Black and green and read all over.

I once read a Neil Gaiman book too. It was a nonfiction paperback about Duran Duran that came out when I was a preteen with access to my best friend's stereo and all of her vinyl. I was the youngest child in my house and no one would give me access to the record player, let alone a drive to A&A Records and Tapes so I could have my own music. I had an FM radio in my room. This was approximately one year before life exploded and I was suddenly old enough to be permitted to walk to the record store and I was given that handmedown RCA portable tape player with headphones and I proceeded to have headphones glued to my head up until the day my first child was born. Said child is now almost ten and I can sneak the headphones back on for running, extreme groovy dishwashing, and the like.

Wow, that was a tangent and a half. This post is not about me dancing while I scrub plates.

(Though, yes, I am a vision in my sudsy, porcelain glory, thank you for your imagination.)

And I admit that with two children and two dead husbands and everything life has thrown at me over the past few years I haven't kept up on all of the lovely writers out there, there are simply too many and I veer toward a select few when I have the time to read. I try to read a lot but it gets away from me quickly and I'll be the first to admit the four-foot tall stack of materials on my nightside table and the post-its with book titles printed on them on the corkboard are a never-ending game of catch-up that I couldn't hope to win.

So I am very sad and incredibly jealous that my cute skull shoes, writer-profession and Victorian gothic house did not earn me one of these boxes.

But I will still go see the movie.

And possibly now, find some new books to read because falling behind has cost me dearly. (Did you SEE #46? That's the one I would want. The wings.)

I'm only sort of kidding. I don't get jealous very often, and I don't even believe I qualify for a box since all of them related to the handmade or Gaiman-fan aspect of the blogs involved but those boxes are really freaking neat.

Such a cozy room.

Oh, we're doing that thing again. Where it's just about the last week of the year and the days are going to get longer again and things will be so much different next time around.

This year I'll leave it at saying I will believe it when I see it, even though I am forcing change with a gentle vengeance all on my own. At long last.

It's Monday. The kids are on their first official day off for Christmas break and I am on mine too, by default because part of the deal was that my work schedule match or fall short of their school schedule. We are entertaining a new family member, a tiny little nine-month old black cat we rescued from the shelter yesterday, a friend for our three-year-old cat since when we're not home she just seems so lonely, so now there are two. She fits in well and is very affectionate. Ben said we should have named her Bridget but we did not.

Today is a wash in pale blue, a snowy-blowy day where we will stay indoors and keep the cats apart. Seth is being taken to the airport as I speak by a sleepy Benjamin, who hasn't had enough coffee yet to be polite but one more cup should do it, and we are on our own for the week. Unchaperoned, unscheduled, unpressured.

Just being.

Kind of almost exactly like last Christmas. I like it this way.

He's back now. Bye til later.

Practical Magic.

You know what funny is to me? Taking the kids to the early service and when the collection plate is passed we fill it to overflowing, having weighed down our coat pockets with silver and gold, trying not to clink when we walk in and sit down. Sam has not caught on yet, even though he winds up spending an extra fifteen minutes each Sunday afternoon sweeping the floor in the sanctuary because it's covered with coins that have fallen. He marvels at how generous his congregation is and the fact that he must collect and redistribute the plates midway through the hymn, they are so full.

Is it not a sad day when you plot a month's worth of practical stunts and the recipient is nothing shy of grateful?

I need better victims.

And I am late for church again.

Disbanding the alpha-bet army.

There are five more sleeps until some strange and magical, albeit chubby man wedges himself down my crumbling, ancient chimney to leave token gifts for the children under our Christmas tree. I wish him luck. What a busy night, what an insanity of a holiday we perpetuate.

It's fun, isn't it?

Giving out bonuses was great fun yesterday. People are always surprised and humbled as their emotions play visibly across their faces like a movie on a projection screen. First thinking there must be some mistake, to disbelief that they now own that much extra, to wondering what they might do with it. And true to form Caleb's investment in the most desperate of charities this year left everyone all around with good feelings and gives him a good foothold in this city and a good foothold up in his ascent from the bitter hell he's existed in my entire adult life. He slides as much as the rest of us, but in his eerily Cole-like perfection, I daresay no one notices him even climbing.

I put my money where my mouth is as well over the past six months, tying up virtually all of it in the children's trusts and then giving a whole bunch of it away because it gives me more in the end.

Not more money. Less. I will return to a simplistic life because it's less crushing pressure somehow and less of an avenue of escape for me. But that's not for you to worry about.

