Way down in front.

Please don't be ashamed whether you win or lose.
I just want you to know that I'm proud of you.
Don't be afraid when your fight is through.
I just need you to know that I'm here with you.

An attempt for some routine brought us back to our favorite coffeehouse early this afternoon, an unheated little affair with big spotless windows looking out onto the endless traffic outside, sidewalk freshly scrubbed, bicycles locked in a stand right outside the door and Ben's truck close to the curb, meter paid for two hours of grounds and people-watching and skipping over subjects we needed to be discussing but weren't, because the comfort of those latticed chairs and warm mugs kept full, discarded plates of apple pie and chocolate cake between us, meant that maybe every waking moment doesn't have to be progress or effort.

Ben tapped his fingers along with Interpol over the sound system and I watched him watch people. I watched his eyes linger on a girl rummaging through her messenger bag for her softly ringing phone. Watched him absently try to twirl a ring around his finger that is lately snug. Watched him check his phone, ignoring call after call in favor of watching me without watching me at all.

I had decided I hate Interpol and I wish they would play something else but at the same time where else can you sit for hours without being rushed out or drowned out? Where else can you sit in public in broad daylight and yet still persist in a bubble, ignored by everyone who passes by? Where else do you work out your shit but a place that you've had a standing date for years?

It's been months since we've had one of our coffee dates. Months since he's reached across the scarred and battered table to take my hand and tell me I'm beautiful. Months since we've have a coffee-breath kiss and a cake aftertaste chasing it down our throats with the gritty air of this winterwashed city, blind to the agony with which we've taken every step thus far.

Ben laughs and rubs his face. A haircut and a straight-razor shave this morning at the barber shop where all the old men in the neighborhood go makes him feel familiar, organized, together. I smile at the curl in the front that defies whatever he does to it, every single day. Ben has stick-straight hair, save for this one little piece that flips the wrong way.

You hate the music, don't you?

I don't come here for the music, Benjamin.

Oh, yeah? Why do you come here then?

They make great coffee.

That's it?

The cake is really good too.

And?

The people are varied. I like watching them.

Any other reason?

It reminds me of easier times.

Speaking of which, I need to ask you for a favor.

You don't have to ask, Benjamin.

This, I do.

What is it?

I've watched you stand behind people your whole life, princess. But right now I would really appreciate it if you would stand in front of me. Just for a little while. Could you? Could you do that for me?

There were no words for that. Just the habitual, inevitable flood.

You've watered down your coffee. Maybe we should go.

I nodded. And I left the coffee shop first, hand stretched behind my back, fingers laced with his. I don't think I have half as much courage as your everyday normal human being, but I could probably give this a shot.

It's snowing! (AKA Hell has frozen over)

In lieu of beating a dead horse, Lochlan is gone again. I'm not even going to ask how, since I know why.

Snap back to reality,
Oh, there goes gravity
Oh, there goes Rabbit,
he choked, he's so mad,
but he won't give up that easy, no

I bet it wasn't pretty but I wouldn't know. I wasn't there. I woke up at Schuyler and Daniel's house this morning, the only two boys in the universe who start their weekend with eggs benedict and espresso and plentiful hugs.

I'd like to stay here, if it's okay with everyone.

I know, wishful thinking, hey? Ben is coming for breakfast after his meeting and then we'll go collect the kids from their sleepovers and enjoy some sorely-needed privacy.

I'm done giving Lochlan space, in my life and on my journal, just so you know. You don't have to read about him anymore. Brighter days ahead.

I still can't believe it's snowing.

It's snowing! (AKA Hell has frozen over)

In lieu of beating a dead horse, Lochlan is gone again. I'm not even going to ask how, since I know why.

Snap back to reality,
Oh, there goes gravity
Oh, there goes Rabbit,
he choked, he's so mad,
but he won't give up that easy, no

I bet it wasn't pretty but I wouldn't know. I wasn't there. I woke up at Schuyler and Daniel's house this morning, the only two boys in the universe who start their weekend with eggs benedict and espresso and plentiful hugs.

I'd like to stay here, if it's okay with everyone.

I know, wishful thinking, hey? Ben is coming for breakfast after his meeting and then we'll go collect the kids from their sleepovers and enjoy some sorely-needed privacy.

I'm done giving Lochlan space, in my life and on my journal, just so you know. You don't have to read about him anymore. Brighter days ahead.

I still can't believe it's snowing.

TGIF because the week was so very long.

Routine rituals
Physically and mentally, pressures made complete.
Remember to appreciate the bittersweet.
Finding symmetry too hard to achieve
Expectations test abilities,
Life is but a dream.
In our sleep, let us see.

Lochlan is the boomerang boy today. Home yesterday morning and back late last night because he just...I have no idea, he couldn't fathom being away? Didn't think we were ready to be on our own without his all-knowing presence nearby to deflect emergencies and soothe fears?

Because maybe he is obsessed with the past, like most of the people I know?

Yeah, most likely a little bit of all three.

I haven't asked him yet. He walked into the house last night, picked a fight with the wrong person and bought himself a punch to the head that sent us to the ER, and in the early afternoon that followed, Lochlan signed himself out against doctor's advice and took me out for lunch.

Maybe it's just his turn to self-destruct. He's possibly the only one who hasn't yet.

In better news, Ben bought a video camera. Oh, internet, things are going to get interesting now.

Not like that. Perverts.

TGIF because the week was so very long.

Routine rituals
Physically and mentally, pressures made complete.
Remember to appreciate the bittersweet.
Finding symmetry too hard to achieve
Expectations test abilities,
Life is but a dream.
In our sleep, let us see.

Lochlan is the boomerang boy today. Home yesterday morning and back late last night because he just...I have no idea, he couldn't fathom being away? Didn't think we were ready to be on our own without his all-knowing presence nearby to deflect emergencies and soothe fears?

Because maybe he is obsessed with the past, like most of the people I know?

Yeah, most likely a little bit of all three.

I haven't asked him yet. He walked into the house last night, picked a fight with the wrong person and bought himself a punch to the head that sent us to the ER, and in the early afternoon that followed, Lochlan signed himself out against doctor's advice and took me out for lunch.

Maybe it's just his turn to self-destruct. He's possibly the only one who hasn't yet.

In better news, Ben bought a video camera. Oh, internet, things are going to get interesting now.

Not like that. Perverts.

Garage band.

John is here today. The longer his hair gets the more he looks like Zakk Wilde. We're making coffee and fried green tomato sandwiches and he and Ben have huge, huge plans to tinker with their motorcycles this afternoon. John's bike being the one I sold to him after Jacob died because I couldn't look at it anymore and surprise, I've had two rides on it already this week. And none on Ben's because he just doesn't feel like he's ready to ride quite yet, which is fine too. Ben keeps saying it's too cold and he's right but it's hard to resist the lure of two wheels after so many months of snow tires and so they brought his bike back when the others took their bikes out of storage (at Nolan's) shortly before Ben came home. I think he was grateful for that. It's hard to tell. He keeps lapsing into very quiet hours and then he'll just start talking and he doesn't stop for a long time and just when you're ready to tell him to stuff it, he gets quiet again.

I don't mind. I'm still just happy he's home and things are steadily getting better, inch by mile. He told Lochlan it was time to go last night and this morning before I could swim through that second cup of coffee, Lochlan was gone. There were no harsh words or upended tables or hammer punches thrown, just another example of a quiet acceptance of our weird communal life and how well it seems to work when everyone remembers their place, when everyone helps everyone else, when everyone has the presence of mind to put their own wants aside for the good of someone they love.

I just don't think I have ever seen us all do it at the same time before.

Maybe things are changing.

Tea is ready. Must go take a tray out to the garage and get a lesson in replacing fork oil.

Garage band.

John is here today. The longer his hair gets the more he looks like Zakk Wilde. We're making coffee and fried green tomato sandwiches and he and Ben have huge, huge plans to tinker with their motorcycles this afternoon. John's bike being the one I sold to him after Jacob died because I couldn't look at it anymore and surprise, I've had two rides on it already this week. And none on Ben's because he just doesn't feel like he's ready to ride quite yet, which is fine too. Ben keeps saying it's too cold and he's right but it's hard to resist the lure of two wheels after so many months of snow tires and so they brought his bike back when the others took their bikes out of storage (at Nolan's) shortly before Ben came home. I think he was grateful for that. It's hard to tell. He keeps lapsing into very quiet hours and then he'll just start talking and he doesn't stop for a long time and just when you're ready to tell him to stuff it, he gets quiet again.

