Bullets over Tuesday.

    * Comments are off, I think I'll just leave them that way. I get a ton of email but very precious few comments. Is that normal in the blogging world?

    * I'm really not sure what it is about Switchfoot but I really really love them. I think this song is going to be as big for them as Dare you to Move was. It's still my ringtone. Yes, me. The Tool girl.

    * I have a second TV show. I know I said I only ever watch Lost but I've added What About Brian? to my weekly television watching. It's really well done and I look forward to next week every time.

    * Mittens. What the hell? Every thumb has a hole in it. Every single one. I think I need to have some words with my Grandmother. She's my mitten dealer. First ones free...actually all of them are free so I probably shouldn't complain. And now I know why she taught me to sew. And knit. So I can fix her sloppy work. Oh I'm kidding. She's 90, I'm thrilled she still makes my mittens. Even though the kids have cold thumbs.

    * You know you married the right man when you can scrape all the icing off the inside of an Oreo with your teeth and pass him the now-blank, slightly moist wafers and he eats them, without even blinking. Please remember, this is the same man who PEES ON ME in the shower. And not in a freaky, fetish-y kind of way, but in a frat-boy, practical joke kind of way. I think he just likes to hear me scream in terror. Or laughter. It's a mix of both, really.

Oh, he's going to kill me now.

Rain.

Yesterday we worked from lunchtime until well after dinner in an effort while the weather is still above freezing to fix the roof on the garage. I was afraid to go up at first, and yet I wound up on the roof longer than Jake, because he didn't have the time or the patience to hold the ladder much while I got on and off it too many times. He brought up two hammers and everything else we needed and we did it together. I had black smears on my converse all-stars, black smears on my forehead and I ruined my workgloves. I had to wash our clothes twice, the second time in pure bleach to get rid of the dirt.

But the garage is done, and this morning it started to rain, a deluge this area rarely sees. It's supposed to rain right through this week, stopping only on Friday afternoon. So we're very sore today from all the hammering but we also slept satisfied last night because that ancient garage is once again water-tight. I think it was the most work we've done together on the house.

Today we're nursing our stiff and aching shoulders and hands and headed to therapy shortly after lunch. Where Jacob can talk about my princess complex and how difficult I am sexually and I can attempt to poke holes in his unyielding common sense. His father-figure issues with me, his unwillingness to let me lead even when I really really feel I can.

Two steps forward, one step back. One girl in her bright red raincoat turns and smiles back at you, because despite the mess, despite the old house and the bad memories and the never-ending bills and the fights and the tears of frustration, she is really really happy.

And it shows.

They broke the mold.

Oh internet, I'm blushing. And even though I don't write for you, so much as I write for me, there's something I need to address. Because inside everyone of you is a sexual being just dying to break loose. Or you're all as perverted as I am and I think I love you even more now.

I think I get more emails about the lapdances than about anything else. It could be a record for a minister's wife. Maybe someday I can have a second career. I can even bring my own lights now, because yes, some nights are so spectacular he actually went out and bought a strobe light. (For the bedroom. Oh my God, yes. Because I'm a total freak and he loves it.)

I'm kidding. I wouldn't do it for anyone but Jake.

While I'm not up for any lapdances at present, they're still much looked forward too by Jacob. I'm hoping in another month to get back on the proverbial horse.

Yes, I did just say that. (snurfle.)

In the meantime, I thought I'd start with the music I like best. Or maybe the music we like best.

Jacob's favorite song for me to dance to is Forty six and 2 by tool.

Mine is still Pour some sugar on me. Who knew Def Leppard would come in so handy?

Then there's more Tool-rosetta stoned, the pot, stinkfist, and Sober. Be warned, if you use Tool you're going to be there for a while, the songs are long. Everything else goes on repeat or shuffle until you've achieved your goal.

Really once you get into the music you could dance to anything. This is just what works best for me (ahem, I mean us). It helps if you love the songs anyway and I like the ones that I can grind to, so slowly. You have to be in the mood. You really do. You can't phone it in. That's not fair. Give it everything you've got and he'll be left patting himself on the back that he has you all to himself. When he's done with you, that is.

Cute lingerie helps. Although it doesn't matter what you wear, find out what his fetishes are. You have to wear shoes. Very high heels. Hooker shoes. Or boots, if he likes those. If you have long hair you can skip tops. Bottoms are fun because learning to gracefully get out of them is an art form. If he lets you take them off at all. I've lost several pairs of underwear because Jake just couldn't wait. Or dance stark naked. That's fine too. Be creative or be brave, it's your party.

