From the time I left the States in 1993, dragging out the Yule Log year after year has been a dreaded task with little ChrisCringlyCheer attached. I went through the motions more Decembers than not and tried to work up enthusiasm, but for the most part the whole of the holiday spirit escaped me. 'Hollowed-out shell' of festive feeling was about all I could manage, and most of that was full of a whole lotta missing people and poor-me-ness.

For me, Christmas is about family, and family to a great extent is about kids. Mine were grown and a bazillion miles away. No matter how often I fa-la-la-la-la'd, working up anything remotely noel was next to impossible.

There were a couple of years that I passed completely on the whole gig ... no tree up, no ho-ho-ho, no Harking of Harold's Angles or bells on Bob's tail ... but rather I did my best Ebenezer impression and waited for a spirit or two to drop in with visions illustrating what was wonderful about this holiday that was making me miserable.

That never happened, and with Mark completely Christmas-clueless multiple Decembers came and went. I was happy to see them go.

Never more so than Christmas 2002. That year not only saw me missing so many loved ones so far away, its timing was also incredibly inconvenient. You see, it was mid-December when I was down to the crunch part of putting the dossier together for our first adoption.

I don't recall how things work in the real world this time of year, but here in Seychelles the 12th month of the year triggers a lethargy that smears itself across offices all over the country and is matched only by the amount of unauthorized time off people are taking. In other words, getting stuff done is REALLY difficult.

Of course, since I wanted desperately to get our dossier off ASAP a closed office, an unreturned phone call, a cancelled appointment, pushed me over the edge of tense and frantic right into depths of despair fraught with frustrated fury.

The idea of my baby boy missing Christmas completely cast the holiday in a pitiful light, and knowing that other people's babies were having their picture taken while being bounced on Santa's knee at the same time mine was stuck in a Cambodian orphanage just about killed me.

SARS was around that year, and every news report of an outbreak anywhere near Phnom Penh stuffed my heart down my throat as images of sick children and travel bans haunted me. Mark tried to stay upbeat, but even his Scrooge-like demeanor felt the extra pressure of Christmas spin the dial on the anxiety level up bit by bit.

Photo: Sam's referral shot ... our first look at him. Love at first sight, of course. How could it not be?

Continued ...