Today I have the usual confidence daylight seems to bring.
I'm wrapping presents and cleaning and doing things toward the move and I'm battling an epic headache and chills and flu and really I'm thinking this is just all more life experience that I'm supposed to get and then maybe I'll be promoted to the next level.
Oh, wait, this isn't Warcraft and I don't get to level up. I won't be sainted or martyred and apparently Dirt Devil is not going to read my mind and send me a vacume to roadtest because I still can't spell vacume and guess what, I now refuse to ever buy another Dirt Devil again because it can't manage to do fuck-all on the four carpets in the entire house, two of which are actually classified as throw rugs, I would imagine. Seriously. Whoever designed these things should be crucified slowly and obviously has all wood and tile floors and a really kick ass broom.
Let's see. What else? The children are home because it's Fucking Cold Out and they are battling the same headache/chills/mild fever thing I am. Really going to school to watch a movie and decorate a gingerbread house is not as exciting as doing it here and not having to wait turns, miss pivotal dialogue because someone is talking or watch the other kid that you hate put the last gumdrop on the roof. Fuck it, kids, stay home and we'll build a whole gingerbread village, or maybe a city, or perhaps a municipality! And you'll hear the movie you watch and I'll make popcorn and you don't even have to put on snowpants. Not even once.
I am the coolest mom ever.
Well, I am.
Maybe you are too. It's okay. We can share the trophy and the glory. Or maybe you don't have kids but you made a kick-ass lunch or had a good sleep last night. Here, grab a hold, hoist it high.
I'm going to need to go scrap some of this confidence into a jar or something so I can bring it out when the vampires come. Nights and early mornings are no longer doing me any favors. I just lie there and imagine the furnace breaking, the car not starting, being out of liquid assets and having the rapture break loose all in the same night and winding up outside with the kids when it does.
That seems to be my nightmare.
That and missing Ben. You haven't met him, you don't understand what he means to me or how much I love him. If you have met him then I know you understand, and that this is practically incapacitating me.
I am trying to remember it's less than a deployment, less than a season and less than a lot of people endure. I am loved and spoiled and the odds are those awful vampires from 30 days of night probably won't find me. My father says the odds are small, if any.
He has not seen the movie.
My dad likes movies like Out of Africa. I did too, but I doubt it's for the same reasons. I don't think one of my father's daydreams involves Robert Redford washing his hair.
At least I hope not.
I am finished shopping for Christmas, the flu hasn't brought me down yet, and I'm caught up on laundry and cleaning now. I have not hired any Russian, Polish or Belarusian hit men to take out my evil brother-in-law yet (I SAID YET) but I do have their numbers in case I decide to later and I am grateful that the dog has finally learned he doesn't have to go out every two hours anymore. We are up to four or six. Which is nice in the cold.
I would babble at you just a little more but in the feverish, overtired state I am in, I would just stop making sense (what?) or say too much and then everyone would freak out. Instead I'm going to go rustle up some lunch and do a little more towards the move. It's a big job moving a spectacle of this size across the country. Didn't I tell you that last time?
I guess you didn't believe me.
Tuesday 15 December 2009
Monday 14 December 2009
Home Alone.
It's been a long day. A long day with Caleb's choice of soundtrack leaving me just about blind with a headache. Add it to the other aches, I'm curled up now in a heated blanket nursing my cold, tired self and happy that the day was a success for so many others.
The music in question was church bells. Central European church bells. It was pretty but after an entire day of it fading in and out I found myself hypnotized and distracted by them to the point that my head continues to ring and I've been home for quite a while now.
Today Caleb and Mike picked me up just after nine. Mike driving, Caleb smiling and handing me a coffee, made just the way I like it, Second Cup to prove he is always paying attention to the details. Infuriatingly smooth. I thanked him and took a sip, burning my top lip just enough to scowl a little and retire the cup to the holder beside my seat.
You look beautiful.
Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself.
I could be in rags and no one would notice with you there.
Sure they would. Hugo Boss doesn't put out a rag line.
He laughed and then settled back to look out the window and listen to the music. I could only hear a little and I squinted at nothing in particular and Caleb pressed a button on the console that sent the bell ringing swelling to the forefront.
I looked at him and without saying a word, was treated to a rather strange peace of nostalgia I didn't know he even held. Some of the years that Cole kept Caleb absent from our lives are still a mystery. He is the most well-traveled man I know.
I did give it my best shot. I was hostage to it anyway, between the car and the day's schedule and the take-no-prisoners shoes, the six inch ones with the satin ankle bows and the lovely dress that was so festive and yet seemed garish and fabulously inappropriate for a Monday morning wasn't going to allow for me to become part of the landscape.
We spent the first three hours riding elevators and walking labyrinths of corridors to surprise most of the recipients on Caleb's list with cheques and small gifties and wishes that they enjoy a wonderful holiday. Polish businessmen with their brittle hugs and humble tears and mobsters with their questionable glances and bruising cheek-kisses and semi-false dismissal of Caleb's gestures in order to cover their joy. It became exhausting. If there is one thing Caleb is known for, it's his generosity in rewarding people who work hard. If he benefits from it so will you.
(Nevermind the other things Caleb is known for, this is not the day for that.)
We took a long lunch, fueling up on Pad sew, coffee and sugar cookies and then ventured out in the cold once again, surrounded by bells and cash, and I had a positively hilarious conversation with one man who asked me if I knew where he was from and I guessed Georgia and he said Belarus and laughed and laughed like I was the most delightful girl, because I at least chose the Russian Empire. He said most people say France. I told him I had been to France, for a day, and his accent was definitely not French.