Now get down all over him. Wind out on his lap. Move like you're halfway there without him and you want him to catch up. Work everything and make him want you. Bend your knees. Go all out, baby.

And don't forget, he's not allowed to touch you until at least ten minutes has elapsed. If he can make it that long. Jake tops out around four, and he won't apologize for that. Sometimes I push away or pin his hands, sometimes I give it up. It depends on the mood of that night. You can use your own judgement as to how long you'll hold out on him.

I hope this helps. I've had a lot of sheepish emails recently asking for tips, making queries. Please, I tell people this every day. Life is too short to be shy, or modest even. You're in the privacy of your own home, with the one you love. If you can't let go a little under those circumstances then you most definitely need to learn how to. It's oh so worth it.

The most important thing to remember is to have fun with it. Because it's a really outstanding way to end (or begin) an evening. Trust me.

No, on second thought trust Jake.

Pumpkinhead.

When it's been a long week and the days have gone cold, your emotional pockets come up empty at last so you resort to finding your favorite comforts to help carry you through. Lately I swing from the spectrum of semi-happy-barely-lucid-pretty zombie to a walking nervous breakdown and I'm struggling to maintain the status-quo within my own skull, liquefied into butter by the never ending assault of blows to my soul. Outwardly I'm doing pretty well, I think.

Jacob feels much the same, only he's a little better at the bounce back. He's a little bit stretchier, and a lot more resilient. He has God to lean on in a much more resultive action. He's always been strong. Stronger. Mostly, anyhow. Except when he's not, when he gets pushed too far. He needs comfort too.

Late last night he ran a hot bath for me. He put in a bath bomb and then dimmed the lights and told me to relax and enjoy it. He came back ten minutes later to find me sitting in the clawfoot tub with my head on my knees, frozen in thought and exhaustion, practically asleep.

Are you alright, princess?

No, I want you to come in, too. And relax with me.

Instead of saying anything else he pushed off his jeans and peeled off his sweater and then the water rose precariously high as he slid into the tub behind me, extending his long legs around me, his arms pulling me back so I could lean against him. He turned the hot water back on with his toes and filled the tub as high as he dared and then turned it off again and pushed me back up. Then he washed my hair for me, weakening my resolve to be as strong as he can be. He makes it easy for me to step down and allow him to run things, to look after everything. It's hard knowing that if I'm too tired to move that he will move me. He washed my shoulders and knees gently and then we decided to switch to the shower. He took me into his arms and shielded the spray from my face and I put my head down to rest on his chest while he tried to get clean.He smiled down at me and I closed my eyes.

Bridget, we have to get a pumpkin.

I am a pumpkin, Jacob. I used to be a princess and then midnight came and I turned back into a pumpkin.

I don't see any pumpkins here in the shower, just my princess and she's starkers.

Look really hard. My skin has an orange tinge.

I always kind of liked that about you.

Then he wrapped towels around both of us and took my hand, leading me into the bedroom and he took the towel while I crawled into bed and in a minute he was back. He turned out the lights and snuggled me into my place and then we lay there and whispered to each other for a few minutes. I'm sure I did fall asleep midsentence, but I think he was right behind me. Some nights are like that.

I felt a lot better this morning though. A girl should have a bath like that every night.

Maximum Glide*.

(* a group word play challenge from blogger Odd Muse via Outburst, in which you have to weave a story using a selection of key words.)

It was inevitable, living here.

Winter has officially arrived, skidding into the lineup fresh off a long vacation, still sipping a margarita and attempting to hastily cover her suntanned flesh via distraction, unfolding her wings to unleash a hundred mile an hour prairie gale that wound through the trees last night and tore exactly half of the shingles off the garage, right down to the bare wood.

I suppose I should suck it up and be nice, after all, if I fight it it's only worse for me. For winter is a fickle bitch in that she simply doesn't care to win any popularity contests. She just shows up and parties for the next six months while we attempt to shield ourselves from her elements and enjoy life in between the continuity of never ending assaults, in the form of white-outs and blizzards.

In any event, the reintroduction of the plunging temperatures and fluffy white stuff can mean only one thing to those of us who have learned to harness the power of the icy cold north for good.

It's time to wax the snowboards.

Resolve.

    I hate the way you look at me
    As if I was broken
    And the perfection of my frailty
    Has been questioned and broken

Here's the part where I cook up a crow and eat the whole thing, and then stand on my life's stage and clear my throat rather hesitantly before speaking to the crowd. The part where I make all apologies. Not to myself or to you, but to Jacob, who puts up with so much of my bullshit I think the next version of him will come with a shovel included.