I don't mind. I'm still just happy he's home and things are steadily getting better, inch by mile. He told Lochlan it was time to go last night and this morning before I could swim through that second cup of coffee, Lochlan was gone. There were no harsh words or upended tables or hammer punches thrown, just another example of a quiet acceptance of our weird communal life and how well it seems to work when everyone remembers their place, when everyone helps everyone else, when everyone has the presence of mind to put their own wants aside for the good of someone they love.

I just don't think I have ever seen us all do it at the same time before.

Maybe things are changing.

Tea is ready. Must go take a tray out to the garage and get a lesson in replacing fork oil.

Two, count 'em. Two dimensions!

Heave the silver hollow sliver
Piercing through another victim
Turn and tremble be judgmental
Ignorant to all the symbols
Blind the face with beauty paste
Eventually you'll one day know

Change my attempt
good intentions
Limbs tied, skin tight
Self inflicted his perdition

Should I, could I
Change my attempt
good intentions
Should I, could I

This morning I put on my running clothes and then decided to rake the yard since it's sunny and somewhat dry and it's supposed to rain off and on for the next two weeks. I raked the boulevard and the front yard and pulled the leaves out of the front gardens and the hedge too and down between the houses on each side, then I came around and raked all the leaves in the backyard too, getting under the porch, barbecue and treehouse even.

3 bags total.

I tilled up my garden and tried and failed to rake the leaves out of the woodchips around the rose and lilac bushes so I just took all of it away down to a good layer and I'll replace it anyway in a few more weeks, roundabout Victoria's birthday which is Official Garden-Planting Week here because from then on the weather is virtually guaranteed.

I'm excited. This year I'm doing new things based on all the knowledge gleaned from previous years living here. Like knowing grass doesn't grow on clay soil but wildflowers do, and it takes five giant bags of earth to make the gardens lush and accomodating. And that planting one single Oregano sprig gives me a year's worth of heavy spice use. And lettuce is pointless and takes up too much room. Oh and shade plants don't like me. At all.

And compost! I have a bin from last summer and ew yuck, I'm guessing I'll have awesome dirt this year.

I guess there's therapy in sliding my hands into worn cotton gloves and digging in the muck. Effort from my arms and back muscles results in a weird sort of pride in having one of the nicest homes on a worn-by-time block that just needs a little more muscle and a little more effort and it could be just amazing but the people who live in my neighborhood have jobs and bills and lives and so they do what is needed and not a lot more and no one can fault them for that. If I didn't love that satisfaction I get from hardcore lawn work I doubt I would do it, but it's kind of like running. Once you're done you feel better.

Mmm...dirt endorphins.

I think I've lost it.

This isn't to say I'm going to let plant reports take over my journal, I just thought I would once again attempt to be less one-dimensional. It's as hard in life as it is here sometimes but sometimes we all need a break from it too. Yes, even me. So I'll ignore the fight with Lochlan and the almost-fight with Ben and PJ's horrible singing (you couldn't keep up with Jesse if you TRIED, baby) and the hungry rumblings within since this girl hasn't had breakfast or finished a whole cup of coffee yet even but I'm calm and I'm okay and I'm really freaking happy with the grass.

So there.

Two, count 'em. Two dimensions!

Heave the silver hollow sliver
Piercing through another victim
Turn and tremble be judgmental
Ignorant to all the symbols
Blind the face with beauty paste
Eventually you'll one day know

Change my attempt
good intentions
Limbs tied, skin tight
Self inflicted his perdition

Should I, could I
Change my attempt
good intentions
Should I, could I

This morning I put on my running clothes and then decided to rake the yard since it's sunny and somewhat dry and it's supposed to rain off and on for the next two weeks. I raked the boulevard and the front yard and pulled the leaves out of the front gardens and the hedge too and down between the houses on each side, then I came around and raked all the leaves in the backyard too, getting under the porch, barbecue and treehouse even.

3 bags total.

I tilled up my garden and tried and failed to rake the leaves out of the woodchips around the rose and lilac bushes so I just took all of it away down to a good layer and I'll replace it anyway in a few more weeks, roundabout Victoria's birthday which is Official Garden-Planting Week here because from then on the weather is virtually guaranteed.

I'm excited. This year I'm doing new things based on all the knowledge gleaned from previous years living here. Like knowing grass doesn't grow on clay soil but wildflowers do, and it takes five giant bags of earth to make the gardens lush and accomodating. And that planting one single Oregano sprig gives me a year's worth of heavy spice use. And lettuce is pointless and takes up too much room. Oh and shade plants don't like me. At all.

And compost! I have a bin from last summer and ew yuck, I'm guessing I'll have awesome dirt this year.

I guess there's therapy in sliding my hands into worn cotton gloves and digging in the muck. Effort from my arms and back muscles results in a weird sort of pride in having one of the nicest homes on a worn-by-time block that just needs a little more muscle and a little more effort and it could be just amazing but the people who live in my neighborhood have jobs and bills and lives and so they do what is needed and not a lot more and no one can fault them for that. If I didn't love that satisfaction I get from hardcore lawn work I doubt I would do it, but it's kind of like running. Once you're done you feel better.

Mmm...dirt endorphins.

I think I've lost it.

This isn't to say I'm going to let plant reports take over my journal, I just thought I would once again attempt to be less one-dimensional. It's as hard in life as it is here sometimes but sometimes we all need a break from it too. Yes, even me. So I'll ignore the fight with Lochlan and the almost-fight with Ben and PJ's horrible singing (you couldn't keep up with Jesse if you TRIED, baby) and the hungry rumblings within since this girl hasn't had breakfast or finished a whole cup of coffee yet even but I'm calm and I'm okay and I'm really freaking happy with the grass.

So there.

The yearly shoe post.

Things are better today. We're settling back into a familiar rhythm and Ben seems a lot happier. Bridget does too. I need to work on making sure I make myself heard when I need to be heard. Did you know that sometimes I can be submissive and not say so much? It's true. I'll add it to the list of improvements I need to make. Right up there with stop crying so much and get over this sick and debilitating addiction to chocolate cake.

And shoes. I like shoes. At least I like these shoes. A whole heck of a lot. I chased these shoes down on the internet two years ago and then gave up when I couldn't get them shipped to Canada and didn't want to pay $150 for them only to have them not fit or something insidious like that.

And look what showed up on Ebay two years later. $10 shoes, $6 shipped. God bless the internet.They fit perfectly. I might never take them off. I've already named the angels too. Bet you can't guess who is who.

The yearly shoe post.

Things are better today. We're settling back into a familiar rhythm and Ben seems a lot happier. Bridget does too. I need to work on making sure I make myself heard when I need to be heard. Did you know that sometimes I can be submissive and not say so much? It's true. I'll add it to the list of improvements I need to make. Right up there with stop crying so much and get over this sick and debilitating addiction to chocolate cake.

And shoes. I like shoes. At least I like these shoes. A whole heck of a lot. I chased these shoes down on the internet two years ago and then gave up when I couldn't get them shipped to Canada and didn't want to pay $150 for them only to have them not fit or something insidious like that.

And look what showed up on Ebay two years later. $10 shoes, $6 shipped. God bless the internet.They fit perfectly. I might never take them off. I've already named the angels too. Bet you can't guess who is who.

Sam, once again, wants me to say how I really feel.

I think there has been more accomplished in this house in a single morning than the previous six months. I have had a run, semi-participated in an early-morning family meeting and then was visibly neglected as the boys continue their bromance for the ages here, which is usually something that happens on a smaller scale, after tours and over motorcycles and barbecues and oh yeah, matters of life and death.

I love that word, bromance. It's just so...appropriate lately.

Trust me, I'm thrilled they're all getting along and everyone is attempting to help make our lives easier and Ben's days smooth and seamless and un-trying and Bridget's head in control and all that wonderful stuff they usually do, just on a much larger scale. Right now it's nice to be needed. It's nice to help him help himself. It's so beyond awesome that he is home again because I need him here.

Because I'm selfish.

What isn't nice is trying to shut up the little voice inside my head that really wants to be the centre of attention.

What is nice is that I see it for what it is and I'm not giving it a voice today.

I do try. I really do. I try hard to be a good person and a good wife and a good friend. So that voice will stay deep inside and hopefully when I'm not looking it will just go away completely.

Like other feelings do. Right Lochlan?

(Oh, bitchy. There's a feeling that needs to go too.)

Sorry there isn't more today, everything is just weird and uncomfortable today. There are too many people here and I'm tired and I just don't do well in these kinds of days. Come back tomorrow, okay?

Sam, once again, wants me to say how I really feel.