He howled and told me his mother was French.
Then I noticed he passed a padded envelope to Caleb and told him that he should treat me well, that I was positively engaging. Caleb said he would do his best. I was more interested at that point in why they were trading bonuses but on the way to the car Caleb took my elbow and squeezed it harder than I liked to keep my attention and changed the subject to dinner out, later on, with the children and some of the boys, to cap off a wonderful day.
As in, you saw nothing.
Right. Bridget sees nothing. Just words. Words to arrange. Words to pay for later.
I'm not sophisticated enough to want to take that further. It just looked weird and that's when I pretty much stopped enjoying myself and hung back a little more, prompted politely but forcefully more than once to inject the situation with a little more of the morning's brevity. But I was getting tired and we had crossed off the entire list by four, and I called Daniel to make sure the children were home from school and warmed up and then Caleb said he wanted to stop by the loft and then we could continue to the house.
I rolled my eyes.
You really don't want to miss this, princess.
I can wait in the car.
I promise. Just come with me. Mike will leave the car running.
Sad that I expect that promise and you make it without being led.
It is, but I deserve it.
I was happy to escape the bells, so up we went.
I waited by the door. He disappeared into his office for a moment and then returned with an envelope. A large manila one, like the ones I keep in his desk to keep his travel itineraries organized. He passed it to me.
What is this?
Don't you want to look inside?
I frowned at him and then looked inside. It took a moment to pull out a heavy sheaf of papers and I started going through them. Arrangements for trips to Vancouver and New York. For everyone. Everyone except for me.
What is this?
This is your independence, princess. You've spent your entire life hiding behind Cole, and then Jacob, and now Benjamin and the others. Only in a few years you're going to officially be a grownup and yet you don't qualify. Not yet. So this is your chance. Ben and only Ben will be home on Jan. 16 for a weekend, and then not until mid-February. Then mid-March. There will be one trip for you and the children to go and see him and then you all fly out to Vancouver once the house sells. For everyone who fights your battles for you and keeps you handicapped by your own fears and doubts I'm going to play the bad guy one last time and give you a little tough love. Just a little and just for a couple of months. You can do this, princess. You're going to do this and you'll thank me when it's over.
My whole head tightened up and began to throb and I started to cry before I even finished working through what he had said. And he smiled like I was the most pathetic thing he had ever seen and said this:
My God, it's so easy to want to save your life. I'm sure now my brother died of a broken heart and I can't say I blame him. And Bridget, I am not trying to be cruel. I need the boys to help get this show on the road out west, Ben needs to go to New York and then join us later and you need to show the children that you are strong, and capable, and confident. Do it for them and do it for yourself.
I nodded. (Words. I need words and there's nothing there. I can't find any. I can't say don't. Please don't.)
You will thank me.
He took my hand and I followed him back onto the elevator, down to the car and then we were back at the house.
In the car on the way here he said not to worry, that my Christmas bonus would be in my account on Friday as well as gifts that he would bring over closer to Christmas day and that he would be flying into the city regularly as well to check on us and that no one would ever be more than a couple of hours away at any time, and that our extended families and all of the boys were already aware of the situation and supportive of it.
(Traitors.) My mind found a word!
Everything will be fine, Bridget.
I know.
What?
I know. I'm not thanking you though.
You will when it's over. And your bonus? The largest one I have even paid out.
I don't want your money.
Why not? You could use it to play airplane tag.
The kids have school, idiot.
That's the smartest thing you have ever said to me. Wait, no, second smartest. The first was when you said to make the pain go away.
Was it tough keeping the evil all bottled up inside all day, Cale?
No, actually. I've learned to harness both the good and the evil inside. Just like you, princess. Just like you.
The music in question was church bells. Central European church bells. It was pretty but after an entire day of it fading in and out I found myself hypnotized and distracted by them to the point that my head continues to ring and I've been home for quite a while now.
Today Caleb and Mike picked me up just after nine. Mike driving, Caleb smiling and handing me a coffee, made just the way I like it, Second Cup to prove he is always paying attention to the details. Infuriatingly smooth. I thanked him and took a sip, burning my top lip just enough to scowl a little and retire the cup to the holder beside my seat.
You look beautiful.
Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself.
I could be in rags and no one would notice with you there.
Sure they would. Hugo Boss doesn't put out a rag line.
He laughed and then settled back to look out the window and listen to the music. I could only hear a little and I squinted at nothing in particular and Caleb pressed a button on the console that sent the bell ringing swelling to the forefront.
I looked at him and without saying a word, was treated to a rather strange peace of nostalgia I didn't know he even held. Some of the years that Cole kept Caleb absent from our lives are still a mystery. He is the most well-traveled man I know.
I did give it my best shot. I was hostage to it anyway, between the car and the day's schedule and the take-no-prisoners shoes, the six inch ones with the satin ankle bows and the lovely dress that was so festive and yet seemed garish and fabulously inappropriate for a Monday morning wasn't going to allow for me to become part of the landscape.
We spent the first three hours riding elevators and walking labyrinths of corridors to surprise most of the recipients on Caleb's list with cheques and small gifties and wishes that they enjoy a wonderful holiday. Polish businessmen with their brittle hugs and humble tears and mobsters with their questionable glances and bruising cheek-kisses and semi-false dismissal of Caleb's gestures in order to cover their joy. It became exhausting. If there is one thing Caleb is known for, it's his generosity in rewarding people who work hard. If he benefits from it so will you.