I fell apart completely in our therapy this afternoon. I couldn't catch my breath, I couldn't keep myself together at all. I had a total and utter meltdown in the therapists office to the point where Jacob and the doctor began discussing what would happen next if I didn't come up for air.

He had pointed out my contradictions in saying I would never leave him and then my wondering out loud if I should leave him. He told me I needed to stay. He explained that the meals were because I don't eat. The weight checks are again, because I don't eat. The pills, because we had all previously agreed that I only take them when Jake gives them to me. The clothes and bedtimes, because I've been so sick, and I just had surgery, I'm supposed to rest more. I need to stay warmer, I'm too thin to be warm. The email, because it was for a nursery Christmas party that I had helped with last year and he figured all the babies might upset me. I hear half of everything he tells me and I won't wear the hearing aids because they remind of a day in which I didn't think I could get any happier, and he wants me to wear them and hear everything so that this doesn't happen. The Christmas trip? The same one he's been talking about since June. The one that I forgot about. On the inside I had lost it completely. All this was to help me. On the outside? Nothing. Why does he still love me anyways?

Two hours into it he just stopped, not knowing what to do next. He sat on his knees in front of my chair and held my hands and implored me to say something, anything and I opened my mouth and no sound came out. But then the tears started and I was so angry at myself this time that I tried again, just as he stood up and shook his head at our counselor, who probably had the hospital on standby at this point, ready to come and get me and shoot me with a needle in the arm full of something wonderful and let me sleep.

This time the sound was there.

I'm sorry, Jake.

Dammit, I didn't want to whisper it so I said it again, louder.

I'm sorry, Jake.

He heard me this time. He turned around and grabbed me right up out of the chair. Aside from holding hands as we rushed through the wind on the icy, snowy sidewalks to get to our appointment, it's probably been 24 hours since we touched each other. Far too long in our universe. He held me fiercely. Like if he let go of me that would be it.

I'm sorry too.

Don't be, you did nothing wrong. I jumped the gun. I'm stupid.

No, you're not. You just finally let the stress out.

I don't want to do this with you. This is too frightening.

Tell me about it.

We can't keep fighting like this.

I'd rather fight with you then get along with anyone else.

Jacob, that's a line from a movie.

An effective one, though, right?

Definitely.

So are we okay?

I don't know, are we? Do you hate me?

Bridget, I love you the most when you need me the most, when you try really hard not to be loved at all. I don't know why, I just do.

What movie is that from?

It's not. It's just the way things are.

Oh. Jacob?

What, beautiful?

I love you. I think we'll be okay.

I love you too. Can the next time we argue be just about leaving the toilet seat up or down, please?

You got it.
But we're both wondering if we'll ever learn to get along really well. For soulmates we spend a heck of a lot of time arguing with each other. Never over the little things though. Maybe that means something.

Too big for his Bridget.

I'm angry. And it's just going to fly right out. Because I can't keep it in.

Based on Ben's penchant for continuing to comment on my journal, Jacob asked if I would just turn off the comments, because he doesn't like it. So I did.

Then he asked me to stop publishing my journal online. Which I briefly considered for a whole minute too much before wondering why in the hell I was considering his request at all.

I make no demands of him. None at all, except that he be kind.

And yet, the deluge has begun. He's been asking me to change my clothes, or telling me we should go to bed early (and not in the fun way, in the sleep way. Fun is still not allowed as per doctor's orders), and making me food I didn't ask for. Not cake, actual meals. He polices my moods, my weight, my pills and my words. He's been nitpicking my journal after telling me he wasn't checking it much because it makes him sad when I pour on the feelings to a hard-edged machine instead of to him. He's been pressuring me to return to couples therapy. He's been talking about taking us away for Christmas, in spite of my hard and fast rules about airports and major holidays. He's taking control. Only I didn't ask him to do that.

His ego has landed and he's forgetting that marriage is a partnership, not his kingdom to rule. But most importantly he's been forgetting that I just fell out of a marriage in which not only did I get to make no decisions but I was told what to do and how to do it, much like a child, which is sick and fucked up and I'm not doing that again. He put himself in charge because I have to be protected. What the fuck ever.

He had the nerve to reply to an email I received asking if I wanted to help organize a Christmas thing. He responded as me, and then didn't tell me. Jacob's savvy enough to delete emails but apparently not clever enough to empty the trash folder. I found them yesterday by accident. That was my final straw.

And I started a war. A spectacular leveling of my composure that he won't forget any time soon.

I lost it all over him. I left him stunned, speechless, and angry too.

