The only male bees in the hive are called drones; they're big and fat, they can't sting, and have to be fed, cleaned, and cared for by their sisters. There are only a few of them in the hive, and their only job is to mate with new queens. That may sound like a nice, easy life, but in the winter, their sisters kick them out of the hive to freeze. Ouch!

There are two kinds of female bees. The biggest bee in the hive is the queen, and there's only one. She's big because her body is filled with eggs; the queen is the mother of the hive. On a busy summer day, one queen can lay up to 2,000 eggs.

Most of the bees in the hive are worker bees. Worker bees are all females without eggs, and they take care of all the work that needs to be done.

A worker bee's life begins as a tiny egg. The egg hatches into a white larva, like a small worm or caterpillar, and for the next seven days or so, all that bee larvae does is grow and eat. Once it grows big enough to fill its cell in the honeycomb, an adult worker builds a cap of wax over the opening to the baby bee's cell, and that little larvae turns itself into a pupa. A pupa is a little bit like the coccoon of a moth, and inside that pupa, that baby bee is changing from a shapeless white blob into a grown-up bee, with legs, wings, antennae, and a stinger. One good thing about learning science online is you don't have to risk a nasty sting!

When the change is finished, the new bee chews its way out and gets to work. The youngest bees start their lives cleaning up the hive, licking the cells clean with their tongues and carrying out bits of debris with their strong jaws.

Older bees have the job of nursing the baby larvae, bringing them the food they need to grow strong. Sometimes nurses have the job of feeding special larvae full of a substance called royal jelly. This will make the larvae turn into queens instead of a workers. To make sure they get a good strong queen, the workers will feed several larvae with royal jelly, and the new queens will fight to the death when they hatch! The queen who lives takes over the hive.

After they grow out of nursing, older bees will move to the entrance of the hive and become soldiers, guarding the hive from any invading insects that might eat the larvae, and stinging anything that tries to attack the hive. They will only sting if they have a good reason, though – once a honeybee stings, she dies.

The oldest bees are the foragers. Their job is to travel away from the hive to bring back nectar and pollen to turn into honey. It's an important job, but it's also a dangerous one – in the summer, an adult bee lives about two weeks.

It may be a difficult life, but the end result is a hive full of golden, sticky honey. It's food for the bees in the hive, and it's also a tasty treat for us!  Now that's a sweet idea.

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Yesterday, as I left my daughter's 5th grade holiday concert, I noted the oddness of my life.  I was the only one of the smiling herds of cheerful faces who was listening at that moment to the father of my children threatening to "take me on, if I was going to f--- with him." Everyone else was thinking of trees and hot chocolate waiting at the house and I was faced once again with the dilemma "What do I do about my drunk ex-husband?"

I had earned these wonderful words from the father of my children because I had the gall to offer to drive him home. I pondered how far to pursue this. Do I call the police over to the school? Do I just let it be? How many times, in this "friends don't let friends drive drunk climate", does one have to give up one's own peace, serenity, and happiness for a brawl in the streets with some loved one who refuses to take the responsibility for his own life?

Put another way, when does the addict step up to the plate, and when do we get to live our own lives, away from his insanity?

In the final analysis, I informed principal of the school of the situation, and walked away. I gave the kids my mother's lecture "yes, dad does drive drunk, so don't ever get in the car with him,"  and we went on our way. Right, wrong or indifferent, that's what I did this time. At home we had a holiday treat, and watched Christmas Story. Apart from 5 or 10 somber minutes at the concert, that was the extent of our upset.

Of course this is not typical in the alcoholic or addicted family. Generally a drunk father at a concert is good for a ruined event, and an entire evening of upset. But I have a lot of years of Alanon under my belt. I have a lot of addiction therapy, and they have Alateen.

But as I came home from the event I couldn't help remembering my 12 year old son's sober face as he walked toward the car. I could almost feel the tears that he was too old to let himself shed. And I remembered his earlier words "Mom, why do you always seem so mad when you get around dad?"  And I remembered, even more tellingly, how he answered his own question. He did this with an adult knowing. "Never mind" he said " I know it's because gotta watch and you don't know what to do, and you're sad, so you get mad." And with those words he had me pegged, dead to rights- wise beyond his years.

And as I reflect today, I am astounded by the unfairness of it all. That a 12 year old has to know that much about the world. That even divorced we deal with the insanity of addiction. And on another front, that no matter how I have tried, I still do not make a living wage. That my children have to deal with with their father, and also with the constant worry about how they will survive.

My mind persists, unfathoming. "With all of this going on, why am I not able to at least be comfortable financially?" And isn't there some God who finally thinks "It's time to cut them a break," and tells some blessing-giving angel to throw a bone down to us?

And even as I want to run on that thought, feeling sorry for myself, I remember those old, time-worn words, the words I have told my children so many times "Nobody ever said that life would be fair." We were never promised a fair life. We were never promised a great life.

In fact, we were never promised anything at all.

Life isn't fair, Life just is.

And as I am told by Alanon, and Eckart Tolle, and The Landmark Forum, and countless other profound teachings of the day, when 'life just is' how 'it is' you have two choices. You can accept it or fight it.

Or said another way, you can be happy or you can be miserable. Because in order to be happy-you must accept, for the moment, exactly the way life is and exactly the way life isn't. You must give up the fight, and stop wishing it were some other way. You must especially accept your own self- your upsets, worries, and emotions- exactly how you are and exactly how you aren't

And in the space of acceptance, inside of surrender to what is, you can then look another way. You can notice a beautiful tree. You can put on some lovely music. You can pick up your paint brush and draw. You can enjoy a Christmas movie.

But you can only look another way when you give up the fight, and give up obsessing how to make it some other way. Or conversely when you give up working to pretend it is some other way.

Suddenly, in that miracle-moment of nothing to obsess on or try for, you can look another way and be grateful. You can be grateful for trees and skies and radios. You can be grateful that your children's father is still alive. You can be thankful that they get some small piece of him while he is still here on the earth. And you can then remember your daughter's glowing face when he entered the concert hall, and not just your son's when he left.

And when you see life through this different lens, when you paint that tree you see or remember that look on your daughter's face, you are happy. No matter what may happen tomorrow, or the next day, or three weeks, or three minutes from now. You are happy now.

And with this thought I wish all of you, each and every one- no matter what your circumstances- a happy holiday and year.

Written by Second Hand Addiction Specialist and Spokesperson, Lorelei F, www.secondhandaddiction.blogspot.com