(Nevermind the other things Caleb is known for, this is not the day for that.)
We took a long lunch, fueling up on Pad sew, coffee and sugar cookies and then ventured out in the cold once again, surrounded by bells and cash, and I had a positively hilarious conversation with one man who asked me if I knew where he was from and I guessed Georgia and he said Belarus and laughed and laughed like I was the most delightful girl, because I at least chose the Russian Empire. He said most people say France. I told him I had been to France, for a day, and his accent was definitely not French.
He howled and told me his mother was French.
Then I noticed he passed a padded envelope to Caleb and told him that he should treat me well, that I was positively engaging. Caleb said he would do his best. I was more interested at that point in why they were trading bonuses but on the way to the car Caleb took my elbow and squeezed it harder than I liked to keep my attention and changed the subject to dinner out, later on, with the children and some of the boys, to cap off a wonderful day.
As in, you saw nothing.
Right. Bridget sees nothing. Just words. Words to arrange. Words to pay for later.
I'm not sophisticated enough to want to take that further. It just looked weird and that's when I pretty much stopped enjoying myself and hung back a little more, prompted politely but forcefully more than once to inject the situation with a little more of the morning's brevity. But I was getting tired and we had crossed off the entire list by four, and I called Daniel to make sure the children were home from school and warmed up and then Caleb said he wanted to stop by the loft and then we could continue to the house.
I rolled my eyes.
You really don't want to miss this, princess.
I can wait in the car.
I promise. Just come with me. Mike will leave the car running.
Sad that I expect that promise and you make it without being led.
It is, but I deserve it.
I was happy to escape the bells, so up we went.
I waited by the door. He disappeared into his office for a moment and then returned with an envelope. A large manila one, like the ones I keep in his desk to keep his travel itineraries organized. He passed it to me.
What is this?
Don't you want to look inside?
I frowned at him and then looked inside. It took a moment to pull out a heavy sheaf of papers and I started going through them. Arrangements for trips to Vancouver and New York. For everyone. Everyone except for me.
What is this?
This is your independence, princess. You've spent your entire life hiding behind Cole, and then Jacob, and now Benjamin and the others. Only in a few years you're going to officially be a grownup and yet you don't qualify. Not yet. So this is your chance. Ben and only Ben will be home on Jan. 16 for a weekend, and then not until mid-February. Then mid-March. There will be one trip for you and the children to go and see him and then you all fly out to Vancouver once the house sells. For everyone who fights your battles for you and keeps you handicapped by your own fears and doubts I'm going to play the bad guy one last time and give you a little tough love. Just a little and just for a couple of months. You can do this, princess. You're going to do this and you'll thank me when it's over.
My whole head tightened up and began to throb and I started to cry before I even finished working through what he had said. And he smiled like I was the most pathetic thing he had ever seen and said this:
My God, it's so easy to want to save your life. I'm sure now my brother died of a broken heart and I can't say I blame him. And Bridget, I am not trying to be cruel. I need the boys to help get this show on the road out west, Ben needs to go to New York and then join us later and you need to show the children that you are strong, and capable, and confident. Do it for them and do it for yourself.
I nodded. (Words. I need words and there's nothing there. I can't find any. I can't say don't. Please don't.)
You will thank me.
He took my hand and I followed him back onto the elevator, down to the car and then we were back at the house.
In the car on the way here he said not to worry, that my Christmas bonus would be in my account on Friday as well as gifts that he would bring over closer to Christmas day and that he would be flying into the city regularly as well to check on us and that no one would ever be more than a couple of hours away at any time, and that our extended families and all of the boys were already aware of the situation and supportive of it.
(Traitors.) My mind found a word!
Everything will be fine, Bridget.
I know.
What?
I know. I'm not thanking you though.
You will when it's over. And your bonus? The largest one I have even paid out.
I don't want your money.
Why not? You could use it to play airplane tag.
The kids have school, idiot.
That's the smartest thing you have ever said to me. Wait, no, second smartest. The first was when you said to make the pain go away.
Was it tough keeping the evil all bottled up inside all day, Cale?
No, actually. I've learned to harness both the good and the evil inside. Just like you, princess. Just like you.
Sunday 13 December 2009
Where I explain Warcraft to the masses.
I swear I could have gotten away with remaining in pajamas today. Ben even sat up at eight and offered to walk the dog. I usually take the dog out for his first walk of the day. I declined. I don't have to walk him after dark. Not yet, anyway. Ben went back to sleep for an hour or so and I made coffee and had breakfast with the children, who are completely nonplussed that so far their advent calendars have yielded five poinsettia-shaped chocolates, which is five too many considering we are only thirteen days in. Next year we're going to do a fun-activity advent, even though every day we do something.
Today it appears to be eating Pringles in our pajamas, playing Warcraft and reading (Ben and the children play the game, I try to read in between shouts of joy for leveling and finding razorbacked critter pets.
Ben yells CONSECRATE! and I jump twenty feet. I would play but it seems rather agressive and involved and I like games to be short and sweet. Like Pac-Man. Half the level cleared, killed by ghosts three times and YOU LOSE, BRIDGET.
But the wackawackawacka noise is supremely comforting somehow. Much better than these squealing pig sounds during battles. I can sit here and picture them being attacked by roving bands of wild boars dressed as characters from Lord of the Rings and every now and then everyone starts dancing onscreen and it looks funny.
