling me back into the moment. "You won't believe how many words I know. I might as well be a lexicographer."

"I'm sorry, who are you? What've you done with my son?"

Otto rolls his eyes at me but there's a hint of a smile on his lips and I know I haven't upset him. "Okay, reveal time," he says, holding up a small paper bag. "Are you ready to see my contribution to this year's epic Christmas tree?"

"Go on then," I say, sneaking a glance at Ava to make sure she's not choking on her cinnamon bun. All good.

Otto opens the bag and pulls out a ... I'm not even sure what it is, but he's grinning so wide his cheeks might split in two.

"A ... log wearing a sweater?" I ask.

"I hate to break it to you, Mom, but I think you need glasses," Otto says. He holds the ornament closer. "It's a sloth in a Christmas sweater hanging off a branch!"

So it is. "I wasn't that wrong, then."

"What's the verdict? Am I still tasteless?"

"You know what?" I take the felt sloth off him to inspect it. "I actually don't mind this one. It's kind of cute. Have you shown Han?"

"Shown me what?" Hannah pops up next to me and gasps at the sloth. "It's so cute!"

"What did you and Ava get, hon?"

"It's in my room." She darts off, racing upstairs. I scoop Ava off the floor before she can try to eat Hannah's half of the cinnamon roll too. Otto places a few more of his ornaments on the branches, snagging the higher up spots that his sister can't reach.

I find a few of my own. I don't have many, but there's one that has survived fifteen years: a fuzzy striped stocking with a grinning baby poking out of the top, with the words Mommy's First Christmas stitched onto the stocking. Christian gave it to me before Otto's first Christmas – that may be where my son gets his terrible taste from – and it comes out every year.

Hannah returns with her hands behind her back and tells me to close my eyes. I do, and when I open them, she's holding out two ornaments. One is a furry fox in a winter hat and scarf, the other a little white mouse in a pink tutu.

"Ava chose this one," she says, holding out the fox. "Actually, she kind of chose both of them and she didn't understand when I told her she can only have one, so I let her have my pick too."

My hand goes to my chest. "That's very sweet of you, hon," I say, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Can I help Ava put hers on the tree?" she asks, holding out her hands to take the baby from me. I guess she's not really a baby anymore, now that she's walking. I hand Ava over, and I stand back to watch as Hannah puts the fox in her chubby little hand and helps her put it on the branch.

I can't believe I was ever worried about how Hannah would take it, having a younger sibling. She was the youngest for eight years and I worried that it would upset her, me having a third child, but she's taken to her baby sister like a duck to water.

Once the tree is decorated with all fifteen of Otto's monstrosities and ten of Hannah's animals and Ava's fox, we end up in the kitchen. What better way to spend a freezing Sunday afternoon than baking cookies? I'm relishing in having all three of my children here, all of their attention on me. So often it's just Ava and me, or Otto's out with his friends. It's something of a novelty for my whole family to be here, in one room. It won't last – Ava is due for a nap soon, and I imagine it won't be long before Otto's Xbox calls his name, so I savor the moment.

"I'm glad we're here for Christmas Day," Hannah says as she shapes cookie batter into balls on a baking tray.

"Yeah, Christmas at Dad's house is just ... weird," Otto says.

"Weird how?" I ask. They don't often talk much about how they find it, spending time with their dad.

I know that as far as fathers go, especially divorced ones, he's a decent guy, but I've always had the feeling that he sees his weekends with Otto and Hannah as an inconvenience. Like he doesn't know what to do with them. He wasn't around much when they were younger – he probably sees them more now, with his Wednesday evenings and his every other weekend.

"He's not very Christmassy," Hannah says, wrinkling her nose. "And I don't like not being here with you and Ava. It's wrong. This is our home."

"Yeah," Otto says. "I mean, I love him, 'cause he's my dad, but it's just weird."

"I'm sorry," I say. I don't know what else to say. Damn Christian for not making his children feel welcome in his home. Even when we were married, I always felt Otto and Hannah were more mine than they were ours, and that feeling has only grown since we divorced. "Have you asked your dad to be more Christmassy?"

Otto shrugs. "Not much point, really, is there?" he says. "We're only there for a few days. I don't think he cares about the whole tree thing. He doesn't even have a fake one."

"What?" This is news to me. "I'll talk to him. The least he can do is get a tree."

