Sick day equals time for TV. I guess I'd forgotten that daytime television really is crap. But I just saw something rather compelling. On The Bonnie Hunt Show, Denis Leary claimed the key to the success of his marriage is that he and his wife agreed to never divorce. My first thought was "That's brilliant, Denis." But there could be something to it.

Apparently, Leary thinks the divorce rate is high simply because divorce is an option. If it weren't an option, you'd find ways to make your marriage work.

Tell that to the women stuck in abusive relationships. Hopefully, he'd give them special dispensation.

I kind of hated what he said. But I've learned strong reactions can come from fear of the truth. So why not investigate?

I change my mind so often about Rob and me it's embarrassing. What if we lived by the Denis Leary rule? Would we settle in to this marriage more easily and enjoy ourselves? If we stopped hedging about our long-term chances, could we get on with life? Get a dog? Buy a condo? Start a family?

Truth is, I can't imagine feeling sure about Rob and me. Perhaps certainty about anything is just not in my nature. Maybe I'm too analytical. Or is it inherent dissatisfaction? I'd hate to think I'm just a negative Nellie come what may, but who knows? 

Perhaps an experiment is in order: Take the idea of separation off the table for a few weeks and see what develops.

While I'm still spewing gratitude onto the page, I must thank FWW co-founder Debbie Nigro's daughter Alexis for stopping by to share her view of the Thanksgiving Day Tour De Family last week.

Of all the things I've gained from spending hours here at FWW, and there are too many to detail in the space of one post, the thing I most love is the perspective it brings.

The moments when my understanding of myself and of the world is expanded by getting close in on a point of view I have not lived. This is truly a gift.

So thanks, Alexis, on behalf of every parent who has ever agonized about leaving a marriage for fear of how it will impact their small kids. Thanks for reminding us not only that this change does not have to undo them, it can actually be a positive.

It's easy to forget how it's us grown-ups who attach all the baggage, feel all the agony of unmet expectations, in a split. It's our vision of the way things should be that gets torn in half.

Young kids only know what they know. To them, their family and their homes look exactly as they should look. Are exactly as they should be, the only way they ever could be.

My kids split time between two households for two years. One was 20 months old when we separated, the other was four and a half, and guess what? Sure, they like having all of us together in one house, but I'm not sure they like it better than having two places.

They like it differently.

And take note all you parents who are terrified about shattering the only reality your children have ever known; it is possible for you do it without shattering them.

My kids have told me more than once these last few months back together that they miss their old houses. They liked having two houses, two neighborhoods, two sets of friends, two different lives.

I spent yesterday afternoon trotting in and out of stores, picking up an item or two here and there, nothing major dontcha know, until I froze with a little lamp in my hands.

It is normal, of course, to shop at this time of year. It is probably also normal to shop for oneself during the holidays. But all the stuff I bought yesterday was for me, and it's not as though I need any more stuff.

I'm already working hard to find places to put the stuff I already own. So what was I doing?

I looked at the lamp. The price was right and it would fit nicely on my nightstand (right next to the one I already have, I suppose) and it was a cute little thing, decorated with palm trees. Reminded me of home, the one I just moved back from, that is.

So that's what I was doing.

I've mentioned the geographical cure, the belief that changing your place of residence can fix what ails you. Yesterday I faced its cousin, retail therapy. 

I thought I was holding up pretty well, chugging through my first holiday season as a divorcée, newly moved away from the place where I had spent the last 20 years. But if I was seriously thinking about buying a lamp I don't need because it has palm trees on it and doesn't cost very much — and I was — maybe I'm not quite as okay as I thought.

And buying a lamp, or anything else, certainly won't fix it.

I put the lamp down and walked away from it (with a backward glance). I remembered what AA teaches you to do when you don't feel so cheerful, which is to do something for somebody else. Stop thinking about yourself and your little problems.

So I spent some extra time with my elderly parents last night, trying to be especially attentive to them and remembering to be grateful that they're still around. The urge to shop has left me, at least temporarily.

And if it comes back, I'm sure I can find something else to do for my folks, or for someone else. It's that time of year.

I'm single again. And I'm just fine with it. After all, I was bringing way more to the party than S ever had and I didn't have time to miss him what with that sailing trip to the British Virgin Islands in May, family reunion on Hilton Head in August, weekend getaway to a fabulous little resort on the Riviera Maya with an old college pal in September. Life has been good, I have to admit.

And that idyllic weekend in Mexico, spent stretched out on white lounges tucked into a thatched cabana, just steps from the water, marked the end of Life As We Know It. While my friend and I were drinking in the views (and more than a few margaritas), catching up on the past five or so years, we were blissfully unaware of the storms roiling to the north. We didn't turn on the television; didn't read a paper. And were caught totally unawares when we returned to the states: Ike. AIG. Lehman Brothers. Bear Sterns.

Kind of killed my bliss (and that of untold others).

And then of course, was all the hoopla leading up to the election. I was riveted, appalled, engaged as never before — then euphoric when I watched Obama's acceptance speech, up on that stage with his beautiful family, once again feeling that little frisson of hope for the future.

But now what? Now that I'm not spending hours pouring over the media that informs my world view: The New York Times, Huffington Post, Media Bistro, The Daily Show, The Colbert Report (most of ‘em, all of ‘em!) obsessing over Sarah Palin and her missing "g"s, I have so much more time on my hands.

And with the weather getting colder, and two of my three girls deep in relationships of their own, I've started to think maybe I'm ready to tip-toe back into the dating pool.

