That odd little oddly jealous girl on a rainy Monday morning.

Caleb called this morning and didn't say anything much past my name, and after asking him a few questions I recognized that he just wanted to hear me so I told him all about how we've already appropriated the stable as an art studio in which I will paint horses instead of brush them, and I told him about Henry's friend's birthday party plans and Ruth's forties-style selfies and then I started to make guesses as to what he and his uh...friend were up to and how fun it must be to lie on the beach and not wash dishes and clean out fridges and hang curtains and brush little dogs and supervise perpetual homework and cook and he cut me off abruptly and said he missed me, that's all and he was just checking in.

He snaps this after listening to me chatter and ramble for close to fifteen full minutes. It's the most I've said this year.

He said he'll be home Thursday evening and yes, he's getting a bit of rest and enjoying the warmth. That it's been...interesting. The pause was odd.

I said that was good and then he said he loved me and he hung up. I stared at the screen for a few minutes. I didn't understand. Then I put the phone facedown on the mantle and let it there. I got halfway across the floor when it started buzzing again and I ran back thinking maybe he was messaging me back, realizing he hung up so abruptly but the message wasn't from Caleb, it was from Batman.

Did you know you're sharing your sugar daddy? I have some interesting information if you want to come over.

I put the phone facedown on the mantle again. I get it. It makes sense and it's not as if Caleb didn't make it obvious he was taking another woman with him. I don't need Batman cheerfully rubbing it in my face.

And now it's been christened! Oh my lord. Squee! hahaha.

I can leave the mess out now.

Up early again, surprises this time, as the boys are all dressed and coffeed and moving all of my stuff.

I don't have much stuff, I'm a bit of a minimalist actually but I hoard art supplies like you wouldn't believe. I have eleven sketchbooks waiting to be used. Never enough fine liners and I think there are seven dozen tubes of paint here between two easels just because art is a religion too.

So they put all of my art supplies in the stables, because it's a clean building with tons of light, locking doors and heat. It's fully wired in, protected by an alarm and a perfect place to set up because I complained that my little nook in the corner upstairs has tons of light but no actual space and more than once I leaned in to the left side of the canvas to work on detail and somehow manage to clutch my palette to my chest in the process, coming away with a lovingly mixed water-soluble oil rainbow on the front of my shirt.

(Lochlan says my palette is too big and awkward for me anyway and wants to buy me the beautiful Amish one at the art supply store but I've resisted so far. I asked him to cut mine down slightly but he won't. It's a standoff.)

All I have to do is turn away from my easel now and I can see across the orchard and right out to sea. 

 The reasoning behind this appropriation is that now, with my newly installed garden studio, Caleb will have no argument to try and push horses on me. I actually want the horses, but no one else does. They say they're too much work and they're right. It's one thing to board them elsewhere and drive out regularly, it's another thing to have them right here. No way would Caleb demand that a perfect space to work in be dismantle once he sees how truly perfect it is.

There's even a radio. And a thermostat. And windows everywhere. Also a bathroom. I may get someone to move my bed later too and then I can live out there. But It's temporary until the day one of the kids claims it as their apartment (they're fighting already about who gets the loft above the garage and who gets the gatehouse (because we told them not to call it a stable, it's a little too nice for that honestly) but for right now it's all mine.

Gold guns girls redux.

Today I am summoned rather early. Caleb's bags are packed and sitting just inside the door when I enter the boathouse and he kisses my forehead in greeting before pulling me by the hand down the hall into the office. The safe is open and inside are the breitling boxes, two envelopes full of money, Cole's monogrammed cufflinks (same initials, CXC, but Caleb has an identical pair and I wanted him to have these ones too), a small photo album and a big envelope full of insurance photos of Cole's artwork, five inches of legal papers, a bottle of Macallan and five DVDs. Family films? Naw. Future extortion. Don't ask,  I explained it here years ago.

He gestures as if the fact that the gun isn't there is supposed to end the argument. I roll my eyes and ask him if he's put it under the bed or maybe is he dumb enough to fly with it and oh, by the way, what's the trip?

He tells me he's taking a few days to recharge. In Tortola. May I punch him now? I ask if I can come too and he laughs and says if he thought that was an option we would have gone years ago and maybe never come back. But I am too late and he has a companion for the week, thanks.

My eyes widen almost involuntarily. Peyton?

But he shakes his head. No, not her. I'll be back Friday, you have the numbers. Everything can wait. I need some sun and a chance to do nothing. I already spoke with Henry (who said nothing to me, I wonder if he was coached) and I'll bring back treasures for the kids. Please try and stay out of trouble while I'm away.

I nod. Maybe this will be good. As facts and stories trickle down through the ranks here the only thing holding back the pitchforks and flaming torches (ha, that's separate from Loch's arsenal) is me, and I'm not very strong. He does need to clear out for a few days and let things settle again.

I'll hold down the fort. Joel will spy for you anyway. 

He isn't to do anything of the kind. If you need to talk to him, he's here. That's all. He might be busy. Check first. And I'll miss you. But instead of his rare tender stare I get another perfunctory kiss and a brief hug as Caleb practically shoves me out the door so he can finish packing his carry-on bag.

Fairprovingground.

Hi Baby. He smiled when he noticed me standing behind him. He was sitting on the grass in the sun trying to fix a seized engine part and when he started he had been in the shade. That was four hours ago and my stomach is growling. It's our clock since his watch broke. We don't have money to get it fixed yet so he tucked it into the drawer under some papers and said he'll get it done in the fall. In the meantime when we feel hungry, sleepy or the whistles blow it's easy enough to tell the time.