The smallest people in the world have the biggest, hardest to rouse tempers you haven't seen the worst of. He got all of it, all at once. I told him if he wanted to take Cole's place then he was forgetting the most effective part of control. To rape your wife each night, to hurt her in every way that can't be seen because she can't turn to anyone after that kind of love. And that he was precious few actions away from being just like Cole. How dare he level all this unreasonableness at me now? What in hell prompted him to drop all these bombs at once and why would I ever consider living life by rewinding every bad thing I ever went through with Cole and doing it again? Didn't he remember how precariously I existed before? Didn't he remember how living under someone's control crushed my spirit and ruined my life? What in the hell could change overnight for him like that to make him behave so much like everything he told me he stood against?

He had very little in the way of answers for me. His nightmares, the ones of me leaving him. After all this, like I would walk away from him. He says my only answer when he asked was that I said I guess it wasn't what I really wanted after all. I changed my mind in his dream and he's terrified. So afraid that he isn't thinking straight.

How can you be held accountable for something you say in a nightmare you didn't even have?

The same way you can be held accountable for taking men you love so much and somehow turning them into stone.

I don't even know how I do it. But I do it and it's done and I don't know what to do with him now. And he doesn't believe that I love him, not nearly as much as I ever loved Cole, without seeing the whole love/hate thing anymore that I can't be held responsible for. It wasn't right, it wasn't healthy and it wasn't anything I had any control over. Why can't he see that all of the sudden? What in the hell is he thinking? Why is he doing this? How could he think that I don't love him. That alone puts me to the floor.

Doubts for me are like loaded guns for everyone else. Dangerous. They go off and people get hurt and right now the fact that Jake, of all people is messing with my head scares the fuck out of me in the worst way. Because I'm not in a good place anymore in my head. And when this place is all I see I run. I self-destruct.

I keep having thoughts that I should be packing. That I can just give him this house and take the kids and get away from him. That he's not helping right now and I can't deal with that. That maybe Ben and Loch were right and I'm no better off even though Jacob maybe just has a less violent, more charismatic method of propelling my life. That he wanted to control me just as much as Cole did, that it was a competition that had nothing to do with me, it was a contest to see who was the stronger man, and I was simply the trophy. What is the prize? Why, sex with Bridget. Supposedly the best thing you'll ever experience in your entire life. Whatever.

Only I didn't think Jacob was that shallow. That sick. He doesn't play with my emotions. But he does. And he isn't perfect and yet he waited so long to show his true self to me I don't even recognize him today. And his reply to that?

Bridget, don't be crazy.
Not the smartest thing to say to a heavily medicated, grieving, freaked out fucking suicidal fragile shred of humanity, is it? I didn't think it was either. But you know what? He can fucking read about it and we'll wait out our afternoon appointment with the therapist in dead fucking silence.

Oh, I'll defer to you, Jacob, I'll go back to being that submissive girl who can't find her own voice. I can be that girl for you if that's what you want. I promise you won't like it very much though. You want me to look pretty and rock your world every night and not speak in public, oh, I can do that, baby.

I had no idea it would hurt so fucking much to fight with him. It hurts. I can't even describe how badly.

And Jake can read his very first public emasculation because he pissed off the wrong girl. I'm not who I was six months ago. But he didn't know that until now. Neither did I.

Lochlan.

    How I wish, how I wish you were here.
    We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
    Running over the same old ground.
    What have you found? The same old fears.
    Wish you were here.

I knew this day was coming for a while. He tried to make it a soft landing, a near impossibility under the circumstances.

Loch is moving away.

He's only been here for almost three years, Cole hired him to come out and help oversee a big project and Loch did the bulk of the traveling within Canada, doing such a great job he went and got a better one, in Toronto. He leaves on November 9. He'll only be coming back out this way for personal travel which means we probably won't see him more than a few times a year from now on, if that. I won't count on it.

My god, I'm going to miss him so. He's amazing. Steadfast and caring and still highly opinionated. Everyone listens to Loch. He's a lot like Jake.

Which makes sense, because Loch was my first real boyfriend. Not as weird as it seems, believe me. We dated when I was possibly too young. He took me to the drive-in one September before it closed for the season and took my virginity in the backseat of his father's truck. He made it good, so good. That actually isn't when it happened, that's just what we tell people who ask. We couldn't make things work vertically though. It's more complicated than what I can say, actually.