In any case, the family meeting was a frustrating symphony of emotional noise last night and I'm left fairly certain that some of my closest friends no longer have a clue, and so this morning I boiled it down and what's left is this. So read carefully. I think I've condensed it nicely.

Ben is not perfect. We argue more than any other people I have ever met. We each contain more human defects than any other people on earth and we couldn't be less or more alike. Seriously. For every mirrored facet we have there are ones that carve a line between us in black and white.

Our love will be different and it will work. Why? Because I need to keep him safe and you need to see that his selfishness isn't the same. For everyone else the ownership lies in a sheer and simple need to take something away from someone else. To be on top. To have that upper hand. With Ben it is different. He wants me, wants us, because he is childlike and he wants what he wants when he wants it.

Because it is pretty and fun to play with and suits him perfectly.

There are no ulterior motives with him. Ben's life is different. He just is. Life just is. Take what you want to explore and don't worry about anything else. Wake the fuck up. Let it be. Hungry? Eat. Tired? Sleep. Stressed? Escape. Bored? Do something cool.

There is nothing else. Nothing hidden, nothing underhanded, nothing complicated.

I figured it out finally, why can't you?

I accepted and embraced it. Why can't you?

It's fun. Almost as much fun as waiting for Santa Claus.

There is no more Bridget-army. It's been disbanded. The base is closed. Go home and wait for Santa, you've all been good boys this year.

Anything not to feel so alone.

It's a busy day today, we're leaving shortly to distribute some really pretty little gifts that hold the customary holiday bonus that one comes to look forward to when one is of use to a man like Caleb. His doorman, his accountant, his satellite lawyers, his henchmen, and several other business owners around the city who have gone above and beyond. I make him sound like a mobster.

What?

If I could refute the label, I might.

In any case, he almost knocked me over this morning. With a question and then with an offer.

Firstly he asked me what my favorite afternoon ever spent was. Ever.

Easy.

1991. Halifax. In the pouring rain, Cole and I overslept on a dark Saturday, and then went exploring tiny bookshops and coffee shops and then we went to a double feature in a virtually empty movie theater downtown. We capped off the night by ordering in chinese food and making love. It was the most perfect day of my life because I wasn't worried about anything. Nothing was on my mind except doing fun quiet things. We bought a poster that was a diagram of all the shipwrecks that ring Sable Island. I don't have the poster anymore but I have the memory and I always call it my favorite day ever.

Caleb smiled and asked if I would like to maybe go to the movies with him this afternoon instead of working. We'll play hooky and then I can go home and maybe find the rest of that day with Ben.

I'll take it.

That wasn't the offer, though.

The offer was something else, and you won't really get it but I do.

A pitch to step in and provide emotional support and defence to make up for the continued erosion/side-taking going on between the boys. A deep divide that Cole happily cultivated to outnumber Jacob and now the trend continues only it's me against..well, just about everyone. There's a family meeting tonight to figure out how we are supposed to support Lochlan, who seems to be falling apart in great leaps and strides. Mostly they think I should be supporting him, and it got to the point where I tried to cancel the meeting because it shouldn't be falling to me to make it all better but I was swiftly vetoed and then virtually ignored.

And outwardly I'm sure everyone thinks that I make all the wrong decisions and take all the wrong actions but if I'm going to ever make a stand against things I no longer believe to be right, then the best person to have on my side is...

...probably not Satan.

But it's nice to spend time with someone who has a bigger fear of being alone than I do.

Strawberry shortcake.

You're covered in my skin
I couldn't imagine anyone else
Come up for the weekend
I couldn't imagine why you would save yourself

Good morning. I'm here. I charged in this morning tictactictac across the floor, lunging for the elevator button as if rushing now could make up for not rushing earlier this morning.

Because...well, the food fight didn't end at the restaurant. Ben and I picked it up again around midnight and decided there was time for more fun and it finally ended at six this morning with no honey left in the jar, mascara smudged across my face, my hair sticking up all over, and one stocking mysteriously, completely gone.

I think he ate it. Someone ate it. It's gone.

Actually, I have no idea. I can barely concentrate as it is. Today is mindless organizing before the holidays (thank god, because I noticed my nails are still caked with strawberries and I showered) and tomorrow Caleb and I are going out around the city to give out the Big Cheques to those here who are closest to his evilness. That will be fun.

Maybe between now and then I'll get some sleep but I doubt it because as I was leaving Ben said something about marshmallow fluff and I know I look like the Cheshire cat but you couldn't get this grin off my face with a crowbar today. I needed that. All of it. Sometimes things just need to be taken so far out of control you wind up hoping for the best.

And that is exactly what I deserve.

Impulse control.