I heard that one. Give me five more minutes and then five to wash up and we'll go in town for hot hamburger sandwiches and fries, okay? He smiles when I nod and goes back to pulling on the wrench. He doesn't really have much in the way of muscles yet so I have my doubts it's going to be a fast job all of the sudden. But Loch says he's proud and that means stubborn. I told him I must be proud too and he laughed and said no, I was just stubborn and there's no pride in there at all. I frowned and he said it was better my way, that pride eventually makes men look foolish and keeps them from getting the help they need to get somewhere.

I snorted because he always calls himself a man. He's not a man, he's a teenager. I'm glad he's not a man. He's just my Lochlan. I'll be sad when he grows up and I don't recognize him anymore.

What? He asks when I laugh out loud.

The man part. 

My man parts? 

No! Ew! The part where you call yourself a man. 

Should I be a....horse?

No! 

A...tiger?

No. 

A monkey? 

Oh, probably. 

Monkey it is, then. Oo oo. Aa aa. That work for you?

No, Be a man after all.

I'm trying, Peanut, hard as I can. 

(OOh hat trick. Been a while. Three tiny posts, one day.)

To add awesomeness to awesomeness Loch waited until long after lunch and everyone was gone again and then he said, oh, by the way, I've got your passport. So he can't take it. 

Fools seldom differ.

Lochlan saw that we were alone. He pulls out his wallet and shows me the place where he's unstitched the leather and has a sheaf of big bills lining the actual bill compartment. Also in there are the numbers for an emergency line of credit he keeps, unused, just in case.

Carnies are weird about money. We plan for a rainy day to the extent that we'd rather die with hundred dollar bills wallpapering a one-room shack for warmth after the utilities cut the power than needlessly spend anything at all.

Where are we going? He asks with a twinkle in his eye.

Charm malfunction.

The irony.

In an effort to not be the bad guy, Caleb grabs my wrist this morning, pulling it down, squeezing my bones so hard I almost bit my tongue in half to not cry out. He wants me to remove my guesses as to what's in his safe. He says the passports are in the group safety deposit box at the bank, which everyone, including me has access to, and that he got rid of the gun months ago at my request because sometimes Henry stays there.

He was smiling when he said it. He's a liar. I also visited the safety deposit box a week and half ago and my passport wasn't there. I'd rather keep it, next to his Visa infinite that I steal every time he turns his head and the small roll of bills I have sewn into the lining of my favorite handbag just in case but apparently no one likes my schemes and plans so what's a girl to do?

Nod and pretend I'll take the words down and then decide not to.

I suppose if I post this I have to give his credit card back again, don't I?

The more they stay the same.

Caleb brought me a stack of one hundred ten-dollar bills last night and the wickedest smile he's ever worn.

I told him a few weeks ago in a moment of weirdo weakness and reluctant truth that I always wanted to make it rain, that it's on my bucket list, right up there with naked motorcycle-riding in the yard (which I hope is next).

He handed me the money and asked how I wanted to pull it off.

I told him to start dancing for me and I'd take care of the rest.

Oh, how he laughed.

He did not want to dance though, so instead we ate ice cream, the bills sitting on the counter between us, and he quizzed me about said bucket list, even though we used to call it 100 things before I die, and everyone spent most of January first of each year hung over and writing furiously.

He reminds me that he can do a lot more than make it rain. He said he could make it snow, make the sun shine and the wind blow too and all I have to do is say the word and I could have my entire list fulfilled handily by dinner time.

You don't even know half of what's on it. Maybe some of it involves people you don't even know, or is time-sensitive to occur at certain times in my  life, maybe some of it is dumb or silly and you're just going to shoot it down. 

Shoot it down? No, that's not what a bucket list is for. Tell me something on it that shames you.

Well I know it's horrible of me but I still want to ride an elephant, a little one because if a big one took off stampeding into the jungle with me on it I'd have all kinds of regrets about the whole thing. But I can't because the way they break them doesn't mesh with how I was raised. 

How you were...raised? 

On the tail-end of circuses having actual animals. Before everyone freaked out and let a few bad stars spoil the whole sky. 

I see. 

Our animals were loved like people. They were children. 

I don't doubt it. Were the children animals or just you?

WOW. Were you waiting to use that your whole life or did your cleverness just wake up and decide to join in the conversation feet-first?

I didn't mean you any harm. 

For once. I'm well aware I was feral when you found me but that isn't his fault, you know. It's yours. 

I think, Bridget, that we'll save this for a rainy day. Caleb picks up the money and heads to his office where he will put the stack of bills in the safe in his desk, right beside the gun, the empty boxes that held our Breitlings and my passport, for safekeeping.

New looks for summer 2014 (as decreed by someone who needs to be featured on the Goths in Hot Weather site.)

I stood behind Daniel this morning while he sat and talked with Caleb. Caleb was waiting for Henry. It's a  school holiday so they are heading off to do some things. Daniel is very patient when I want to practice fishtail braids but today I was distracted so I just twisted his hair up and around and tied it with a black hair elastic so he had a loose bun.

He looks fantastic. Even Schuyler said leave it quite forcefully (LOL) when Daniel laughed and said he should take it out. Huh. I try not to influence their styles with my opinions because it can have hilarious results but sometimes I want to pressure them to let their metal beards grow to the floor or make dreads anyway just because. 

Daniel keeps saying his neck is a lot cooler and he loves that his hair is out of his way. Pretty sure tonight they'll all need tutorials for pinless hair buns, though only Duncan, Daniel and John have hair long enough for it in the first place. Well, Lochlan does too but if I come near him wanting to practice braids and such he'll literally RUN the other way. It's pretty funny, actually.

I think I'll go chase him around the yard threatening to do his hair.