So there you have it. They could kill whole days doing this but I have managed to kick them off at least a few times for meals or non-essential events like..oh, bedtime.
But I try. Someone has to be the bad guy and keep order in the guild.
Or something.
(I really have no idea, but they seem to like it.)
Today it appears to be eating Pringles in our pajamas, playing Warcraft and reading (Ben and the children play the game, I try to read in between shouts of joy for leveling and finding razorbacked critter pets.
Ben yells CONSECRATE! and I jump twenty feet. I would play but it seems rather agressive and involved and I like games to be short and sweet. Like Pac-Man. Half the level cleared, killed by ghosts three times and YOU LOSE, BRIDGET.
But the wackawackawacka noise is supremely comforting somehow. Much better than these squealing pig sounds during battles. I can sit here and picture them being attacked by roving bands of wild boars dressed as characters from Lord of the Rings and every now and then everyone starts dancing onscreen and it looks funny.
So there you have it. They could kill whole days doing this but I have managed to kick them off at least a few times for meals or non-essential events like..oh, bedtime.
But I try. Someone has to be the bad guy and keep order in the guild.
Or something.
(I really have no idea, but they seem to like it.)
Saturday 12 December 2009
Reluctance.
Indict the blameless, transparent designsGood evening.
Pathetic and shameless, crucified
A legend in his own mind, enthroned by lies
A cheap Machiavelli plots his demise
Caught in your words, sever the knot this time
Somebody show me their true face
Face me once as I leave all that I despise
Face me as I unleash this hate refined
Face me as I leave all this far behind
It's three hundred and twenty-four degrees below zero tonight and I just stopped moving. Which means I'll probably get cold. I just went around the house delivering steaming mugs of hot chocolate (the kind with the sugar cane and coconut bits) to everyone. I've got a big warm black sweater on. I even took my hair down and I still find my shoulders creeping up and the shivering settling in. I turned up the heat. The woodstove is all but red-hot. There isn't much left that I can do so my action of choice will be to find the warmest guy and curl up beside him for a bit. It's always too bad that's never ever Ben.
This morning we had wind chill warnings and slippery roads to wake up to so I took my car and went and got some gas and a load of groceries. Why? Because it's too easy for me to depend on the boys and I need to get away from that a little. Maybe a lot. Do one thing every day that scares you, she said. Sometimes I actually give that a shot. Driving on slippery roads may not be scary for you but Cole taught me how to drive when I was sixteen and we lived on a hill until I was thirty years old and it was always easier to just stay home.
I dunno. I'm still having a hard time with being able to get through a day without dissolving into huge blubbery inconsolable tears at the thought of Ben being away for such long periods into the new year. He hates the blubbering because it makes him feel bad and it makes him sad so he's trying to just keep busy/occupied/removed which only succeeds in making me feel worse.
More than a few moments have completely degenerated into who is going to be more miserable.
Obviously I will win. I am Bridget. Hear me cry.
Heh.
Aw, geez.
Hence the never-ending busywork. Only I think right through whatever I'm doing. I can't get away from it. In my head my fucked-up brain is telling me I'm being abandoned. It's relentless. A fucking woodpecker inside my head that just makes every step some sort of agonizing litany of every last unhappy ending I must be in for between now and the spring.
Only I'm fighting it.
So hard.
You wouldn't know it by the way I can fall apart but at the same time I am making a concentrated effort to have fun over the next twenty days. We're winding down the involved work on the house, just a couple large projects left and the rest is all little projects I can manage and enlist some help with. Painting. Finishing up things here and there. Heavy cleaning once the house goes to market and continuing to keep things ordered and neat as a pin. Like it always is, because I insist. Even the messes are neat. Even the ruin orderly.
Ben worries. Oh, how he worries. Only I'm torn between feeling sorry for him and the doubt inside my head that ruins everything good. I'm working on it. Slowly, not in a procrastinating way, just in the Bridget-way. Damn thoroughly.
The good news is that for tonight my raging insecurity is frozen solid and the only heat signature in sight is soon to be joined by the princess and her petulant little icy scowl, that one that she wears when she's pretending everything is a-okay.
She's still not sure if it is, though. It is far too soon to ask.
Friday 11 December 2009
Ruling planets: Venus Rising.
Since I'm in an upswing right this second (because hallo, sometimes I am not), I thought I would get a lot of things done.
My mom sent me out a package containing her famous cherry-chocolate chip jewel bars. All is right with the world for the moment.
I weeded through the camping equipment, out of season clothes and holiday decorations and took out another rickety chair, table and chest to the garbage. I called two moving companies to come to the house to provide estimates next week and I put the last load of laundry for today in the dryer and I'm out of dryer sheets and everything is going to be Static City in an hour.
Okay, I ate a jewel bar already. Give me credit, it's been four hours since breakfast and I've been crawling around in the basement for two hours already. Cottage cheese on toast doesn't go very far.
This weekend we're taking the kids to see Santa for their devil horns photo and we'll go to Build-a-Bear. Ben wants to let them each design a stuffed animal and you can record a message that they will play when hugged so he's going to sing a lullaby to each child that they can listen to whenever they choose. I would like one too. I know what I'm in for with this move, the children were toddlers when we moved here. They don't have a sweet clue. Which is good. It might make things easier.
Whoops. I lost a rung right there.