Life is full of surprises. As a treat and because I am a princess who needs to be handled with kid gloves, spoiled rotten and generally given all good and wonderful things, Caleb managed to keep it a secret that we would be joined for lunch by Ben.

!

What a great surprise.

Unbeknownst to Caleb, though, Ben reads my journal. He checks it when he has a minute, usually reading it off his phone and sending me messages that say "cute post" if it's a happy day and nothing if it isn't. Works for me.

We looked at each other as we sat down and the only thing that went through my head after ordering was yay! and then he can be the first casualty in the food fight.

Oh noes.

When Caleb turned away from the table slightly to take a call, I chucked a piece of avocado at my husband, who grinned and lobbed back the entire piece of bread he had just taken a bite out of. It was buttered and smacked me right in the cheek. I squealed and reached for a cherry tomato and Caleb turned back around and I stopped. He looked at the butter on my cheek and pointed and Ben burst out laughing. Then Caleb excused himself and stood up, ostensibly to visit the washroom. I wasn't paying attention, I was staring at Ben, waiting for his next move and he was holding my gaze steadily. Eyes narrowed, grin full on. So I didn't notice until it was too late when Caleb slipped an ice cube down the back of the neck of my dress. I howled and jumped up and three of the waitstaff rushed over, not knowing what was wrong. By now Ben is halfway out of his chair laughing.

The fight was on.

In the process of being (politely) thrown out less than three minutes later I believe I saw Caleb pay someone for our meal and then some, they weren't at all impressed but it's also Caleb's favorite restaurant here in the city, where he brings clients and spends a fortune every week, so I'm pretty sure they will let him back in.

Ben and I? I doubt it. Fine by me. If Ben is going to smear butter all over me I'd much prefer he do it at home.

Grounded.

Meet Bridget, patron saint of insanity, absentia and mile-high shoes.

I still haven't spoken to Lochlan.

Do grown-ups still indulge in silent treatments or is it immature? You know what? Call it self-preservation, I don't care. Call it childish. Call it bullshit. If I talk to him I will mess up and I don't feel like messing up anymore. I've graduated to becoming a functional human and I'd like to stay this way.

That is, if you'll have me even though I can't really hear you unless you're facing me, and you don't mind the rather formidable ghosts who walk on each side of me. Oh and the rather unruly husband who stands in front of me and serves to be the oldest and biggest example of childish you will ever meet. Ben has a point though. Don't mess up, bee. Don't do it. Don't go. Don't have doubts. Don't think he might be right. Don't listen to him. Understand that he's hurting and that you can't help him anymore.

Right.

I know.

So I will be childish too.

It's not all that hard. You should try it.

Ben weaves in and out between the ghosts and places some chips on my shoulders and knocks others off and forces my back up and my chin out and mends and breaks my heart daily. That's what immaturity is. It's refusing to talk to people who are selfish and who want to hurt you while they fulfill their own needs, it's avoiding those who do not have your best interests at heart.

I'm just old enough, it seems, to understand that, and little else about what is going on.

Maybe at lunch today I'll start a food fight. I bet that would go over well with Satan, who thinks we are, as ever, downright amusing.

As are the shoes today. Be glad you're not in them.

In hockey they call it dump and chase.

I'm at work early today, here for over an hour already. Caleb wanted me to accompany him to an awards breakfast this morning downtown.

It was at the same hotel where Jacob once hijacked the ballroom and some of the band members to have a dance with me, but hey, we'll just gloss over that today because I can't go there right now.

I have more immediate fish to fry. Esoteric, mysterious, repetitive fish. Inconsequential feeder fish.

Hockey night was last night. Ben and Lochlan put on their gear and rip each other to bits. Oh, and that has nothing to do with the game. Westies won, 4-1. Easties never had a chance. My netmonkey of a husband was on fire.

I should have let them go alone but I was looking for something to do and also, I worry that at some point their blows will stop sending messages and start sending more pain. There's enough pain. So after the game when I found myself in my boots and Jake's big flannel jacket, standing between Ben and Lochlan in the net on the ice I figured all three of us had reached a new low. It took one fist to fly to get me out there and they didn't dare throw any more punches with me that close. It's much more difficult to land a proper hit wearing your gear and usually that doesn't stop them. It doesn't stop Ben, okay, fine. I'll give you that.

Since Lochlan came out here with an obvious hand to play, I turned to him, knowing full-well that blocking Ben from him was a clear message.

Why are you doing this?

Do you need to ask?

I guess I do. I don't understand you.

