Synonym toast.

Well there ain't nothing wrong with the way she moves
Scarlet begonias or a touch of the blues
And there's nothing wrong with the look that's in her eyes
I had to learn the hard way to let her pass by

Henry popped downstairs this morning and asked for synonym toast. I think he meant cinnamon, but he's just like his mother and found a way to stand out in the crowd of two in the kitchen.

It's okay. Yesterday as we were driving downtown, I was narrating my usual mix of kid-friendly expletives at other drivers and pointing out neat things and at a long stoplight I said Oh look, a hipster boy with a manbag and a jaunty floral scarf. Ruth gazed at him until the light turned green and then said Awkward.

I laughed for the remainder of the day, I think.

Yesterday we filled up on library books and I snagged a copy of Living with the Dead which made me squee virtually the whole way home. I didn't crack it last night, my eyes were far too heavy by the time Ben called for the final conversation of our day. He said he was craving my lip gloss and my hair for a security blanket and he was tired. That he was back in his hotel and he told me about his afternoon and what he ate for dinner and he asked how long it took Ruth to fall asleep after he talked to them at bedtime and if I was doing any more drawing that I could scan in for him and he said he loved me.

I said I loved him too.

Good day?

Yeah, it was, actually.

A looking in view.

Her footsteps creak the floor
The shadows give away
Someone outside the door
Won't let him in

Here's a bunch of stuff. The brain is being emptied, it's Monday. I like Fridays better.

American Eagle Outfitters is having a sale, just FYI. Plus buy three things and get free shipping. I love their v-neck t-shirts so I ordered three. Two black, one teal. One says East Coast, which yeah, I'll be living in that one for the rest of my life. Girls with gardens to weed can't wear dresses all the time, you know. Also, horseback in a dress? I could probably pull it off, but I'm not sure that I want to.

Before Ben left he put a star map application on my phone. I saw Vega last night and snorted ginger ale out my nose. Vega. They should have sent a poet. I should pull that movie out and watch it again, it's that good. Instead last night we watched half of Pineapple Express and all of I Now Pronounce you Chuck and Larry because I may or may not have a crush on Kevin James. (Fine, I do.) Then I tossed and turned all night. I don't sleep well alone. Ben called four times and I still couldn't muster up enough comfort for a whole night so darn it, I'll have to muddle through.

I think I can muddle through, it's sunny and beautiful out. My grass is growing. The flowers have bloomed, and really I can't think of someone who is more blessed right now than I am. In spite of my efforts to prove that I am nothing of the kind.

Also, FYI for the Alice in Chains fans out there, did you hear it yet? Oh my God, AWESOME! Bravo, boys.

Charm? Right there beside 'Airplane Mode'.

It was one of those Sundays when the sun was too hot, the drive was too long and the nerves were too frayed to play nice except for in front of the children. Otherwise we were prone to throwing insults to the wind, cursing under our breath at each other, slapping steak spice and barbecue sauce on the ribs as they cooked and generally slamming cutlery around in a sort of angry tango. The after-meal walk was more of the same, with Ben stalking ahead of me through the woods, talking to the kids intently, wisely choosing to ignore my mood. Not sure if the emergency of him leaving changed things or if my declaration that he was being a jerk wore him down (it probably surprised him) but by the time we returned to the house he had his arm around my shoulders and I had my customary position with one fist curled around the back of his shirt at the waist.

And then he smiled and grabbed his pack and kissed the kids and I followed him outdoors into the glare of the sun once again, head still splitting from the stress of waiting for this moment, and he kissed me and followed Christian to the truck, headed for the airport, back to work, back to routine, back to a scaled-down version of life on the road but not because there's no bus and seven minutes down the road from the studio is a place that makes even better ribs. He should know, he'll eat them every single day.

Here's the weird part. My bad mood? (Aside from wishing he didn't have to fly out again) Saturday night got away from me and I followed some of the boys onto the vodka train and then fell asleep late, waking up with nightmares of living in Sussex facing a dike, not concerned for the floods but for the small-town mentality and the fact that the apartment we had leased was still full of furniture that wasn't ours. I woke him up with my unconscious hyperventilating and so we didn't get any sleep. Zero. Zip. Zilch.

He said we were sharing, He was hung and I was over.

As usual, he is right.

Snort.

The blank slate.