I think there has been more accomplished in this house in a single morning than the previous six months. I have had a run, semi-participated in an early-morning family meeting and then was visibly neglected as the boys continue their bromance for the ages here, which is usually something that happens on a smaller scale, after tours and over motorcycles and barbecues and oh yeah, matters of life and death.

I love that word, bromance. It's just so...appropriate lately.

Trust me, I'm thrilled they're all getting along and everyone is attempting to help make our lives easier and Ben's days smooth and seamless and un-trying and Bridget's head in control and all that wonderful stuff they usually do, just on a much larger scale. Right now it's nice to be needed. It's nice to help him help himself. It's so beyond awesome that he is home again because I need him here.

Because I'm selfish.

What isn't nice is trying to shut up the little voice inside my head that really wants to be the centre of attention.

What is nice is that I see it for what it is and I'm not giving it a voice today.

I do try. I really do. I try hard to be a good person and a good wife and a good friend. So that voice will stay deep inside and hopefully when I'm not looking it will just go away completely.

Like other feelings do. Right Lochlan?

(Oh, bitchy. There's a feeling that needs to go too.)

Sorry there isn't more today, everything is just weird and uncomfortable today. There are too many people here and I'm tired and I just don't do well in these kinds of days. Come back tomorrow, okay?

Angels and buttercream.

Flickering between the lines.
Stolen moments floating softly on the air,
Borne on wings of fire and climbing higher.

Ancient bonds are breaking,
Moving on and changing sides.
Dreaming of a new day,
Cast aside the other way.

Angels and buttercream. That's what Ben said I smelled like when I threw myself into his arms last Tuesday, and that's what he said again Friday night when I repeated that hug after leaving in a hurry Thursday night, thanks to Lochlan attempting a predictable strong-arm against our freedoms, thanks to those promises carved into stone made by the guys, thanks to Cole. Thanks to Jake, who flew away, and thanks to Ben himself, who couldn't quite get and keep himself under control.

I won't be hurt. The kids and I are to be safe no matter what.

And we tried everything and when everything still wasn't enough, Ben went away for a little while. He went to detoxify himself from the drugs and alcohol and re-learn how to exist without needing it.

He went to rehab, okay? What most people would call a nice cushy kind-of resort high up in the mountains, he calls the hardest work of his life, where he had to learn to be open and transparent and where he learned new ways to cope and new ways to behave and a whole new set of methods on dealing with people and situations who would have formerly driven him to take a drink or make a line and check himself right out of reality.

It's been difficult, to put it mildly and for those who came here over the last month to read and found nothing to see might want to understand how hard it has been. I didn't want him to go, I would have kept him fucked up and difficult. They made him go, because I don't make my own decisions and Ben doesn't either. She won't be hurt by you, they told him and he went because I promised I wouldn't give my heart away while he was gone. And I didn't. I gave away all kinds of things but I kept my heart. I kept it for Ben because it belongs to Ben.

Five weeks was a long time for a girl who loves as hard as I do, affection-whoreish, heart-on-sleeve, fluttery and unable to make decisions and choices past who I want a hug from at any particular moment. And finally the week that families can come and join into the work and the rewards arrived and I was a mess, frankly.

I got that first hug from Benjamin and then I went to bits and Duncan agreed to come down and keep watch so I could sleep and he brought Corey (Say hi to the internet, Corey!) but then Lochlan gave them the sky-race of their lives, beating them to me and telling me Ben was never going to be trusted or worthy or just about anything else.

Or so I thought I heard, because that's mostly what he ever says. So I told him I needed a walk to clear my head and I kissed Ben goodbye and told him I needed some sleep and then I took my sorry, misinterpreted ass to the airport and came home.

And shit, I got it wrong. Lochlan isn't Caleb. There's no evil there. Only concern. Valid and long-suffering concern and Jesus, nail her to the goddamned floor so she'll listen, wouldja?

Ten hours later, I went back and we sorted all of it out and all the guys present, namely Daniel and Lochlan and Duncan and Corey and August and the kids and I and yes, even Ben, got to sort through the mess we have made of our collective, tangled existence and we made our plans for the present and even a tiny little bit into the future.

It doesn't involve Lochlan.

Except as a friend and a support-pillar sometimes but otherwise we've kicked out one side of the triangle and now we're just a dot again. A super-imposed, melted-together oneness of being and things are going to stay this way.

Bridget and Ben versus the world.

Ben really did well. The interesting part is he didn't need that much of a push to get himself back where he needed to be but he brought home more than he's giving up. He managed to get back around and find the handle he used to have on life. The weirdly quiet and stoic and vaguely crazy, funny, beautiful man who promised to love me in sickness and utter depravity (actual words from our wedding) returned and I'm so happy I could cry.

True to form there is cake, and all the guys are here to welcome him home to his life and he's not going to get a chance to try and fuck it up again and he no longer wants to but for now everything is going to be second by moment by hour by day and nothing more.

Only it's everything more.

He's home. Home with his family and we get one more chance at getting this right.

It's important. If you pray, say a prayer that he continues to do as well as he has so far, and say one that my strength holds because he feels better when I feel stronger and I feel stronger when he feels better and it's a vicious cycle I'd be thrilled to get stuck in forever.

Home. One of those good four-letter words. Ben is home.

Happy first anniversary, Benjamin. I love you.

Angels and buttercream.

Flickering between the lines.
Stolen moments floating softly on the air,
Borne on wings of fire and climbing higher.

Ancient bonds are breaking,
Moving on and changing sides.
Dreaming of a new day,
Cast aside the other way.

Angels and buttercream. That's what Ben said I smelled like when I threw myself into his arms last Tuesday, and that's what he said again Friday night when I repeated that hug after leaving in a hurry Thursday night, thanks to Lochlan attempting a predictable strong-arm against our freedoms, thanks to those promises carved into stone made by the guys, thanks to Cole. Thanks to Jake, who flew away, and thanks to Ben himself, who couldn't quite get and keep himself under control.

I won't be hurt. The kids and I are to be safe no matter what.

And we tried everything and when everything still wasn't enough, Ben went away for a little while. He went to detoxify himself from the drugs and alcohol and re-learn how to exist without needing it.

He went to rehab, okay? What most people would call a nice cushy kind-of resort high up in the mountains, he calls the hardest work of his life, where he had to learn to be open and transparent and where he learned new ways to cope and new ways to behave and a whole new set of methods on dealing with people and situations who would have formerly driven him to take a drink or make a line and check himself right out of reality.

It's been difficult, to put it mildly and for those who came here over the last month to read and found nothing to see might want to understand how hard it has been. I didn't want him to go, I would have kept him fucked up and difficult. They made him go, because I don't make my own decisions and Ben doesn't either. She won't be hurt by you, they told him and he went because I promised I wouldn't give my heart away while he was gone. And I didn't. I gave away all kinds of things but I kept my heart. I kept it for Ben because it belongs to Ben.

Five weeks was a long time for a girl who loves as hard as I do, affection-whoreish, heart-on-sleeve, fluttery and unable to make decisions and choices past who I want a hug from at any particular moment. And finally the week that families can come and join into the work and the rewards arrived and I was a mess, frankly.

I got that first hug from Benjamin and then I went to bits and Duncan agreed to come down and keep watch so I could sleep and he brought Corey (Say hi to the internet, Corey!) but then Lochlan gave them the sky-race of their lives, beating them to me and telling me Ben was never going to be trusted or worthy or just about anything else.

Or so I thought I heard, because that's mostly what he ever says. So I told him I needed a walk to clear my head and I kissed Ben goodbye and told him I needed some sleep and then I took my sorry, misinterpreted ass to the airport and came home.

And shit, I got it wrong. Lochlan isn't Caleb. There's no evil there. Only concern. Valid and long-suffering concern and Jesus, nail her to the goddamned floor so she'll listen, wouldja?

Ten hours later, I went back and we sorted all of it out and all the guys present, namely Daniel and Lochlan and Duncan and Corey and August and the kids and I and yes, even Ben, got to sort through the mess we have made of our collective, tangled existence and we made our plans for the present and even a tiny little bit into the future.

It doesn't involve Lochlan.

Except as a friend and a support-pillar sometimes but otherwise we've kicked out one side of the triangle and now we're just a dot again. A super-imposed, melted-together oneness of being and things are going to stay this way.

Bridget and Ben versus the world.

Ben really did well. The interesting part is he didn't need that much of a push to get himself back where he needed to be but he brought home more than he's giving up. He managed to get back around and find the handle he used to have on life. The weirdly quiet and stoic and vaguely crazy, funny, beautiful man who promised to love me in sickness and utter depravity (actual words from our wedding) returned and I'm so happy I could cry.