I am still hunting down a third number to call for moving estimates and then I will consider calling my real estate agent. The moment I do that I'm living on borrowed time and that's tough. We're planning to do the usual work one day/rest one day this weekend and I really really need the rest day. I'm considering sleeping pills tonight just because I seem to wake up every hour sometimes. Bad dreams, noises, dog rearranging himself on the bed. Or no dreams, no noise, dog in his own bed on the floor by the fireplace. You pick. I'm awake.
The good things list for British Columbia includes moving next to the largest ocean on the planet, a one-piece driver's license, easy access to epic snowboarding and beaches and islands, beautiful Haida art and culture, big ass trees and mountains and we can transfer our MEC memberships painlessly.
And donairs.
Oh yes.
It's been rather hellish getting them here. I made them myself once, and people have brought them back from Halifax for us and you really have to be from home to get it right. Ben doesn't understand. Haha. He will when I find a legitimate one for him to eat. Fresh instead of coolered.
Ah. Such is the stuff of dreams.
Back to work for me. Organizing! Chucking stuff! Lamenting just about everything I've ever bought. And five more days until the children are off school for Christmas. Monday is going to be my last day out, hopefully and then I am hunkering down for the holidays. Wringing the last few weeks of love out of this precious house.
My mom sent me out a package containing her famous cherry-chocolate chip jewel bars. All is right with the world for the moment.
I weeded through the camping equipment, out of season clothes and holiday decorations and took out another rickety chair, table and chest to the garbage. I called two moving companies to come to the house to provide estimates next week and I put the last load of laundry for today in the dryer and I'm out of dryer sheets and everything is going to be Static City in an hour.
Okay, I ate a jewel bar already. Give me credit, it's been four hours since breakfast and I've been crawling around in the basement for two hours already. Cottage cheese on toast doesn't go very far.
This weekend we're taking the kids to see Santa for their devil horns photo and we'll go to Build-a-Bear. Ben wants to let them each design a stuffed animal and you can record a message that they will play when hugged so he's going to sing a lullaby to each child that they can listen to whenever they choose. I would like one too. I know what I'm in for with this move, the children were toddlers when we moved here. They don't have a sweet clue. Which is good. It might make things easier.
Whoops. I lost a rung right there.
I am still hunting down a third number to call for moving estimates and then I will consider calling my real estate agent. The moment I do that I'm living on borrowed time and that's tough. We're planning to do the usual work one day/rest one day this weekend and I really really need the rest day. I'm considering sleeping pills tonight just because I seem to wake up every hour sometimes. Bad dreams, noises, dog rearranging himself on the bed. Or no dreams, no noise, dog in his own bed on the floor by the fireplace. You pick. I'm awake.
The good things list for British Columbia includes moving next to the largest ocean on the planet, a one-piece driver's license, easy access to epic snowboarding and beaches and islands, beautiful Haida art and culture, big ass trees and mountains and we can transfer our MEC memberships painlessly.
And donairs.
Oh yes.
It's been rather hellish getting them here. I made them myself once, and people have brought them back from Halifax for us and you really have to be from home to get it right. Ben doesn't understand. Haha. He will when I find a legitimate one for him to eat. Fresh instead of coolered.
Ah. Such is the stuff of dreams.
Back to work for me. Organizing! Chucking stuff! Lamenting just about everything I've ever bought. And five more days until the children are off school for Christmas. Monday is going to be my last day out, hopefully and then I am hunkering down for the holidays. Wringing the last few weeks of love out of this precious house.
Thursday 10 December 2009
Thursday afternoon and it's not so evil after all.
I'm finished pulling together all of the cards, tiny packages, cheques, cash (where necessary) and gift cards for Caleb's Christmas and I have his flight booked. He is spending the holidays in Montreal (!) and will be returning prior to New Years to see us and finish up at the loft. It's already been sold. Ye Gods, I can only wish and hope that my house sells as painlessly as the loft and Lochlan's house did. John is also hoping much the same thing. His house is smaller though, it will probably go quickly.
Monday we will head out and distribute all of this goodness. Caleb is generous to a fault around the holidays and forgets no one. Right down to the postal worker who delivers his mail, his dry cleaner and the suitmaker who sends his bespoke jackets from overseas.
I think everyone's going to be very happy.
Apparently I will get something as well. I really hope it's a gift card for the Keg. Bridget loves the Keg! I said that to Caleb over lunch (which was not at the Keg) and he almost spit water all over me.
You're family. Number one on my list.
List of what?
People I want to be generous with.
Oh, that list.
I'm trying hard to act accordingly, princess. To make you comfortable around me.
It's been better recently.
I'm pleased to hear that.
I wait for the other shoe to drop though.
Maybe you should give up that wait. I'm not as young as I used to be.
I look at him and he does look older. Like James Bond meets Tom Ford. Lines around his eyes but little else to reveal his age. Dresses better than both and has the manners of a king in mixed company and a wolf alone.
Things will be different when we get you out of here, Bridget.
This is a rescue mission then. I was right.
Of sorts, yes. It will also be good for business and I'm sure that you, Ben and the children will find life more rewarding on the coast.
I hope so.
We'll make it easier, princess.
He smiled then, but I knew he wasn't lying to me. He doesn't lie about the very big things.
Why are you really going to Montreal for the holidays? To see Sophie?
I will see her while I'm there, yes. Montreal at Christmas is spectacular. Not to mention Ben has two weeks with nothing scheduled so I want the two of you to enjoy your holidays together before he leaves. In private.
