Our court-ordered parenting plan states that my kids will be with their father on Christmas Eve and I will have them on Christmas Day.

When the week of Christmas rolled around, I called my ex and asked, “When are your hot dates this week, and when do you want to see the kids?”

So far, we have not followed any of the “plan” that took me three precious non-children hours to fill out but rather make arrangements according to whom the kids are needing to see the most, who has the hot date and how we can best accommodate all of our needs.

The kids spent Christmas Eve with their dad, and I spent the evening with a Jewish Santa Claus and a six-foot leprechaun.

Christmas morning the kids and my wasband arrived at my house dressed to the nines and carrying food and champagne for mimosas. I peered into the grocery bag and smiled at the sight of all of my favorite foods, which I too had purchased for Christmas.

I thanked him, he made fun of me for still being in my pajamas, we filled each other in on our lives, watched the kids open their gifts, ate, drank and laughed in the way only possible with someone who you are familiar with and love.

I am often met with disbelief when I say I love my wasband. People either assume that we’re going to get back together or say it’s weird to be as close to an ex as I am.

We aren’t going to get back together, but we will be in each other’s lives forever because we have two kids together.

And, after loving and growing up with someone for 14 years, not to mention going through childbirth twice, the death of a mother and many other life changing experiences, how could I close the door entirely on the relationship?

I couldn’t, nor could he, and that’s why we talk a few times a week on the phone, compliment one another, encourage one another and spent Christmas together in what was possibly my favorite Christmas of all time.

It is my love for my ex that propelled me to divorce him, another statement that confounds people.

We couldn’t be who we really wanted to be when married to one another, and we couldn’t break our bad patterns.

I remember saying to him one day, “I am starting to hate you, and I can’t bear that to ever happen. I need you to move out so I can stop resenting you.”

As soon as we separated, things improved. We liked one another again, had lengthy phone conversations several times a week and even went on dates once a week. But, as soon as we tried to be more than that, whatever “that” was, it all went to hell again.

So he never moved back in as was originally planned, instead I filed for divorce. And while filing, I resisted being friendly with him. I felt as if I needed to make it clear to the kids and us that we were no longer together.

I would refuse his offer of a beer when I picked the kids up from his home and always tried to keep the conversation limited to the kids and their activities.

He questioned this several times and said he didn’t understand why I needed to be so cold, to which I probably said, “I don’t care.” I needed to draw a line between us and the only way I knew how to do that was to show no feelings toward him.

But, the thing about becoming divorced is you not only lose your husband, you lose your best friend.

Very few, if any, people know me like he does and vice versa. And, no one understands my Rip Van Winkle experience of dating again after 14 years of being out of commission like he does.

So after a month or so of shutting him out, I braved the waters. “So, is it just me or is everyone in the dating pool a mess?”

“I know!” he screamed. "This one woman….” And we were off and running, swapping most-horrendous date stories but also repeatedly saying, “It’s kind of fun though, isn’t it?”

A couple of months later, we stood in my kitchen swapping sex stories while Odo and her friends played tea party. On his way out to get the birthday pizza, he said, “You don’t think they overheard us, do you?”

“I hope not. And if they did, I just hope they don’t tell their parents.”

We started talking more, and Odo’s birthday pizza was delayed further.

When I had a fight with my mother, he was the first person I called. And, he was the one who knew when to listen, when to share my outrage and when to say, “I am so sorry that happened.”

He is also the one I called after receiving positive book reviews and having stories published.

And, although he could never say it when we were married, he now can say, “I am proud of you. It’s amazing that you stayed with you’re writing for all of these years and now it’s paying off. Congratulations.”

I can even tell him how I was dumped and, once again, he knows what to say. “That guy was lucky to have you, and he blew it.”

When I share these stories with others, they usually ask if I mind hearing about his sex/love life or if either of us ever get jealous.

“No,” I admit. “I find it fascinating. And, this is what I’ve been hoping for for years—for us both to feel good about ourselves, for us to be happy and feel as if we can go after the things we want. We’re doing that now. Even better, we can tell each other about it. By getting divorced, I didn’t lose him. I actually got him back.”

Corbin Lewars (www.corbinlewars.com) is the author of the memoir "Creating a Life" (Catalyst Book Press, 2010) and the sexy mommy-lit book "Swings" (out for submission). She is the creator of the zine "Reality Mom," which can be viewed at www.realitymomzine.blogspot.com. She lives in Ballard with her two children.