True to form there is cake, and all the guys are here to welcome him home to his life and he's not going to get a chance to try and fuck it up again and he no longer wants to but for now everything is going to be second by moment by hour by day and nothing more.

Only it's everything more.

He's home. Home with his family and we get one more chance at getting this right.

It's important. If you pray, say a prayer that he continues to do as well as he has so far, and say one that my strength holds because he feels better when I feel stronger and I feel stronger when he feels better and it's a vicious cycle I'd be thrilled to get stuck in forever.

Home. One of those good four-letter words. Ben is home.

Happy first anniversary, Benjamin. I love you.

Cancel all of my drama and ignore the now-deleted entry that you may or may not have caught. I was home and now I'm going back to spend the weekend with Ben. Taking the kids. And Daniel and August. Ben will fly back with us Monday. God knows, Bridget loves to play plane-tag. Everything must be on a larger scale. Everything.

XOX,
b

Cancel all of my drama and ignore the now-deleted entry that you may or may not have caught. I was home and now I'm going back to spend the weekend with Ben. Taking the kids. And Daniel and August. Ben will fly back with us Monday. God knows, Bridget loves to play plane-tag. Everything must be on a larger scale. Everything.

XOX,
b

Quick update.

Looks like I have three minutes so I can update those of you I haven't emailed already. There is hardly internet access here, so I doubt there will be any more updates until we're home again.

We're, I said.

I'm flying home Saturday, Ben will follow on Sunday. He would have been home last week but he wasn't quite ready, he really wanted us to have this week here so we can get as much help as we can get before we head home to a new sponsor for him, a new plan for support, a new pretty-much-everything. A fresh start.

Seems fitting, as our first wedding anniversary is on Sunday.

Yesterday was difficult. Ben took the whole day to warm up to me, to see that I really am on board with this and I'm really not switching teams to play for Lochlanville for the remainder of the season. Once he warmed up we were off and running and aside from a rather spectacular ten minutes when I went to rubber and blacked right out mid-conversation (which is NOT FUN, let me tell you and put me on the sidelines for half of today because I haven't eaten or slept or unclenched all that much but I'm feeling better and whoever started the pregnant rumor, once again, can kiss it and you know what IT is) everything has been going really well.

Really well. Cautiously well. Good. Steadily forward and upward.

(Okay, Duncan is coming. I've got too much downtime stuck-in-a-hotel-driving-myself-mad time and haven't slept yet.)

Ben has worked really hard over the past five weeks. I thought he did it because of the fear of the mass migration to Lochlanville. But not. He worked hard because he wanted to. He wanted to stop and he wanted to feel whole again and he wanted to stop escaping into Ben-land where everything is hypnotic swirls and black hallways that tilt crazily and loud guitars that ring in your ear long after the switch on the amplifier has been flicked off.

He wanted to be Ben again and with however many stops and starts he has had over the past four years, he finally put his fear aside and his pride on the shelf and he's doing what he set out to do. He wants to be a good role model for his stepchildren because it's something he would like to do for them, instead of failing them like everyone else has. A need to make something right out of all this wrong.

With any luck and all this hard work continuing, with the plans and the support he has falling into place now, I think he's got a very good chance, but I won't say any more, I can't jinx it. I can't predict it. He's going to do it or he's not, and nothing I do or don't do will change a thing, I'm just the back-up singer.

But oh, what a lovely song. I've waited forever to hear it, and I'm not disappointed.

Enjoy the rest of the week. See you soon.

(PJ! Please record Ice Road Truckers for me. They don't have it here and I forgot to ask you before. Love you guys. b. )

Quick update.

Looks like I have three minutes so I can update those of you I haven't emailed already. There is hardly internet access here, so I doubt there will be any more updates until we're home again.

We're, I said.

I'm flying home Saturday, Ben will follow on Sunday. He would have been home last week but he wasn't quite ready, he really wanted us to have this week here so we can get as much help as we can get before we head home to a new sponsor for him, a new plan for support, a new pretty-much-everything. A fresh start.

Seems fitting, as our first wedding anniversary is on Sunday.

Yesterday was difficult. Ben took the whole day to warm up to me, to see that I really am on board with this and I'm really not switching teams to play for Lochlanville for the remainder of the season. Once he warmed up we were off and running and aside from a rather spectacular ten minutes when I went to rubber and blacked right out mid-conversation (which is NOT FUN, let me tell you and put me on the sidelines for half of today because I haven't eaten or slept or unclenched all that much but I'm feeling better and whoever started the pregnant rumor, once again, can kiss it and you know what IT is) everything has been going really well.

Really well. Cautiously well. Good. Steadily forward and upward.

(Okay, Duncan is coming. I've got too much downtime stuck-in-a-hotel-driving-myself-mad time and haven't slept yet.)

Ben has worked really hard over the past five weeks. I thought he did it because of the fear of the mass migration to Lochlanville. But not. He worked hard because he wanted to. He wanted to stop and he wanted to feel whole again and he wanted to stop escaping into Ben-land where everything is hypnotic swirls and black hallways that tilt crazily and loud guitars that ring in your ear long after the switch on the amplifier has been flicked off.

He wanted to be Ben again and with however many stops and starts he has had over the past four years, he finally put his fear aside and his pride on the shelf and he's doing what he set out to do. He wants to be a good role model for his stepchildren because it's something he would like to do for them, instead of failing them like everyone else has. A need to make something right out of all this wrong.

With any luck and all this hard work continuing, with the plans and the support he has falling into place now, I think he's got a very good chance, but I won't say any more, I can't jinx it. I can't predict it. He's going to do it or he's not, and nothing I do or don't do will change a thing, I'm just the back-up singer.

But oh, what a lovely song. I've waited forever to hear it, and I'm not disappointed.

Enjoy the rest of the week. See you soon.

(PJ! Please record Ice Road Truckers for me. They don't have it here and I forgot to ask you before. Love you guys. b. )

It's very early here but everyone is up and at 'em on a rainy Monday morning. I just thought I would sneak on to let you know that I'm heading out in around an hour to fly to Ben and spend family week with him. Just me. Danny and Schuy will be here with the kids and PJ and Lochlan too, and I should be back on Saturday.

These were not the plans, the plan was that Daniel and I were going to fly down on Saturday and spend a whole day with Ben and then fly back Monday morning but Ben decided that he wants me there for the whole thing. I think he's done posturing now and I'm off before he changes his mind again. I could tell you how much I've missed him but you wouldn't get it.

Wish me luck. This is something new.

It's very early here but everyone is up and at 'em on a rainy Monday morning. I just thought I would sneak on to let you know that I'm heading out in around an hour to fly to Ben and spend family week with him. Just me. Danny and Schuy will be here with the kids and PJ and Lochlan too, and I should be back on Saturday.

These were not the plans, the plan was that Daniel and I were going to fly down on Saturday and spend a whole day with Ben and then fly back Monday morning but Ben decided that he wants me there for the whole thing. I think he's done posturing now and I'm off before he changes his mind again. I could tell you how much I've missed him but you wouldn't get it.

Wish me luck. This is something new.

Never listen when they tell you she's broken because she's not.

(Dear reader, this post isn't for you, it's for me. So please don't send me hatemail today. That is all.)

New like a baby
Lost like a prayer
The sky was your playground
But the cold ground was your bed
Poor stargazer
She's got no tears in her eyes
Smooth like whisper
She knows that love heals all wounds with time
Now it seems like too much love
Is never enough,
you better seek out another road
'cause this one has ended abrupt,
say hello to heaven

It's a sort of cinnamon-sugar-dipped finger day, a discard the striped tights for bare legs day, a day where you squint when you first open the curtains and a day to listen to very old and much beloved music.

It's a day for fresh-squeezed beginnings and toasted dreams.

It's making me smile. I have four days to go before I get on a plane and get to see the brown eyes that have taken over my thoughts permanently and four days to begin to make my peace with the blue eyes I'm going to leave behind. And it all feels rather abrupt and final and like a relief with an undercurrent of excited recklessness.

Everyone has always said that time heals, leaving us to hope and assume and guess that it's going to be gradual and painless and as slow as molasses, that we can watch and gauge progress, a high water mark that will recede visibly and we can draw lines and marvel at the change.