I nodded. I still can't wrap my brain around that. Two whole weeks with Ben at home. We'll kill each other. In a good way.
So now you have a long weekend ahead of you and I will see you for breakfast on Monday?
Yes. What time is Mike coming by the house?
Eight-thirty sharp. He'll take the kids to school and bring you to me.
Okay.
And Bridget?
Yes?
Everything's going to be fine.
Tell me that on the other side.
I promise I will. Goodnight, princess. Be happy, princess. You're not. Not yet.
It was an odd thing for him to say but I think I understand.
Monday we will head out and distribute all of this goodness. Caleb is generous to a fault around the holidays and forgets no one. Right down to the postal worker who delivers his mail, his dry cleaner and the suitmaker who sends his bespoke jackets from overseas.
I think everyone's going to be very happy.
Apparently I will get something as well. I really hope it's a gift card for the Keg. Bridget loves the Keg! I said that to Caleb over lunch (which was not at the Keg) and he almost spit water all over me.
You're family. Number one on my list.
List of what?
People I want to be generous with.
Oh, that list.
I'm trying hard to act accordingly, princess. To make you comfortable around me.
It's been better recently.
I'm pleased to hear that.
I wait for the other shoe to drop though.
Maybe you should give up that wait. I'm not as young as I used to be.
I look at him and he does look older. Like James Bond meets Tom Ford. Lines around his eyes but little else to reveal his age. Dresses better than both and has the manners of a king in mixed company and a wolf alone.
Things will be different when we get you out of here, Bridget.
This is a rescue mission then. I was right.
Of sorts, yes. It will also be good for business and I'm sure that you, Ben and the children will find life more rewarding on the coast.
I hope so.
We'll make it easier, princess.
He smiled then, but I knew he wasn't lying to me. He doesn't lie about the very big things.
Why are you really going to Montreal for the holidays? To see Sophie?
I will see her while I'm there, yes. Montreal at Christmas is spectacular. Not to mention Ben has two weeks with nothing scheduled so I want the two of you to enjoy your holidays together before he leaves. In private.
I nodded. I still can't wrap my brain around that. Two whole weeks with Ben at home. We'll kill each other. In a good way.
So now you have a long weekend ahead of you and I will see you for breakfast on Monday?
Yes. What time is Mike coming by the house?
Eight-thirty sharp. He'll take the kids to school and bring you to me.
Okay.
And Bridget?
Yes?
Everything's going to be fine.
Tell me that on the other side.
I promise I will. Goodnight, princess. Be happy, princess. You're not. Not yet.
It was an odd thing for him to say but I think I understand.
A good jolly December wind.
Next person who starts a fight finds somewhere else to live. Now who is coming to watch the movie?
It was a sentence I heard clearly as I contemplated the shelves full of soups and spices in the pantry and wondered why I should be the one heartbroken by their behavior when they should have to deal with it instead.
The door opened and Ben poked his head in and he laughed when he saw me standing there holding bottles of tumeric and oregano.
What are you doing, princess?
Rearranging my spices alphabetically.
I see. Do you think you'll be finished soon?
No...see, there's so many. This could take all night.
He came inside and tried to close the door behind him but he's too big and there's too much stuff inside and he tried to straighten and the shelf of candy boxes behind him lifted and crashed down onto the pasta shelf below it. He gave up and threw the door wide open and ducked back out.
That's too bad. We're going to call the kids down and put on a movie.
Are you going to stop fighting?
Yes, princess.
Right.
We've already kissed and made up. Your boyfriend doesn't like my lip gloss.
He's not my boyfriend, and yes, he's very picky.
I told him I'd try all different kinds of flavours until we hit on one that pleases him.
What did he say?
He swore at me.
I'm not surprised.
You think it's my breath?
No, Ben. It's not your breath.
Come on, princess. Everyone is waiting.
I'm coming. Here's the popcorn.
Oh, it's really handy, you living in there.
Yeah, see?
It was a sentence I heard clearly as I contemplated the shelves full of soups and spices in the pantry and wondered why I should be the one heartbroken by their behavior when they should have to deal with it instead.
The door opened and Ben poked his head in and he laughed when he saw me standing there holding bottles of tumeric and oregano.
What are you doing, princess?
Rearranging my spices alphabetically.
I see. Do you think you'll be finished soon?
No...see, there's so many. This could take all night.
He came inside and tried to close the door behind him but he's too big and there's too much stuff inside and he tried to straighten and the shelf of candy boxes behind him lifted and crashed down onto the pasta shelf below it. He gave up and threw the door wide open and ducked back out.
That's too bad. We're going to call the kids down and put on a movie.
Are you going to stop fighting?
Yes, princess.
Right.
We've already kissed and made up. Your boyfriend doesn't like my lip gloss.
He's not my boyfriend, and yes, he's very picky.
I told him I'd try all different kinds of flavours until we hit on one that pleases him.
What did he say?
He swore at me.
I'm not surprised.
You think it's my breath?
No, Ben. It's not your breath.
Come on, princess. Everyone is waiting.
I'm coming. Here's the popcorn.
Oh, it's really handy, you living in there.
Yeah, see?
Wednesday 9 December 2009
Part 2: Where I lose track of everyone's agendas completely.
I've spent the better part of the evening deflecting Lochlan's request to remove the previous entry. He used to be my biggest champion for having this outlet, a place where I mostly work through the words I need to arrange. Probably because I looked up to him. I craved some kind of approval and affection from Lochlan that I have chased since I was a child. Even when Jake and I were newly married it was so easy to go find Lochlan and curl up in one of his arms and close my eyes and I know Jake worked very hard to make peace with that history. Most of the boys have. It was a given and I would not apologize for it. I don't apologize for much of anything. I haven't had to.