He told me I was difficult to read and impossible to satisfy, excuses that I wasn't sophisticated enough at the time to even comprehend, so I chose to simply believe them, not seeing that he didn't mean a word of it. I told him there was only room for one beauty queen in a relationship and besides, he wanted to party and I got in the way, age-wise. He was nineteen to my barely fifteen. I think he just wanted to sleep with as many girls as he possibly could during his senior year. I didn't like that much, so I retaliated and slept with the captain of the rugby team, a forgettable night that I'd take back if I could. Loch disapproved mightily and stepped back into my love life in a different light, fixing me up with Cole, one of his best friends. He'd serve to regret that forever and felt responsible for a lot of what happened, even though I assured him none of it was ever his fault. He just never felt comfortable stepping in closer than he already had after Cole and I got married. Jacob went on ahead and waded right in when he met me, with Loch's blessing.

Which was why Loch was one of my biggest cheerleaders when Jacob and I got together at last. He wanted me out from under Cole's thumb once and for all and he and Jacob have always seen eye to eye, a matched moral compass which allowed them to become friends and also cleared the path for Ben to have room to step in as Cole's new best friend.

Everyone picked their corners early on.

Loch has also at once encouraged us to move on with our lives and tried to caution us objectively on our plans. Jacob found a reluctant comfort in knowing that Loch had 'been there, done Bridget' so he never looked at me quite the way some of my other friends did.

Loch's girlfriend is thrilled they are moving. She never liked me. And even though I can't fault her for that, I didn't understand it either. He said he was lucky, he got to experience me with a clean slate. Jacob gets me with the twenty years of Cole's baggage weighing me down. But Loch has told him when the spell is broken it's going to be a beautiful thing and surprisingly Jacob actually didn't punch him in the head. He opted to take it as a backhanded compliment. What else are you supposed to do with that sort of knowledge, from one of your best friends in the whole world?

Life is a funny thing. Especially mine.

I can't explain why Loch and I made such a miserable couple but could be such easy friends. Maybe it's the lack of expectations, the take it or leave it promises, the absence of pressure to go to the next stage. It was the reverse of my relationship with Jacob, going from nothing, zero pressure to all the crushing weight of the world, every expectation upon us to make it through the adjustment period intact, and mark the days that pass as milestones on a new path together. Jake and I are fighting to be together which is always better than fighting to be apart.

Maybe it was the way life was supposed to happen. I wouldn't trade it for the world. I am, however, hesitant to let go of any more friends. They're becoming like rare flowers in the garden of Eden, and I'm trying to propagate the few that remain. The remarkable ones are so fleeting and I'm loathe to think too hard about that inevitable conclusion or I might falter and miss them too much to be open to the new ones.

I'm going to miss him. He keeps making me empty promises and I know what he's doing. But it's okay. I'm a big girl now, and I'll be fine. Loch made me make him one promise. To put him on speed dial and call him if anything ever goes wrong. If I ever need him. To not keep secrets when it comes to my happiness or my safety. That's one promise I can keep for him this time.

Drive-by movie chitchat.

Any man who sells his soul for love has the power to change the world.

That line gives me the shivers.

Critics be damned. I'll hype it myself. Why? Two words. Nick Cage. February 16th is a heck of a long wait though. There's a laundry list of amazing movies coming between now and then, noteably, The Reaping, The Fountain and Babel. I'm a movie nut, I love them all, even the really awful ones (and I mean very very weird) have something to offer, even it's just an unexpected laugh or a couple hours' worth of escape time, I couldn't think of a better way to spend an evening, an afternoon and even sometimes a morning.

Ghost Rider looks cool, okay? Stop laughing.

Rare mommyblogging.

My son has a way of brightening an otherwise mundane conversation because like me, he misappropriates words that will forever be used in a new context in our family. Unlike me, his hearing has been tested and it's fine. He just shares Cole's attention span issues as well as Jacob's joie de vivre. He misses details. He's five.

So a smattering of our favorite Henryisms seems like a comforting post for a cold early Tuesday morn.

1) When our plane landed Henry asked the flight attendant if we had finally reached "the promise" of Nova Scotia. It took me forever to figure out that he meant province. Promise indeed.

2) The Harry Nilsson song Coconut starts out "she put the lime in the coconuts". Henry likes his version better: "Lying in the coconuts".

3) When I play a scary or funny movie trailer off the Apple website for his benefit, Henry always asks me if I can make it "full-scream". (Get it? Full screen?)

4) Whenever he falls, or bumps himself or hurts himself somehow, he'll yell out "I'm Okay!" to whoever is nearby. Thanks for the reassurance, little man.

5) Those cool weapons in Star Wars? Knife-savers.

Sometimes you just want them to stay little forever. Today is like that.

    I'm left alone on the bus with my
    head on the ground,
    In hopes that I'm found by you
    this time around
    The sun will rise soon and tackle the moon
    Chasing it still in the sky
    All that I've got is tonight
    Excuses and reasons, and now it is the season
    For all that I never got right
    All that I've got is tonight