Bridgie, come on. You know damn well why I'm here. When everything goes to shit everyone always comes to you. I know when I walk through your door the lights are on, the house is warm, there's a fire, there's food for me and there is someone to hold. It's an escape or a comfort or a little bit of both. It's constant.

It isn't yours, Lochlan.

It could be.

No it can't.

Why not? You're wearing down. It took ten years for Jake to convince you, about ten weeks for Ben, so I figure ten days should do the trick for me.

You sound like an asshole, Lochlan, and you're not one. We're doing really good. Please don't make trouble for us now. Besides, you already made your choice and it wasn't me.

I made a mistake, princess.

Well you know what, Lochlan? I didn't. For once. I think you need to find somewhere else to spend Christmas. I can't be around you.

You're used to it, I don't plan to be difficult, I'm just telling you that I fucked up because I didn't want to compete with the caveman, so I pretended that I was bowing out first. In case you made a stupid choice, which you did and it's been a year and you're still carrying on this joke of a marriage and it's time to get back on track.

Lochlan?

Yeah, princess?

Go get your stuff and leave our house please.

He had the nerve to look over my head, waiting for the inevitable nod from Ben that I would be ignored.

It never came.

You want me out? You know damn well I'm here because there is nowhere else.

Go home and work this hard on your family. Keira's not the only one who's made mistakes.

How many times are we going to have this conversation, Bridget? You are my family. Or are you too stupid to understand that I'm here for you now?

Since we all seemed to be on a roll with trying something new, me with asking Lochlan to leave for good, and Lochlan using incredibly mean words against me, Ben decided to try something new as well. He pulled me out of the way, and I thought he was going to haul off and punch Lochlan again but he didn't. He kept going, skating and pulling me across the ice, not stopping until we were on rubber. He disappeared into the dressing room and I stayed outside, waiting, and then he came out in his clothes and took my hand and we left the rink.

Of course, this is Ben we're talking about, and he unlocked the truck for me, threw his bag in the bed, started it up, turned the heater on high and then went back inside the rink. About a minute later he came out again with the usual red knuckles, fire in his eyes.

I started to ask if Loch was okay and he cut me off.

He's going to pick his stuff up later tonight when we're out. Don't you back down now, bee.

I shook my head.

You'll back down, but for tonight this stands.

Ben am I-

-stupid? That's not fair. Naive, maybe. But only when it comes to men.

But what about-

Me included. And I'm glad for that, sometimes.

Just now in typing that I saw the double meaning, and I know that I'm where I'm supposed to be. I'm relieved, Loch did indeed take his things while we had silent coffee after the game and he's gone to stay with John, which is where he was supposed to stay from the beginning. And I don't know if I'll back down. The longer I live the more I'm beginning to understand that there is a glaring, wide-open space in between coveting someone and respecting them and being on this end of such a significant lack of respect with all the history between Lochlan and myself leaves me furious that I didn't see it sooner. I'm not what he wants, I'm just leverage to keep him where he thinks he should still be.

And I don't think I like that anymore.

I didn't forget to post, Andrew, I've been in transition.

Since my friends addle me when I don't write until after lunchtime.

Rattled today.

I don't know where today is rushing off to, my brain isn't even awake yet and I feel as if I've been left by the side of the freeway during rush hour and have to run to catch up but no one noticed yet and so I'm just going to sit on the guardrail and bundle my coat around me a bit tighter and wait for someone with a friendly face to remember to come back for me.

The kids are home this afternoon. Ruth had a stomach ache. Henry was coughing. I sent them this morning and turned around and went back to get them almost immediately. We simply weren't ready for this to be Monday, I guess. Of course, they're fine now. Shrieking with laughter and playing a game, sweaters buttoned to the chin because it's so cold out you don't even want to know how cold it is. It's nice and warm inside, unless you go downstairs or stand right beside the front or back doors. Or the side doors. Or any of the windows. Or...I think you get the picture.

But you know what is warm today? The AA medallion I'm wearing, Ben's one-month chip that he put on a chain and gave to me to hold for him. I haven't taken it off, it's inside my camisole, warmed against my skin. He wants me to have it but he didn't say why or if it will become a tradition, just that I needed to take this one and keep it close.

It was given to him last night and I was there to see him get it. Suddenly admitted to the inner sanctum of Ben's unfinished mental edits, I finally am able to see the stories that he wanted to protect me from before. Which I've read and I don't find as horrific as he seems to think I should.

I am so proud of him. Even if he jumped right back on his road to getting better and forgot that I was sitting here waiting for a ride. See, the problem is my stories. They're the ones that take up all the space, and that's why everyone keeps passing me by.