What's interesting is that when I stopped regarding him as the hero in the words here, he stopped advocating for the lack of censorship here. I stopped seeing him as the hero when I realized that in a misguided attempt to continue to play the role of the good guy in my eyes, Lochlan had inadvertently driven me into the arms of his intended fall guy. He left Ben to do the dirty work and through that I came to see how selfless and compassionate Ben could be. Maybe he wasn't the shallow fratboy of our group. Every other emotion towards Ben quickly followed and it was an epiphany of the grandest sort to get another chance to see Ben the way no one else does. He doesn't let people in, he'd rather pretend to be the monster, and then he doesn't have to let people see that sometimes he isn't fifteen feet tall, and he doesn't have to be strong. He just stays mean outwardly and then it's easier. Push them all away and keep things light.
Ben still attempts to live this philosophy even though we all tore it down a long time ago. True to form tonight he came barging into the house, took a quick inventory to ensure that the children were in another part of the house entirely and gave Lochlan a shove that sent him stumbling backwards onto the couch in the living room.
The shouting commenced, as Ben tried to intimidate and Lochlan chose to reason, charming the ever-loving shit out of impressionable unrefined Ben, extolling the virtues of being permitted close access to Bridget and how perfect she is and how lucky Ben is.
Compliment everyone. Diffuse the bomb. Quiet the monkey. Reassure the princess. Everyone settled back in and for once I spoke up. For once. Jesus, I never bother but sometimes I have a question and I'll be damned if I'm going to take a hug over an answer.
Okay, most times that's preferable. Sometimes, though, I really want to know.
Are we going to keep living this way forever?
True to form, I was given hugs instead of words.
Answer me, Ben. Please.
Nothing. He just held on tighter.
Death by frustration! Who knew it was an option? If anyone needs me, I'll be in the dumbwaiter banging my head against whatever's hard enough to knock me out.
What's interesting is that when I stopped regarding him as the hero in the words here, he stopped advocating for the lack of censorship here. I stopped seeing him as the hero when I realized that in a misguided attempt to continue to play the role of the good guy in my eyes, Lochlan had inadvertently driven me into the arms of his intended fall guy. He left Ben to do the dirty work and through that I came to see how selfless and compassionate Ben could be. Maybe he wasn't the shallow fratboy of our group. Every other emotion towards Ben quickly followed and it was an epiphany of the grandest sort to get another chance to see Ben the way no one else does. He doesn't let people in, he'd rather pretend to be the monster, and then he doesn't have to let people see that sometimes he isn't fifteen feet tall, and he doesn't have to be strong. He just stays mean outwardly and then it's easier. Push them all away and keep things light.
Ben still attempts to live this philosophy even though we all tore it down a long time ago. True to form tonight he came barging into the house, took a quick inventory to ensure that the children were in another part of the house entirely and gave Lochlan a shove that sent him stumbling backwards onto the couch in the living room.
The shouting commenced, as Ben tried to intimidate and Lochlan chose to reason, charming the ever-loving shit out of impressionable unrefined Ben, extolling the virtues of being permitted close access to Bridget and how perfect she is and how lucky Ben is.
Compliment everyone. Diffuse the bomb. Quiet the monkey. Reassure the princess. Everyone settled back in and for once I spoke up. For once. Jesus, I never bother but sometimes I have a question and I'll be damned if I'm going to take a hug over an answer.
Okay, most times that's preferable. Sometimes, though, I really want to know.
Are we going to keep living this way forever?
True to form, I was given hugs instead of words.
Answer me, Ben. Please.
Nothing. He just held on tighter.
Death by frustration! Who knew it was an option? If anyone needs me, I'll be in the dumbwaiter banging my head against whatever's hard enough to knock me out.
The human cannonball.
On the road we pass the time playing cards behind the tent.
Lochlan is capable of acting exactly the way I do, which flies in the face of how generally logical and steadfast and stern he is. And it was the same old argument we always seem to have. The one revolving around why I rejected their grand polyamoric plan in favor of marrying Ben, so I will save you the nitty-gritty shout-for-shout repost and Lochlan the abject embarrassment. Besides, it was disconcerting enough to watch him weasling out of PJ's good graces. I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
But not.
Because he is hard on me.
Or maybe it's because I know had he played his cards a little better he wouldn't be in this position and neither would I, the open secret that waits like a disloyal, eventual trophy on the shelf to the winner with the strongest hand. Ben got a royal flush, Lochlan revealed a full house. It isn't my fault he sucks at cards. He said he wanted to sit in on the game so he can't complain that he doesn't understand the rules. The rules are so very simple but he won't listen.
And I don't mean eventual trophy, because there is no eventual for Lochlan, except maybe in his dreams. He does not believe me and just about every week now he comes to me with threats and ultimatums and figures I'll throw in more value if he raises the ante.
I ignore the threats and life continues on. Seriously. It does. It's sadly comical and frustrating and maddening that sometimes my neighbors probably don't understand the history here or the arrangments but we all just point out that we are co-tenants who are also friends and the big old house is subdivided and everyone seems satisfied and says they hope we can reach a resolution.