Under her breath, but not so low that I don't hear it, Hannah says, "I'd rather just stay here."

I put an arm around her shoulders and resist the urge to say I wish you could too. "He's your dad, Han. You need to spend time with him. You'll be back here on Christmas Eve, and then you're here for two straight weeks before school starts again."

She gives me a small smile and nestles against me, her arms around my waist. Ava's sitting on my other hip, and she pats Hannah's head with a now sugar-free hand.

"Nana," she says. Hannah gasps and looks up. I grin down at her. I heard Ava say it this morning, when Annie was trying to get her to say her name, but Hannah doesn't need to know that.

"You know my name!" she says, reaching up on the tips of her toes to kiss her sister. "You're such a clever girl."

An hour later, Ava's napping and the second batch of cookies are cooking while Otto and Hannah decorate the first lot. The kitchen is a mess, the counter covered in flour and bits of eggshell and far more bowls and spatulas and trays than it should have taken to make cookies, but I don't care. I'm covered in flour too, thanks to a mishap when Hannah was trying to measure it out and half the contents of the bag ended up on the scales, creating a powdery explosion.

When I hear a knock at the door and see that it's dark outside, my heart hopes it's Annie. I'm not sure what time it is, if her shift has even ended, and we didn't agree to meet again until Tuesday, but the thought of her being on the other side of the door puts a pep in my step.

The pep falls right out when I open it and I come face to face with my mother. My hand slackens on the door knob, the hope in my heart shrinking back down to nothing.

"Mom," I say, my voice flat. I'm suddenly hyper aware of how messy the house is, how messy it always is on Sunday before I've had my free Monday to blitz the place. Never mind how messy I am, cookie batter streaked in my hair and an Ava-sized floury handprint on my chest.

"Can I come in?" Mom asks.

I hesitate. If she's only going to come in to tell me that she can't accept my relationship and how I live my life then no, I don't want her to cross the threshold, but the choice is taken from me when Hannah and Otto come out to see who's at the door.

"Grandma!" Hannah cries out. She runs to her for a hug, now that there isn't a game of Monopoly on the go, and my mom doesn't flinch even though Hannah's as messy as I am right now.

"Hello, sweetheart," Mom says, kissing the top of Hannah's head. "Who won the game last night?"

"Annie did," Hannah says, grinning. "It went on a long time. She was so funny when she won."

I put a hand on Hannah's shoulder to stop her from going into more detail, because I highly doubt my mom would approve of my girlfriend telling my son to suck it. Even if it did make me smile last night. I can't help it. Everything she does makes me smile.

"Hi, Grandma," Otto says. He's more reserved, hanging back like a wary stray cat.

"Otto, darling, come here." Mom holds out an arm and Otto glances at me before he hugs his grandmother. He's as tall as her now, almost as tall as me. "As wonderful as it is to see both of you, I need to borrow your mom for a moment."

"Keep an eye on the oven," I say to Otto, who nods and watches as Mom follows me into the living room. My soul lifts when I step inside, now that the tree is up and decorated and everything looks so beautiful.

"What's up, Mom?" I take a seat on the sofa. Mom sits next to me with a straight back, her hands clasped over her knees. "Had enough time to think about things?"

Mom sighs. "I came over to ... apologize," she says.

Oh. I don't say anything, more out of surprise than anything else, and she continues.

"All I've ever wanted is for you to have a better life than I did," she says, glancing up at me before she drops her gaze to her hands, one thumbnail picking at the other. "The last few years, I've seen you following the same path I took, and it scared me, and maybe I have been more judgmental than I thought."

"What do you mean?"

She looks up at me. "I've been the divorced single mom. I've been the woman who prioritizes work over dating. I have a lot of regrets in my life, Laurel, and I don't want you to share them."

"I don't have any regrets, though," I say, frowning at her. "I mean, I guess the only regret I have is that we're not closer, but I don't regret my divorce, Mom, and I love my job. And I am dating now."

"I know." She offers me a small smile. I'll take whatever I can get from her. "And I'm sorry. I may have been a bit rash in the way I lashed out at Annie," she says. "I don't want to be cut out of my grandchildren's lives. I want to be around for them. For you."

"So you're saying you can accept Annie?"

She nods. There's no hesitation. It's my turn to smile. There may be a long, long way to go, but this is more progress than I've made with my mom in a long time.