It doesn't work like that. It's fast but it's painful and obvious. One minute you're walking down a familiar path, breath choked in your throat, eyes misted over, fumbling along hoping you don't trip and get sucked into the emotional quicksand you've been out-walking like the living dead for months and years and days and nights, oh those endless nights and then there's that switch that gets flicked and in a flash of terrible, blinding pain, everything is gone.

Gone.

The road beneath my feet is firm and dry and stable. My green eyes are clear and I can see. I can take a deep breath and suck it far down into my lungs. I can let go of a hand for just a moment and it doesn't scare me to do so.

Some warning would have been nice but I didn't get it and that's okay too because I'm pretty sure I won't fall because I risked a look back over my shoulder and the quicksand pool was gone and the emotional bounty on my soul has been rescinded and oh, I need another deep breath.

So unexpected and yet so welcome too.

I've said before I have no user manual, and that grief has no roadmap. I've challenged everyone I have ever met to prove to me that my head was going to fit their mold, that my behavior would follow their predictions, that my heart would make sense.

I've proven them all wrong, not wrong in their studies or in their theories, just wrong in that not everyone can find comfort in some set of stages or group of behaviors or chain of feelings. That if you feel alone and you don't seem to fit and experts run out of answers and friends run out of patience and you run out of strength that it doesn't make you a bad person or a crazy person or a person who can't be helped.

It just makes you you.

Exactly who you're supposed to be.

Visibly and invisibly different.

Beautiful, beautiful me.

Communion on the run.

Sam and I ran last night. We ran until I gave out and sobered up and admitted that I didn't have control of my day or my brain, but I did have control of my life and this wasn't going to change that. He reminded me that I knew anyway, she didn't have anything new to add, it didn't serve to change anything Jacob had written in his letters or journals.

It isn't news, he said and I know he is right. Sam is always right. Sam was a quiet observer into my life with Jacob and he is louder now and he has never failed me yet when it comes to administering huge doses of reality and peace in his still rather quiet verbal measures, timed carefully to land like wonderful little bombs of knowledge in between the squealing as my brain takes corners too fast. He picks the quiet spots and I hear him. He prays and I hear him.

Every time.

So I came home, dry and tired and no longer overwhelmed and I packed up the envelope stuffed with Jacob's writing and I put it in the box with his journals and his letters and I watched a movie with Christian and the kids and then the kids went to bed and Christian went home and I took a long hot shower and went to bed, reading for a while. I heard the alarm ring when Lochlan came in late from work and I thought about going down to talk to him but then it was morning and the sun was out and yesterday is over.

Over.

Kind of like Jake.

Just...over.

Maybe some other time when I'm not feeling so fragile I'll read what Sophie gave me. God knows, maybe she feels the same way. I gave her the envelope full of pictures she had asked for months and months ago, and even though they weren't right for each other and she endured being with someone who openly wanted someone else, she cared about Jake. She cared and she doesn't blame me because she saw things that I was too self-centered to see, and maybe like minds are brought together because only someone even more fragile than Jacob was had the ability to make him feel strong. He was strong, I don't care what anyone says or what they read or what they assume, he was strong. He fought through all of his demons for so long and he was strong when I needed him so badly and when I no longer needed him to be like that he could stop pretending.

This would be the part where I say I could have continued to be brittle and breakable forever if it meant he would still be here but I can't control that. I'm not responsible for him and if anything, his life should serve as a warning, that if you know there are glaring issues in someone's life, help them.

Just help them.

My friends are doing it for me. We're all doing it for Ben. Today marks one full month that Ben has been away at a place that is going to help him kick his habits for good, and he wouldn't still be there if it wasn't for the support of his friends, his family. That's why I'm flying down next week. It's family week and we've been invited to go and cheer him on and give him whatever he needs to continue to get better.

There's been enough casualties in this war of a life and there aren't going to be any more.

And Sam says no more martinis. Which is fine, I said that at 3 pm yesterday. It was uncharacteristic. I don't drink so much anymore. it doesn't help. It doesn't help anyone.

She got all the grace and I, well, I got five martinis and proof that I didn't drive him to do what he did. PROOF. Proof someone should have fucking given to me three years ago and maybe he'd still be here. Not like it matters now.

Bring on your rebirth, Sam. Show me that resurrection. Oh, but you can't.

Too bad.

Happy Easter. I'll be in the pantry with the chocolate if you need me.

Request for a hat trick, if you please.

Like a thunder in the mountains
Like the lightning in the sky
Like the eye of a tornado
She'll watch it all go by
Then she kills for recreation
And she plays her games at night
She wants to work on her vocation
She sets the world alight

My phone exploded shortly after seven this morning in a flurry of noises, ringing and alerts in a never-ending stream. It was possessed. It was haunted! No, it was just the boys, all letting me know that AC/DC is coming to town this summer. This is one of those big band names we toss around, who we want to see before we die. Mine is Tool. But on the off-chance they don't make it back here I'll be at the AC/DC show with (Hell's) bells on.

In other news, I'm heading out in a little over a week for a two-night trip to see Ben.

Remember him?

My brain has declared him dead and yet my stupid, naive heart is all excited to see him. I'm hoping the two can reach an agreement sometime before we fly out. I'm taking Daniel with me. All the arrangements have been made and if you blink it will be over but frankly I don't care that it's a quick and dirty visit. Yesterday I almost lost whatever pool of ubiquitous calm I've been floating in lately. A few ups and downs and sometimes my head goes under. John pulled me out yesterday and administered CPR and here I go, back in this morning to tread water for a little longer, the lifeline of late-night phone calls from Benjamin keeping my spirit afloat.

Always, he'll say Just a little bit longer, baby, and then I'll be home.

Oh and today? Lunch with Sophie. Because I'm insane. Remember her? She was once Jacob's wife too. I hate having things like that in common with people. I hate that I'm even going to this farce of a lunch. I don't want to be polite or kind or adult. I'd much rather get up and knock all the dishes off the table and flip it over and then run out the door. In my dreams last night I did that and it was impressive. In reality I'm guessing the table will be too heavy and that freaking out will just serve to show exactly how pulled-together she is and how pulled-apart I am.

Does anything ever change?

Beautiful disaster.

Miss guarded-heart
Miss play-it-smart

I'm almost ashamed to admit we're having a Kelly Clarkson day here today. Nice and freaking loud too. It's possibly more than a little funny to me that August knows all the lyrics to Miss Independent. Makes me wonder what else he listens to when I'm not jamming Tool into his ears.

(It explains why you're single, beautiful.)

No worries, internet. I'm not really being mean. I love August. And for this gem of a secret I gave up my sick secret crush on Toryn Green's physique. At least what it looked like last time I saw him.

Hot.

Way hotter than Kelly. By far.

(Going to go crawl in the dumbwaiter now so they can't tease me for the REST OF MY LIFE).

Surrealism for lunch.

Mouth so full of lies,
Tend to black your eyes.
Just keep them closed,
Keep praying,
Just keep waiting.

Last night I was put to bed shortly after eight. A novel idea, considering lately every time I sit down I'm just about asleep in my place, and I tend to seek out hard shoulders and warm shirts and I instantly shut down, worn out, exhausted. So damned tired.

I slept until six this morning and I actually feel rested. I don't think I've felt this rested since long before the snow came.

I looked in the mirror this morning and I was seventeen years old again, frowning at the pretty face, tucking back a lock of errant white blonde hair that never behaves. Frowning at the darker circles standing out against alabaster flesh like pools of black water in white snow.

I am seventeen again and I'll never be more than this/I'll be everything more than this.

The world in front of me, my favorite music to score my life, boys on the side, the sun behind me, a light wind out in front, pulling me along the road. In my hand, clutched with disbelief, my invitation to my twentieth high school reunion.

My life is a mirage. My days, dirty glass beads on a frayed white string. My love, all the warmth you can gather in one place, and be ready now because things will change so quickly everything will scatter if you're not so careful.

Brave are those who stand in the shadow of the Big Bad Wolf.

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.

Welcome to your vice.
Good luck with life.

The children returned yesterday with their doting and well-behaved Uncle, having logged miles of coast and rain and sun and wind, and I could let out the breath I've held for a week straight. I still recognized them, they still recognized me, and with abandon they saw fit to knock me down at the airport, jumping on me, forgetting how big they are in their rush for familiar life, familiar arms. I know how that feels.

Eyes on me. I know how that feels too.

I had the wall of knights there to play bodyguards calm my nerves and I thanked Caleb for taking good care of the kids and for doing all this. I did it professionally and with the ice-cold calm of a thousand icebergs and then I ignored him when he asked about Ben. I took the kids' hands and followed PJ to the truck, leaving the others to collect the kids' things with my brother-in-law and I did really good because he looked really good. He always goes to the coast for a visit and instantly adopts Cole's style. Beard. Jeans. Hoodie. Flannel. Fitting in too well and standing out too much.