I try to save you but I can't
Find the answer
I'm holding on to you
I'll never let go

I was waiting to fill my backpack. A good book, a drawing pad and a few pencils. My favorite jeans and clean shirts and a warm sweater with a hood. A rain shell and a wooden comb. A tiny box to hold my hairpins and my ring while I sleep. My violin case lashed to the front of the pack for when I play and a jacknife dangles from one of Jake's old carabiners. There's a forgotten house key at the bottom of the pack and if I'm lucky a granola bar with chocolate chips.

My phone is in my pocket with my headphones and my glasses are on my face. They're spotted with rain and smudgy but I haven't noticed yet. Hearing aids, check. I'm wondering if I should wear two braids or one or just tie a knot at my neck and let my hair go halo like it always does. Starting out combed smooth and then escaping in wisps all throughout the day until I look like a lunatic at dinner. And shoes. I'll never be able to pick shoes but if I had any say it would be the FiveFingers, though I'll probably be vetoed in favor of something with ankle support for the hard parts.

From here on out it's food/sleep/comfort/experience. Or so I expected, in the beginning. The endurance race that I put off forever, delaying, never starting out for fear of going to the wrong place with the wrong people, or maybe hating it. The perpetual gap year that somehow got lost in a shuffle of appointments for tires and bloodwork, homework, grocery lists and clean sinks.

It wasn't mandatory and I've found that what I thought I needed in my pack isn't enough for any more than a year proper anyway. It just isn't.

And so on this long weekend at the farm I didn't pack sparingly, and I didn't pack like a college student going on the life-changing trek.

I packed like a mom, and a hurting one at that. A magic bag. Iodine, because we always get great ghastly splinters in the barn and on the split-rail fences by the paddock. The book Ben got for me, The Time Traveler's Wife, because I read like a hungry masochist, such inappropriate things and he's not a slave to herstory, as he says. Cappuccino! Because I still need caffeine in the morning or I'm going to become a social pariah, nodding off when I should be sparkling. Warm socks because at night my feet get cold and let me tell you, I look damn cute buck naked with striped blue, purple, and green fuzzy knee socks on.

Okay, so maybe I packed like an aging stripper. My point is it's not about the big trip, the once in a lifetime adventure, no sir. It's about the little things. The little things like the cherry lipgloss I brought because it was in the pocket of my bag with my keys. Ben ate it this morning but promised to replace it when we go back to the city on Sunday. I got a little thrill that shivered up my spine with the promise of a trip to the drugstore where they have a wall of lipgloss for people with the same kind of weird tactile addiction to tubes full of glittery fake-flavored chemicals that I have.

I might be really adventurous and try the papaya one. Who knows? The world is my oyster, after all, and the experience of that will count for everything in the end.

Peach, definitely. Or maybe strawberry.

Okay, strawberry.

Tangerine?

I'll have to let you know. I can't make up my mind.

Hello Hurricane this October.

NEW!

Not my video (I haven't been in California recently) but it kicks ass all the same.

If you find me face-down in a bowl of Cheerios, at least wipe off my chin, okay?

The upside of cutting my coffee consumption by 75% over the past week and a half is that the anxiety issues are a lot better as of late. Or maybe life is just teaching me how to roll with the punches via experience.

The downside? The narcolepsy. It's bac-

Zzzzzzzz.

Red-eye.

At eleven last night the doorbell rang. I was already asleep, curled up on the couch under Lochlan's arm while he read a book, phone on the table waiting for the call that never came.

If you live in a city and the doorbell rings late at night, you panic. It doesn't happen. Home invasion? Emergency? Bad news? All the boys either have a key for the back door or call first and I meet them at the door. I never hear that bell. I'm sure it still has Cole's fingerprint on it and possibly Jake's too.

Lochlan told me to stay put (FAT CHANCE) and he went to check. He looked through the window and let out a huge laugh and swore and then threw the door open and walked away.

There were my brown eyes and the smile I like to stick my fingers in the sides of because I hardly ever see it. Lurch goes the heart and everything magically stops hurting.

BEN!

Woke up the kids, who came booking down the front stairs sleepily and they got hugs and Ben said tomorrow there would be presents and he took them back to bed and tucked them in because love is thicker than blood and he said he was sorry he missed bedtime. They quieted instantly, Lochlan packed up his things and slipped out, to his own house down the street and within ten minutes it was just Ben and I, standing in the front hall smiling at each other.