The resolution here would be for Lochlan to learn what "good enough"means and eat some goddamned crow of his own because he's cutting into the joy I feel for knowing we won't leave Sam behind, that Ben managed to get another chip and spend another week learning how to put things behind him instead of pushing things along in front of him, and for the fact that Lochlan totally ruined a day that I was going to spend eating chocolate-covered cherries and writing cheques with a four-thousand-dollar fountain pen. Instead I stuck pins into Loch with my imagination and fended off Caleb's inquiries into where I was with feeling feverish enough that he didn't even want to speak on the phone for fear that he might catch something and ruin his perfection somehow.
I suppose this entry will out me in that tiny white lie but really when it comes to Lochlan barging through my heart and throwing pieces around until the whole thing collapses like a house of counted cards, there is a sort of fever that makes me want to go sleep until I don't feel sad anymore and avoid him until he has a change of heart and comes crawling back for absolution from both myself and Ben, because messing with me is messing with the big guy. Only I worry because Lochlan knows how to play Ben and Ben hardly notices because he is busy Not Drinking and busy Holding Bridget's Heart.
Those are full time jobs and Lochlan is the homeless ne'er do well on the corner of my life.
(Thatreallyreallycompellingone.)
It doesn't matter. I have to work tomorrow now because I didn't work today. I have to contend with Ben's sidelong glances when he thinks I'm not paying attention and wonder what's inside his head but then he'll encourage things and feelings and actions that lie perpendicular to what he should be feeling and that I will never understand. I am such a reluctant prize.
Lochlan is a con artist. If this were Vegas he would be in prison, but since it's the circus he's one of the star performers. (Just keep your eye on your valuables, namely your wife!)
So save your breath, I will not hearLochlan wasn't getting enough attention so instead of just acting like a grownup, he decided to take the princess route and throw a shouting party with me in the driveway this morning. I'm guessing my neighbors are thrilled we're leaving, in spite of the fact that their leaves are raked and snow is shoveled year after year. Lochlan waited until I dissolved into tears and flutters and THEN he dropped the subject. Or maybe it was because PJ finally came out and threatened to put him in his place, which was ten feet straight down into the frozen ground. And I had to come inside and hold ice under my eyes and try and fix myself up to deal with Satan all morning, working on his Christmas cards/bonuses/everything that has to be wrapped up for the end of the year here business-wise.
I think I made it very clear
You couldn't hate enough to love
Is that supposed to be enough?
I only wish you weren't my friend
Then I could hurt you in the end
I never claimed to be a saint
My own was banished long ago
It took the death of hope to let you go
Lochlan is capable of acting exactly the way I do, which flies in the face of how generally logical and steadfast and stern he is. And it was the same old argument we always seem to have. The one revolving around why I rejected their grand polyamoric plan in favor of marrying Ben, so I will save you the nitty-gritty shout-for-shout repost and Lochlan the abject embarrassment. Besides, it was disconcerting enough to watch him weasling out of PJ's good graces. I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
But not.
Because he is hard on me.
Or maybe it's because I know had he played his cards a little better he wouldn't be in this position and neither would I, the open secret that waits like a disloyal, eventual trophy on the shelf to the winner with the strongest hand. Ben got a royal flush, Lochlan revealed a full house. It isn't my fault he sucks at cards. He said he wanted to sit in on the game so he can't complain that he doesn't understand the rules. The rules are so very simple but he won't listen.
And I don't mean eventual trophy, because there is no eventual for Lochlan, except maybe in his dreams. He does not believe me and just about every week now he comes to me with threats and ultimatums and figures I'll throw in more value if he raises the ante.
I ignore the threats and life continues on. Seriously. It does. It's sadly comical and frustrating and maddening that sometimes my neighbors probably don't understand the history here or the arrangments but we all just point out that we are co-tenants who are also friends and the big old house is subdivided and everyone seems satisfied and says they hope we can reach a resolution.
The resolution here would be for Lochlan to learn what "good enough"means and eat some goddamned crow of his own because he's cutting into the joy I feel for knowing we won't leave Sam behind, that Ben managed to get another chip and spend another week learning how to put things behind him instead of pushing things along in front of him, and for the fact that Lochlan totally ruined a day that I was going to spend eating chocolate-covered cherries and writing cheques with a four-thousand-dollar fountain pen. Instead I stuck pins into Loch with my imagination and fended off Caleb's inquiries into where I was with feeling feverish enough that he didn't even want to speak on the phone for fear that he might catch something and ruin his perfection somehow.
I suppose this entry will out me in that tiny white lie but really when it comes to Lochlan barging through my heart and throwing pieces around until the whole thing collapses like a house of counted cards, there is a sort of fever that makes me want to go sleep until I don't feel sad anymore and avoid him until he has a change of heart and comes crawling back for absolution from both myself and Ben, because messing with me is messing with the big guy. Only I worry because Lochlan knows how to play Ben and Ben hardly notices because he is busy Not Drinking and busy Holding Bridget's Heart.
Those are full time jobs and Lochlan is the homeless ne'er do well on the corner of my life.
(Thatreallyreallycompellingone.)
It doesn't matter. I have to work tomorrow now because I didn't work today. I have to contend with Ben's sidelong glances when he thinks I'm not paying attention and wonder what's inside his head but then he'll encourage things and feelings and actions that lie perpendicular to what he should be feeling and that I will never understand. I am such a reluctant prize.
Lochlan is a con artist. If this were Vegas he would be in prison, but since it's the circus he's one of the star performers. (Just keep your eye on your valuables, namely your wife!)
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