Drives me fucking nuts.

But I was good because under all those handsome genetics beats the heart of my smooth, wealthy, prolific nightmare. The wolf in Hugo Boss. You think I'm going to forget that NOW?

Nope. Not this time around.

No one else did either. I thought Christian would have to knock Lochlan out and leave him home when we set out. Thankfully everyone was good.

It's a first.

Status Reports.

This morning I'm still riding on previous highs. Movies with faces I know almost as well as the ones I see every day in person. Celebrating new lines and graceful changes. Music that weaves in and out of my days, notes punctuated against the backdrop of muted noise that I travel through like fog around the shore.

Food so decadent yesterday I relented and wound up spending most of the afternoon and evening drunk on prime rib and lobster and wine and chocolate. I may never eat again, and jumped out at the gas pump hours later to get some fresh air and move around a little, if only to shake some of it down into my knees where there may have been some space remaining.

Plotting spring running shoes to buy this week and planning even more paint colors as we vow to finish the house this year and finally, a new, very quiet dream emerges, one of packing suitcases once again to clutch an international flight for a view that is unfamiliar yet comforting, a far away place we've decided to return to. Don't know when or how, but it's there, a new pot with a new dish, simmering quietly on the backburner of the dual-fuel stove that seems to be my life.

Hands so distracted they haven't had time to tremble or fumble. Busy hands. Chores and distractions choking off the flutters with flurries of activities all hellbent on filling voids that have become chasms. And instead of going through, or falling in, or just sitting there on the edge waiting for a change or a bridge or a tiny airplane to get me to the other side, I've been doing something different. Uncharacteristic and downright risky.

I don't know that I take risks. Everything is sewn up so tight. Double-stitched, securely knotted, evenly-spaced and then I burn a hole through the fabric and attempt to squeeze through it.

This time, well, just, no.

I packed up as much as I could carry, and I'm inching my way around the edge. There are no obstacles in the way, I can do this the whole way around and then I'll be on the other side. it's so slow-going. Progress takes forever. The ledge is narrow and crumbling slightly. Some places I hold my breath. Others I can sit and rest. But every time I finally give in to the urge to look back and see if I have made it anywhere, I'm surprised to see that I have. The starting place is hard to see now. Dammit, it's working. It's narrow and I'm terrified and I'm shaking because I'm afraid of heights and it gets worse as I go instead of better but there's no other way. I see no planes, I can't build a bridge and if I fall I know damn well that eight lives have been used up and I'm on my last.

I miss Ben. I miss him more than you could possibly understand. It feels like he's dead but he isn't and my brain wants to take the easy way out and just mark an x over his face and Bridget's Survivor gameshow will continue with nightly tribal councils and challenges designed to make the cream rise to the top but surprise! The game has changed and we're bringing this contestant back. Voted off but a second chance looms and this time Ben has plans to win because the stakes are high. So high. I'm balanced on one of them right now. On my brain, on this ledge, with these analogies tightly clutched in my fists.

(I am the teacup on the ruler on the hairbrush on the ball on the bowling pin on the seal's nose held by the clown on the unicycle at centre ring. My circus never seems to end or stop or pack up and leave this town for the next. We're a permanent installation and admission is free.)

My children will be home in an hour and I would bounce off the walls, but if I do that, I'll fall off my ledge. Instead I'll stop here and breath deeply and wait to hold them in my arms again, and then when I've rested enough and they are ready, we'll hold hands and resume the slow progress around this hole.

Full circles for a Saturday morning.

Lay beside me, tell me what they've done
Speak the words I want to hear, to make my demons run
The door is locked now, but it's open if you're true
If you can understand the me, than I can understand the you.

Lay beside me, under wicked sky
Through black of day, dark of night, we share this pair of lives
The door cracks open, but there's no sun shining through
Black heart scarring darker still, but there's no sun shining through
No, there's no sun shining through
No, there's no sun shining.

I didn't realize just how good our seats are for the Metallica show this fall until five minutes ago. This is awesome. So, so awesome.

1080p in a 480i world.

This morning the little monster that rolls out of bed that gets coffee poured into it until it coughs up your favorite princess is very excited indeed.

Cough. Sputter.

Hallo, world. It's Paul Walker day.

Oh don't my boys HATE these days with a passion. It's the one day of each year (gee, thanks, Paul, for making these movies with huge gaps in between. Could you stop that? Thank you, yours truly, Bridget) when I get to happily drag a bunch of them to the movies with me so I can see Paul's gorgeous face on the big screen.

Required trailer goodness.

I've had a crush on him for nine years now (don't know why he hasn't called yet. Usually it doesn't take this long). Ever since I saw him in The Skulls, in which, ironically, he played a character named Caleb, otherwise I wouldn't have noticed him at all.

It was love at first sight.

And it's tolerated because I have put up with certain blistering crushes on Jessica Alba, Jessica Biel, Selma Blair, and Megan Fox, among others.

Thankfully a few of them also adore Amy Smart, Naomi Watts and Nicole Kidman, which makes it bearable, because I have crushes on those girls too. I just don't tell the guys because then their brains go into overdrive imagining all that hot girl-on-girl action and they might burst into gratuitous, perfectly acceptable and encouraged flames.

We just can't have that. If my boys implode then who the heck is going to take me to the movies so I can see Paul?

Yes, I know you're still picturing bad, bad things in your head. Stop it. Stop it now.

Drive-by Thursdays (Nice teeth, Bridget).

Man she saves me
To this day I don't know why
She picked me up
When I was down on the road
With the wind when it blowed

I think I surprised the boys when I said I could listen to Citizen Cope for a week straight. I think I also surprised them when I came out of the dentist with no cavities, a wonderful feat considering I'm loathe to give up my jolly ranchers, skittles and rockets and I'm also loathe to floss.

I surprised them once again when I threw a few wicked knuckleballs of snow during the impromptu snowball fight on our street. I only did that because I knew PJ was aiming for a head shot and I'm having a good hair day, I was hoping I could knock him out before he could land one.

I surprised myself when, confronted with those crazy butter curls at the restaurant we hardly ever go to for lunch because it costs a fortune, I had restraint and didn't make any butternauts at all.

There's a void now.

I'll make some at dinner to make up for it.

I surprised August by picking a fight with him over Rascall Flatt's song, Me and my Gang. I swear to God I have heard the chorus before. I was singing along the first time I heard it. I was like, decent cover. I was told it wasn't a cover. It has to be. If it isn't a remake, cover or at least a sample of a song from the seventies I'll eat my record player.

I'm home for ten minutes to change (wet. snowy. princess.) and my teeth STILL hurt. Ow.

Ow ow ow.

That is all. I'm going back out. See ya!

"Incredulity is the wisdom of the fool." -Josh Billings

This morning PJ called me very early and asked me how I slept, if I wanted him to bring breakfast over and if I really wanted to go for a run with fifteen centimetres of fresh white stuff on the ground. My answers were okay, yes, and no, he had a point. Under the white fluffies were hazardous, icy spots and I'm in no mood to hurt myself like I did the last time. Thank God for being double-jointed. He was about to hang up but he paused. He sounded troubled.

What's up, PJ?

If I tell you something will you keep it between us?

Of course. Unless I'd be better served to retain plausible deniability.

No, Bridge, come on. This is important.

Tell me what's going on, PJ.

I'm...

Pregnant?

How did you know?

You've been unusually cranky and eating for two.

Yes, well, I was hoping to keep this a secret.

PJ, I think everyone knows, you've been eating for two for years.

How long can this pregnancy last?

Who's the mother?

You are.

I thought we were more careful.

Remember that time you sneezed on me in the truck?

Oh, yes. I didn't think you could get pregnant from that. I mean, I only sneezed once.

It's a myth. There's an outside chance it could still be Christian's. He picked up the wrong coffee once.

I always thought you two would make beautiful children together.

Yeah, me too.

Really?

He's got that great red hair.

I was still laughing half and hour after I hung up, when PJ appeared in the back porch bearing a large bag from McDonald's. We're not running. What I would most like to do today is wait for that magic phone call from Lochlan, who can read better than he listens, telling me that living at John's house isn't going to be the new plan and that he is going home to be with his daughter. Cross your fingers.