My husband and kids are coming upstairs. I'm in the kitchen preparing lunch and it sounds like my husband is having a rough time compelling my daughter up the stairs. He's losing his patience and my daughter is starting to freak out. Suddenly I hear my daughter cry and she runs up the stairs.   

"Daddy hurt me!" she yells, crying and hugging my legs.

Let me make sure you understand something: We don't hit our kids. My husband has never laid a hand on our kids in anger or discipline, so my guess is that he was carrying our son up the stairs and stumbled over our daughter. So the issue here isn't that my husband beats our kids, because he most certainly does not.

No, the issue here is how my husband reacts to this situation. Suddenly he's in front of me, saying, "I didn't hurt her! I didn't hurt her!" He sounds like our three-year-old son. For a brief moment, I have three kids instead of two. This is a common scenario when my husband gets frustrated with our daughter. His reasoning and reaction is temporarily comparable to a preschooler. It's maddening.

I wish he would remain the adult when dealing with our kids. I understand sometimes losing patience and getting frustrated, but my first instinct when my daughter is hurt is to help her to feel better and then deal with the details afterwards.

I'm not going to stand over her and argue whether she's really hurt or not. I'm going to make sure she's okay and then talk about what happened. If I had stumbled over her on the stairs I would apologize profusely instead of expending so much energy making sure everyone around me knew that it wasn't my fault.

In an instance like this where my daughter is hurt and my husband is also seeking my attention, my first priority will always be my daughter.  I don't know if that makes me a bad wife, but my husband is an adult and my daughter is four. Who would you turn your attention to?

I moved again. Second year without Levi and our second move. Man, I'm getting tired of lugging all of this stuff around.

With each move, comes new discoveries. Papers stuffed into desk drawers, Christmas and Birthday cards from happier times, pictures of Levi and I — our various vacations, our wedding, and several goofy ones.

The last time I looked at these things, I couldn't bring myself to throw them out. Who knows why — I guess there's just nothing like torturing yourself when your massively depressed.

But the somewhat remarkable thing is, that this time, they didn't sting as much as they did before. Actually, some of them didn't even phase me. This time I was able to throw most of them out.

I suppose this is yet another sign that I've almost worked all the way through this.

There is one thing, though, one overwhelming piece of furniture that I am quite sick of: the bed.

This bed is a monstrosity, an enormous king-sized monstrosity. I look at it as a testament to everything that I can't stand about Levi.

The over-indulging. The need to have the "best" of everything or rather, the need to have...everything.

I can't stand the damn thing.

My ex-boyfriend, on the other hand, loves that bed. So much so, that after listening to my complaining about it he offered to trade. He has a brand-new queen-sized bed that he's willing to trade for my king.

Awesome.

It wasn't until it was pointed out to me later that I got the irony of the whole thing: Ex-boyfriend inherits ex-husband's bed.

Crack me up...Alec Greven, a fourth grader from Castle Rock, Colorado, hand-wrote a pamphlet called "How To Talk To Girls" to help out his buddies' love lives.

He was selling it for $3. Now he has a book deal with Harper Collins. Is he giving his buds good advice?

Alec tells them, "Comb your hair and don't wear sweats."

Yes, honey, we girls put in a load of effort to look good for you guys, so this is the least you can do.

Alec tells the boys, "Girls win most of the arguments and have most of the power."

Yes, Alec, we do have the most power but we rarely remember that when we see you with your hair combed and all dressed up.

Alec says, "The best way to approach a girl is to keep it to a simple 'hi,'" adding, if "I say 'hi' and you say 'hi' back, we're probably off to a good start."

Yes, yes, yes, Alec! We prefer you to make the first move, otherwise we may never open our mouths.

Alec warns, "A crush is like a love disease: It can drive you mad."

You're tellin' me, kid! You boys don't own the market on this, Alec. A crush can, has, and will continue to drive us all mad till we exit this planet. No word back on whether this goes on in Heaven.

Alec says, "Make sure you have good friends who don't try to take the girl you like."

Girls need to get the same advice, sweetie.

Alec says, "Girls always like the smartest boys."

Big smooch to you, Alec, from all the mothers of America needing a lure to improve homework skills.

Alec says, "Class clowns never make a good love story with a girl, if you catch my drift."

Must be an age thing, kid...guys who make us laugh are the smartest ones and get the most dates.

Okay, that last one was a quick post. When I wrote last weekend I was still in the midst of the family frenzy that is the holidays. No time to think, only DO!

Turns out Thanksgiving weekend was a great time despite the awkward moments and challenges endemic to the family only a year or two into divorce. 

Of course, the divorce in my family is my mother and father's divorce. And if this past holiday is a litmus test, it seems we're all still okay despite them deciding to tear the family apart. (Okay, I'm being dramatic. I've admitted I'm glad they split — they should have years ago.)

I need to take heed that good times didn't end when my parents divorced, for the holidays inevitably invite a downward spiral in my journey as a contemplator. There's nothing worse during the holidays for someone considering separation — it's the worst time to be caught between staying and leaving.

Twinkling tree lights, eggnog, and brass carols can remind me of childhood, of love, of warmth. But when you think it might be your last holiday with this particular mate in this particular home where you've put such a good faith effort into loving and celebrating, it's nothing if not bittersweet.

So one moment you're sad, but the next you're putting on a good face and trying — REALLY TRYING! — to enjoy the season. For meaningful connection this holiday season just might be the cement that turns your flimsy relationship into a rock-steady marriage ready to support growth and kids and a whole generation's worth of holidays.

It's my dream: A big family full of kids of all ages romping about the house as turkey dinner cooks, later coming home from college with their mates, and eventually bringing home children of their own.

No kids yet, so I'm not sure how I'm going to get there.