They trade and bicker over time, over lives. They fight over who will get to keep the memory of the real Christmas this year. Time with their children is like a tangible object; whoever possesses the Time this year will undoubtedly feel that their family is one step closer to whole. But it makes no difference where I am on Christmas morning. Neither celebration is quite right, neither family dynamic quite works, and the memory of real family time will float above the scene, taunting us all that it was the best we’ve ever had and the one thing we will never see again.

That’s not to say there isn’t a warmth in the couples trying so hard to blend their families; in a way, it’s sweet to watch. But the days grow cold and the unity slips away when it comes time for the switch. In the middle of the lull Dad will be telling us about that New Year’s when he peed in his brother’s soup, gesturing the trouble he was in with both hands, leaving shadows on the ground and on our slippers. As he speaks we will quietly appraise our hauls and watch the purple dripping down the horizon, awaiting the fateful phone call or text.

Where are u guys?? U were supposed 2 be here twenty minutes ago.

This pulls at the corners of the conversation, weakens Dad’s gestures, as we try slyly to wrap up this Christmas and ship out to the next. It has never really occurred to my parents that fighting over Time to secure their own success in “family” tears away any hope of actually doing so. Because of this fight, Christmas is stripped of the warm feelings of old and is left bare. It’s a day to receive presents and be nice to our step-sisters and step-parents, even though, no, I will not in a million years use the set of pink lipsticks they gave me.

Everyone experiences this, I realize. Nobody likes every present they receive, but at least you know they came from a good place. In a blended family, though, you feel like you’re not allowed to return the duds, or else you set fire to the desperate attempts at family unity. I must have a good time, I am required to feel warm and fuzzy, because the tension of togetherness will never not be strained. Sometimes Christmas seems like an attempt to resemble a Norman Rockwell painting: the mother beautiful, the meal flawless, the father and daughters pristine and cloning each other’s smiles.

In biological families, bad times are allowed. They make the good ones special, and everyone can feel it. But oh no, not in blended families. If anyone implies that your other parent has done something wrong, or if you’ve been too pouty, the most dreadful fear bubbles up: that this family is not blended, it is broken.

This shuffling of Time, this competition for warm smells and good presents, takes away the holiday’s former magic and makes me miss the past that much more. By competing over “their” holiday Time, they are ruining ours. The Time that they tug for is not theirs to keep, but ours to remember – and it all feels false, even Dad’s soup story, because we can never quite tell what is genuine and what is a stab at making this Christmas better than the other family’s.

In between Christmases, in the car at midnight or after, my sisters and I play a game called “Who Will Do It Better.” We banter, cold breath curling from our laughing mouths. We reveal our least favorite moments of Christmas Part 1, rehash who did what and why it was annoying, and make predictions for whose eggnog will be better – and which parent will ask if we preferred their Time. Yes, we are being judgmental, and no, we don’t feel an ounce of guilt for it. It is a tradition, and it’s authentic because we’ve all known the same Christmas for years – the one where the puzzle pieces are mashed together by force because they refuse to fit.

We are tired and shivering, recharging with each other for picture-perfect Christmas Part 2. The sky has gone from a dripping purple to a dry, dark black, and if it snows everything will be more beautiful as it speeds by the car window. Sometimes we “forget” our phones at the other house so we can savor the drive and put off having to blend for just a little while longer.