Me? I had a good night last night. Andrew and Duncan came over and convinced Lochlan to go to John's, (okay, fine, they MADE him go) and then we made some pizza and watched a little TV and they were gone by eleven with promises that speed dial was my friend, as always, and they didn't care what the reason was, I was to use it if I felt like it. I had five similar promises before midnight, including one from Ben, who volunteered Daniel in his place and seemed completely unfazed by the drama because he knows we make it. We cause it and we stir it up and let it boil over and sometimes we bake it dry. He and I laughed and talked a little bit about how the children were doing and how the boys were doing and then he said that he missed me.

I was doing so well up until that point, you know? So well. I blubbered that three weeks without him was too long and I didn't have a date to look forward to because he doesn't know when he's coming home and this was too hard and Lochlan was on my case and I was messed up and I don't want to be messed up anymore.

He told me I was perfect. That he would be home soon. That he couldn't picture spending his life with anyone else, ever, in a million years. And then he said to watch out for tomorrow because it was April Fool's Day and PJ would probably call me and tell me that he was pregnant or something.

Bystander effect.

Change the colors of the sky
And open up to
The ways you made me feel alive
The ways I loved you.
For all the things that never died
To make it through the night
Love will find you
What about now?
What about today?
What if you're making me
all that I was meant to be?
What if our love never went away?
What if it's lost behind
words we could never find?

It isn't fair to chip away at my resolve or to yank the rug out from under my feet. You forced me to stumble until my hands found the wall and I pressed my back to it and slid down, until I was rocking on my stupid high heels and hidden in the shadow of the wall that cuts off the headlights as they pass the window on the stairwell. I put my arms up over my head so that I was as small as I could possibly be and how is that I'm still the biggest obstacle to you? How is that no one can move forward or sideways even? How is that you can't be kind in a time when I'm relying on you to help keep my spirits up? You took them instead and throttled them right off, drowning them in an icy puddle for good measure.

You admired me and then had the nerve to chastise me for wearing ridiculous shoes for your ridiculous night. Anger always worn on your sleeve for me, right beside the love, because I grew up and left you. Because you pushed me away because you were scared and I just figured that out last night.

You were scared.

Scared because for once you couldn't control every last emotion you had, scared because you didn't like the depth of what you felt and scared because you weren't the one people stared at any more. All those warning signs and you still chose to remain within reach, maybe because you couldn't help it or maybe because I couldn't. If your memory is that bad, just remember one thing.

I wasn't the one who wanted to let go.

This is your fault. Instead of being a coward, instead of shoving me away, you could have been a man like your friends were. You could have saved me from three lifetimes of pain and instead you're here to feast on my carcass like some kind of sick fucking vulture.

Every last time there was something difficult to do you weren't the one to do it, instead doubling back and reaping the spoils in your throwaway manner, forcing others to stand up and be men while you acted as if you were above all that. Well, you weren't, and I begged you to step in and show that perfection in your adult form, because you can't coast on sunburned-freckle fast-car teenage-curls forever.

Maybe you're the one who isn't strong and that's why I can hide from you, still on my feet, curled into a ball, avoiding the carnage when you land on your ass. Christ, I can see it from here but somehow you don't. Somehow you're blind, caught in a bright light but can't you see that everyone is passing you? They're stepping around you and in front of you like you're not even there.

I asked for one thing from all of you to help me through this. One simple thing. One thing to help me ignore my pliable resolve and keep me focused on the end in sight. A bigger picture for once instead of the here and now. Don't take too much. No looking back, no stepping sideways, no doubling around and sneaking into the dark to see me through to the morning. I asked for help because I needed help and instead you've taken advantage. I wanted one single happy ending in my life and instead you've worked hard to see that it never happens for me. Is it worth it? Can you sleep at night knowing that I don't feel safe with you anymore, knowing that I never know which end is up when I'm with you and that I'm not able to make any decisions at all anymore? Knowing that I'll never pick you?

And then you show your beautiful contempt for me and you look down your nose and tell me I'm slow and indecisive and irresponsible. Exactly as you raised me to be. You take pride in the fact that I tremble when you touch me, instead of seeing why I really do it. You refuse to see anything but what's right in front of you. You're as ruined as I am but there's no reason to your destruction so capitalizing on mine isn't going to save you anymore than this will save me. When are you going to get out of my way so I can stand up again? Who's going to let go first?

It should be me, only I can't do it, and that's why I asked you to do it for me. Why didn't you just tell me you couldn't do it either? Why didn't you tell me I was the strong one? That's it's the courage that makes me flutter? You forced me to grow up fast and yet you haven't changed a bit. Get out. Just go. Just take your leave from my life and stop coming back. I can't do this, I need you to. It can't be that hard to let me go, hell, all your other friends have done it. Just have some fucking courage for once in your miserable life and listen to me, please, Lochlan.

For once.

Dirty Little Secrets, edition#485759372-D

1)PJ's surrogate husband status.

PJ went on date number three with eharmony girl number five last night. She gave him the "it's not going to work out" speech and cut the night short before dessert. Why? Oh, because PJ thought his dinner conversation about Ruth's science fair project and his work on revamping the workshop in my basement was perfect dinner conversation. Apparently his date told him he should have listed his wife and children as his interests. He said he didn't have a wife and kids and she told him he most certainly did and he was a jerk for trying to pick something up on the side. Did we not go through this six times already? But I tell him to go away and he just stays around longer. Ironic, the ones I want to leave won't and the ones I want to keep don't stay.

2) Behind and above my fridge.

Please know I'm a neat freak. Everything has a place. Everything. I used to be worse, every dish in the sink would be washed or I couldn't fall asleep at night. I'm training myself to leave the empty mug on the coffee table overnight just to see if I can.

But the top of my fridge is a whole other story. I don't know if it's a fallback to the days of childproofing (or maybe dogproofing), but important papers and things I need to read are placed on top of the fridge. And since my fridge is six feet tall and I am five feet tall, I try to shove new papers up on top and that pushes all the other papers back further. Eventually they begin to fall behind the fridge. It's built into a cupboard so I don't notice.

I knew I had a problem when someone asked for a copy of Jacob's death certificate and I was out of them (Make copies. You will always need copies) and so I said I would grab one, that it was probably behind the fridge and she looked at me funny and of course, I got PJ (fake husband #1) to pull out the fridge and it was there, along with Cole's softball schedule and Ruth's first origami project. Lochlan's missing vehicle registration from 2006 was there too. Oops. Condoms that expired a year ago. Church proofs. God, it was a time capsule from hell. Everything went into a bin for sorting and there is now a stack of empty baskets on top of the fridge. They will remain empty.

I'm thinking of shoving the bin full of papers under my bed.

3) The lyrics.

I got a very imaginative letter from a reader who wonders if the song lyrics I post are actually secret messages.

Well, now, hello, my pretty.

You're half right and really this is the FIRST time ever in almost five years someone has contacted me to ask that very question and I'm really proud. I should have had prizes prepared. Also stellar are the two people who may have guessed right on a few other topics of great mystery and intrigue but I won't address any of them because great mystery! Intrigue!

Is this the most annoying entry I have ever written? Yes, I think so too.

I got to be Diane Lane for a night. Don't laugh too hard.

Notice I'm not sleeping in, which is kind of ironic and not surprising at all. I'm so used to the kids getting me up earlier and the pets wanting to be fed that I am up regardless.

Last night was fun. I played third wheel on a date with Daniel and Schuyler and they took me to see a movie in another language (Korean, I think) with no subtitles so it was very difficult to figure out what happened. Then we went to what had to be the world's most dimly-lit Italian restaurant, where they make these GIGANTIC overstuffed tortellinis and at every bite you promise you're done. But then they pour more wine and bring more baskets of olive-oil-soaked bread, and before I knew it, it was after midnight and they had pulled the tables back and turned the music up and we were dancing.

Okay, they were dancing.

I was watching for a long time and eventually the bread ran out too and Daniel gave me his coat because they had opened the doors to the patio for some air and the elderly owner came over and offered me his arm so I did a waltz with him, very slowly. Twice around. Older men have no issues, he stared into my eyes, a delighted smile on his face, sure feet, sure hands. Schuyler has video. Everyone stopped dancing and I got this twinge as we moved. Like why am I here? What in the hell am I doing in this fun and dark little place wearing my husband's little brother's suit coat over my dress dancing intimately with a seventy-year old (at least) man whose name I don't even know and I felt like there was a rock in my stomach and a lump in my throat.

Eventually the music faded and I was passed on to Daniel's arm for the walk to the car, through the snow in my little high heels and thin black wool coat. Lochlan was waiting up. He asked if we had a good time and I said it was the best, save for the homesickness. I was halfway up the stairs and I stopped when I realized he was still talking from the living room below.