You big jerk. Why didn't you call?

I was busy working as hard as I could so I could come home, bee. Hell, I married a Canadian girl, I have to be here for Canada Day.

He said if you didn't call-

I haven't had that many pucks to the head. I called him first and let him know I was on the way. Everything's fine.

Everything is NOT fin-

He grabbed my head in his hands and looked right into my eyes, crinkling his up in a further smile. Most people I know smile and their eyes get warm but don't change shape, Ben's go from big black circles to mirthful half-moons. It's amazing. His whole face is handsomely comical when he wants it to be.

It's okay, bumblebee. I'm home.

I nodded and he let go and pulled me into his arms, squeezing hard. Holding on.

We'll figure this out. We've been through worse, bee.

Right, so now we should catch a break.

I love what I do. Besides, I have to put food on the table.

So be a farmer.

If I'm plowing who will sing to you?

And based on the fact that we both found that too funny to continue, rest assured that we went to bed where I inhaled enough airplane-fuel-smell to leave me downright queasy today and we slept hard, waking up together in a lazy tangle that we were reluctant to sort out.

On that note, Happy Canada Day.

See what I did there? I circled back in error. Have to try breadcrumbs next.

The battle you picked was so one-sided.
Now dependent on me, the one you invited.
Beg, plead, scream.
For redemption, for forgiveness.
Beg, plead, scream.
Sorry, I'm not listening.

I have a sharpie headache from drawing in the truck, PJ looks like he's ten years old without a beard and I have this uncontrollable urge to keep offering him freezies and it turns out only Caleb was wearing Tom Ford, which clung to me like shame today.

The best line of the morning?

If I wanted to kill her, she wouldn't be here right now.

Nice. Thanks, boys. Luckily they all managed to keep the focus where it belonged this morning and I got to soak up the excitement of being less than ten years old and knowing you have the entire summer stretched out ahead of you like a blank slate. Even though when I wasn't in the ocean or lying on the picnic table watching fireworks and fireflies I would be hidden somewhere with a book. Surprise. Little has changed. It seems like I have a set list of activities that I do now and I'm going to have to work hard this summer at managing play dates and being available for the kids in ways I don't have to do when they're in class.

And I had a treat last evening. A grown-up treat. Caleb came over to spend some time with us and he made mac and cheese with the kids and read some Harry Potter to them (we are still slogging through the Goblet of Fire) and then put them to bed with the flourish only a blood uncle can provide (which doesn't say he's better than anyone else, he simply brings more of Cole to them. If you think that doesn't mean a lot then go away, please.) and they were asleep in minutes, content with Caleb's handling of parenthood and as a reminder of their father as only children can be. They know what they want, they're at the age where they make their voices heard.

Once they were tucked in, one light left on upstairs and windows and curtains closed against the cool night, Caleb got to work impressing me. Spoiling me by pouring wine and pulling a barstool up to the counter so I could sit and talk with him while he cooked ME dinner. Ahi tuna steaks and asparagus and garlic bread and freshly-baked chocolate cake special-ordered from my favorite bakery. Caleb doesn't cook as a rule, he's content to order in and keep the bare minimum on hand but he keeps this talent up his sleeve because his mother always taught her boys that they should have these skills. Amazingly Cole cooked some of my favorite foods and he could do it blindfolded so I knew Caleb would be able to pull it off.

He did. Since the kids were asleep we could eat at a leisurely pace with no interruptions. After the cake I placed my napkin on the table and savored the last mouthful of wine and when I opened my eyes he was smiling at me. That's when the night was ruined.

Do you understand the kind of life I could give you and the children, Bridget?

I nodded. I did his bookkeeping. I know what he has.

I don't think you do.

It doesn't matter. Once again, I married someone else. Better luck next time.

Your flippancy barely masks your misery, princess. Speaking of which, has Ben called?

Nope.

Oh, that's interesting.

No it isn't. He's working.

And?

And? And I make things difficult.

Is that what he tells you.

That's what I tell me.

What does Ben say?

That it's hard and he's tired and he doesn't want to wear himself out and start making poor choices.

So if he comes home he'll drink and this will be your fault.

No. Not like that. Well, I don't know.

Tell me, does anything with Ben ever change?

Let's talk about something else.

No, let's talk about how the man now claiming my brother's family for himself doesn't have his act together any better than he did before rehab.

You don't know Ben the way I do.