"You'll make an effort with her?" I ask. "You'll apologize to her?"

"I will," she says.

"You don't mind that I'm dating a woman? You're not going to be weird about me being bisexual?"

"Of course not." She sounds sincere. "I mean it, Laurel. I don't care if you date a man or a woman or whatever else there is these days," she says, and it's a bit flippant but I appreciate the effort. "I'm glad you're moving on at last."

I don't point out that I moved on from Christian years ago. I'd moved on from him before our divorce was finalized.

"And I'm sorry to you, too, Laurel. I suppose I didn't realize how much things had ... deteriorated between us."

"Yeah," I say with a sigh, because things haven't been good for a while. I can't tell how real this is, if my mom is truly making amends or if it's just a way of getting me to let my guard down so that the next time she strikes, it'll hurt even more. I guess the fact that thought even crosses my mind is a sign of how much mending our relationship is going to take.

"I love you," she says, reaching out to me. "I know I'm not the best at showing it. I'm not like you; maternal affection has never come naturally to me, but I do love you, and I love your children too."

The compliment warms my heart. It's the closest my mom has ever come to approving of how I am as a parent, and it's slightly pathetic how much that buoys my spirit.

"Thank you," I say, and although it doesn't come naturally to me after the way the last few weeks have gone, I say, "I love you too."

Mom's posture relaxes at last, her shoulders dropping their rigid one hundred eighty degree line. "You know," she says, her tone softening too, "in the middle of our divorce, your father accused me of not being a nice person. I thought I'll show you what not nice is, and I may have taken it to heart too much. I think there's a chance I embodied all of those things, all the criticisms we lobbied at each other when things got nasty."

A small part of me feels bad. Mom didn't used to be so bad. The divorce messed her up. She's right. She really did embody every criticism he threw at her.

"I'm turning into a bitter old crone," she says with a sigh. I laugh.

"You're not that old," I say, and Mom gasps, scandalized.

"So I am a bitter crone?" she asks, and then, before I can try to navigate an answer, she says, "I'm joking. Don't answer that."

Phew.

As much as I appreciate Mom's candor, and her effort to patch things up, I'm relieved when Ava wakes up from her nap with a cry and I stand. Mom stands too and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Let me," she says, so I do. She goes upstairs. I sit back down, and a moment later, Otto appears in the living room.

"Why's Grandma here if you hate her?" he asks, and it breaks my heart.

"I don't hate Grandma," I say, even though I have, at times. "We have a complicated relationship, but I don't hate her, Otto."

"Even though she was rude to Annie?"

"She's promised to make amends," I say. "You know how Grandma is. She can be a bit spiky sometimes and I don't think she means it."

"Yeah." He sits on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his spread knees. "That's good. I like Annie. It would suck if she left just 'cause Grandma was mean to her."

I laugh and say, "I don't think that would be enough for Annie to leave. She'd probably stick around just to spite my mom, even if she didn't love me anymore."

"Love," he repeats quietly. "So, like, it's serious? You and Annie?"

I nod, my chest fluttering at the thought. She's my girlfriend now. That's pretty damn serious. "It is," I say after a moment. I can't stop the smile that spreads. "Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah, Annie's cool," he says, mirroring my smile. "I like her. You seem happier too."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's nice," he says. I guess he took it to heart when I told him to stop being immature. He hasn't called me gross once since then.

"Thank you," I say, squeezing his knee as I get up.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to call her mom, though."

I choke, almost tripping over my own feet, and my cheeks burn as hot as the electric fire. "No-one's asking you to call her mom," I say when I recover. "She's my girlfriend, Otto, it's not like we're getting married.

Otto grins as he walks past me and over his shoulder he says, "Not yet, anyway."

Mom comes downstairs as he leaves, and she stands in the doorway with Ava in her arms, looking every part the doting grandmother. "What's got you all flushed?" she asks.

"Just the fire," I lie. Certainly not the thought of marrying Annie. I take Ava off my mom and bury my face in my warm daughter's soft hair, which does nothing to cool my flaming cheeks. It's ridiculous. I shouldn't be all flustered. Annie and I have only been dating for a couple of weeks.

Although I have been in love with her for a hell of a lot longer than that.

*

if you celebrate christmas and you get a tree, how long before the 25th do you get it?