It sucks, being a grownup sometimes, doesn't it, princess?

No, Lochlan, it really doesn't. I just danced with a man who is far away from home, too. If I could give him a moment from his memory when he was a young man, dancing with a pretty girl while people clapped, and have the music, the food and everything else the same? Then it definitely didn't suck. By default, I think I learned something.

What's that?

I definitely need to have more fun.

He didn't say anymore and I came upstairs and had a hot shower, tossed my beautiful dress in the hamper, noticing for the first time exactly how much wine and olive oil I had spilled on it, decided I didn't care, and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

No dreams.

Redefine pulse.

Spring break has descended on the house once again and this morning the excitement was palpable as the kids gathered up their backpacks and most treasured books and their new digital cameras for the flight home. They get to go on the little plane with their Uncle Caleb, who is taking the week off and will puddle-jump them from Nova Scotia to Newfoundland before returning them to me at the end of next week.

(Don't ask. First one to say Mafia Uncle under their breath swims with the fishes.)

I would have gone but I don't go, this trip is not for me, it's a chance for the kids to be free of me, free from my rules and my moods and free from the darkness that keeps a fairly tight grip on this beautiful house.

Ben called last evening and talked to each child for a very long time, asking them to be safe and listen carefully to their uncle and their grandparents too and to have fun, that he missed them badly. He talked to me too and then he even talked to Lochlan and then he talked to me again.

And I realized about an hour ago that all of my anchors are now gone.

Crumbs in the guitar.

I can't focus when I'm near you.
Do you notice me at all?

Three-year-olds always know when you're distracted. And my house is no longer childproofed nearly enough for this little tornado of a boy. Gabriel, who is going to piggyback on the rest of my day because his mom got stuck at work this morning and has a chance to take another shift until she can have her husband pick her up on his way home. For those who are new to the story Gabriel is my little neighbor across the street. I look after him when there is an emergency, which amounts to about once every six or eight months.

Gabriel has tried seven times to make me share his peanut butter and jelly.

Share? Bridgie? Some? Eat some? Have some?

No, thank you.

Hungry, Bridgie? Here, half. I have half. Do you have cookies?

Yes, I have cookies and apple slices when you're finished your sandwich.

Chocolate cookies, Bridgie?

Yes, sweetheart. Chocolate. We like chocolate in this house.

Me, too.

He keeps things simple, you know that? Lochlan walked past the living room earlier on his way to get a glass of milk and stopped and watched us. We made a ramp with books and we were driving little bulldozers up into the plants and rearranging the dirt. Okay, I was, because clearly Gabe is a animal-lover and my cats are terrorized beyond belief, having been picked up and hoisted over his shoulder so many times in one morning they have gone off to hide until the tornado warning has ended.

I'm kind of hoping he stays for dinner. It's awfully nice to be with a cute guy who wants to share his sandwich, with no expectations or innuendos otherwise. Of course someday Gabriel is going to grow up and use these blonde curls and blue eyes to wreak all kinds of havoc on hearts everywhere so maybe I'm just tilting at windmills again.

I'll just enjoy it while it lasts.

Because I'll look cute in flannel, that's why.

They make me laugh. I woke up today, the coffee was ready. The paper had already been stolen and dissected, sections spread from the kitchen to the living room to the den. August was in the den with the life and times. Lochlan in the living room with the headlines and PJ had the sports section but was folding it up backwards and he got to me before my toes touched the floor at the bottom of the steps and I looked up at him and muttered a morning greeting that had nothing good within it.

Hallo. There is snow, Padraig.

It won't last, princess.

Did you see how much snow there is?

Yes. I drove over.

I'm moving. Where should we go?

Stop complaining and come eat. Want to run?

No. I won't get anywhere today.

Treadmill?

No.

You're such a little bitch in the mornings. Have some coffee.

Offer me Ben and I'l be nice.

I would if I could just to shut you up.

Ouch, PJ.

I didn't mean it.

Hug?

Sure. Come here.

I could feel his chin pressing against my forehead. PJ hugs so hard when he's in the mood. He wasn't asking me something, I could tell.

What is it, Peej?

Hmm? Nothing?

Liar.

Fine. Did he call?

You already know the answer, one of these turkeys probably filled you in already.

You okay?

Do I get to pick if I am or not?

Always.

I'm actually fine, just don't bring it up.

You brought him up.

He lives in the front of my mind like a giant billboard. A flashing one. In Times Square even. LEDs and everything. Viral. Pick something.

Give him some time.

You guys need to give Ben some time.

We are.

Some of you are.

You're the first priority here. Ben can look after himself.

Ha. Of course he can't. We're the children, aren't we?

Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?

Did you see how much snow there is?

He paused then, realizing the conversation was going to be a loop and changed tactics instead.

You want some coffee?

I would love some coffee.

What do you want to do today, then?

Wallow.

Sorry, you're not allowed. I have a plan.

Oh, God.

Yes, be afraid.

Is this going to be like that time we burned down the campsite?

Nope, better.

The hazmat-suit weekend?

Even better.

I give up. Tell me.

You're going to help us finish your kitchen.

You mean like with tools? And wood...and...tools?

Yes. It will keep you busy and you'll learn something.

I'll have you know I helped build muscle cars before I could drive.

No, Bridget. You sat on the table in your short little skirt and polished chrome and looked adorable. Like a living pin-up poster in a mechanic's garage. Teenage heaven.

Why can't I do that while you finish the kitchen?

Because you need something to keep you busy, that's why. And we're not teenagers anymore.

I turned and eyed Lochlan and he was smiling.

Is this your idea, pretty boy?

Serves you right, princess.

You do realize this won't make me like you MORE. Probably the opposite.

I'll risk it.

You're risking all kinds of things lately.

Some things are worth taking risks for.

And some aren't. Remember that when I saw your fingers off.

Can you hear me now?

What the hell have I meant
If this how the day ends, I regret,
Close your eyes and dream now the world so far
Your heart sounds alone and I connect,
In all the ways I've dreamed you,
I chose a song to reach you,
But why it's sad again,
Only now I see it,

Ben's call kind of threw me off. No, I mean it really threw me off. Alternately, I expected the charming, everything will be fine Ben or I expected the stripped-down bare bones I can't do this Ben. That's what I got. Yes, both. Everything. He talked a mile a minute, one minute planning our future into old age and the next minute giving me away again, dropping that permission between us that he would not blame me for a second if I ran for the hills, or to one of his friends, one, in particular. Telling me he was relieved to be there and the next minute he was crawling out of his skin because he was there.

It's beautiful, no, baby, it's horrible. I love you, I hate you. I wish you hadn't done this to me, go away. I need you. I'm fine by myself, got this far didn't I? Are you okay? I don't care if you are or not.

I've been reassured by virtually everyone on the planet (and then some) who know much better than me and at this early stage, for once, it means Ben is doing well. Really well. And I have been promised that they'll put him back together so I will still recognize him when he makes it back to me. Sometime at the end of April, but hey let's please not talk about how far away that is because Bridget will put her head down between her elbows and slide right out of your grasp, okay?

Because seriously, I've been picked up off the floor enough since that call.

One bad thing to come out of this was Lochlan's attitude, which was a take-charge kind of resolution because his spin on the confusion was to decide Ben is too messed up to be human and will never come home and the time has come to take back what he had before Cole came into my life and maybe do it right this time.

And Lochlan maybe is going deaf now that he's in his forties and maybe he's not paying attention but I didn't take Ben's advice and I'm not going to be forced or coerced into being with Lochlan in any kind of permanent way. In fact, I would prefer that he stop with the proposals and stop forcing my head around, making it move so that I am looking in his eyes and I wish he would know that no, well it means no. It means stop touching me like that. It means I don't want to play games and it means get your priorities straight and it means even though it appears everyone else has?

I'm not giving up on Ben.

I'm not letting go of him, I'm not letting him go and once again I think it's time that I shore up my strength and I ball up my fists and I invoke every last measure of borrowed expectation that I can find, and I'm going to wait. Wait for my husband to get better and come home and be the man he promised he would be and wow, if he manages to come back and we follow through with even half the plans he spelled out in one of his more hopeful moments in which we could hear each other's voices, well, then I will be a happy girl. I will be a happy girl if he can lay some of his demons to rest once and for all, plans or no plans. I don't care. I want him to get better and come home to me.

And if he never makes it and never comes back and none of this works out and I pop another attempt at a fairy tale like a bubble landing in the tall grass on a hot summer day?

Well, I'll tell you right now, the plan will not be Lochlan.