I've seen you two fight.

I'm not asking for your input.

Do you want me to set him straight, Bridget?

You leave him alone.

He'd never fuck up again.

Oh, like you did with your brother? See how well that worked, didn't we?

That was different. Cole had issues.

Oh, we all have issues, Cale. Jesus Christ. Ever look in a mirror?

Touche. My offer stands. When you're done with your 'character building', call me and we'll make arrangements.

See, that's why you're lonely. People deciding to spend their lives together don't 'make arrangements'. Love is not a business decision.

It is when there are financial interests that need to be protected.

I don't want your money, Caleb.

And that's why I'm lonely, princess. You're the only one not in it for the money.

I can't help you with your problems.

Then just take what you need.

Oh, here we go.

Discretion is an art-form, Bridget.

Not in my world.

Your world is a strange place. We keep more secrets than anyone I know.

And it's killing me.

Then you'll be a beautiful corpse.

I already am and now it's time for you to go.

I got up and stood waiting. Caleb took his time, piling dishes to carry into the kitchen. Then I followed him to the front hall where he collected his suit jacket. He put it on, shot his cuffs (which slays me every single time) and then he stepped toward me. I was expecting a cheek or forehead kiss and instead he wrapped his hand around my throat and pushed me into the wall.

I can take the pain away forever. Just pick up the phone when you get tired of marrying immature romantics who can't look after you because they can't look after themselves and I'll fix everything.

And then he kissed me. A great, crushing razor-burned kiss that left my cheeks and my sensibilities burning and I put my hands up and shoved at him and he didn't budge.

I thought you were going to be kind.

Oh, I am being kind, princess. This night could have gone rather badly for you.

Jesus, Caleb, you were here to see the kids.

No, Bridget, I was here to see all three of you. Don't think I'm not keeping an eye on everyone involved this time. Jacob may have kept me out of the loop but Ben isn't nearly that bright. Too many pucks to the head, perhaps. But overall he's doing okay. Surprised me most of all. I thought he would crumble ages ago. So maybe things are to be left alone for now. For now.

You speak like you have a say in the matter.

Pay attention, princess. I've had the final word for a while now.

He walked out the door then, and I saw the headlights come on as Mike started the car and slowly edged up in front of the house before putting the car in neutral and coming around to open the door for his boss.

Caleb stopped at the car and turned.

If Ben doesn't call by tomorrow evening when the children go to bed I want to know.

I nodded, even though I doubt I would have to tell him. He'll know anyway. Maybe before I do. That's the funny thing about blackmail. If I could do something about this I would but I can't.

Did I mention I hate beard-shaving season?

It's the last day of school. By lunchtime my kids will officially be in grades 5 and 3. Holy Hannah. I'm headed to the school shortly with the hunkles to see the kids graduate from their grades. Not a big ceremony but parents were invited to watch them get their extra-curricular certificates so I am taking as many guys as are free today which isn't a whole bunch but more than enough, actually.

Shortly the gym is going to reek of testosterone and Tom Ford aftershave.

Should be fun.

More later.

Elvis on the radio.

Maybe I didn't hold you
All those lonely, lonely times
And I guess I never told you
I'm so happy that you're mine

Last night was one of those curtains-open, lights blazing, dirty dishes all over the kitchen kind of nights. I made dinner for ten and the kids were in bed early, tired from all the craziness, worn out from fresh air. We sat and talked around the living room until late into the night, Elvis Presley crooning from the radio, Johnny Cash filling in on set breaks. It was cool and breezy and I left all the tiny white lights on inside and out when I went to sleep because I like them best when pitch black night comes and the universe parries down into just the black, the lights and the near-constant ringing of the big wind chimes I can hear through my bedroom window.

In my head I turned out the lights with the giant movie shut-down click-ratchets. One by one by one. There are six strings of twenty-four and each one takes 4 seconds to turn off. It takes turning them off in my brain seven rounds before I can't remember what I'm counting and I fall asleep.

That's not so bad. It used to take longer.

I have Ben's ring again. Keeps my hands busy with the heavy smoothness of it. Brings him back to me in my head. I was showing it to Jacob this morning. I held it out from my perch on the door ledge so he could remember it, held it up in one tiny quavering hand and he told me it was nice. He told me I should put it on a cord and wear it as a necklace since it's far too large for my fingers and I might lose it. That was a good idea, I never would have thought of that.