Warmest regards.

I think it's finally hit me. The elusive spirit that just kind of crops up out of nowhere as I take a look around and realize, it's here, Christmas. It's here whether I accomplished everything or anything on my list at all and I can do no more.

This year is light on presents and materialistic indulgences and rich and heavy on love. And thanks and Joy, which gets a capital letter for being free and bountiful.

Guys, I've got everything. The lights have been on all day long on that giant Christmas tree, I have helped Santa wrap the stocking stuffers, the turkey is just about ready to come out of the freezer for thawing and Jacob really doesn't have to eat cooked carrots this year if he doesn't like them. Mom's cookies are just about gone and Ruthie decided that school doesn't suck so much after all, especially now that there's one day left before vacation, two for Jake. Possibly three as he's the on-call chaplain for the fire station, being the newbie this year. So his phone stays on, hopefully people will stay home and be safe so that he can stay home the whole day.

Christmas could have been awful this year, but it's not going to be. And New Year's eve might possibly be epic, as I spent most of 2006 flying by the seat of my pants, and the pants finally gave out and I am permanently grounded in a fresh reality, one that I hope is a little less eventful and even more romantic.

And since there's a lot of you reading at work who may or may not have scored Friday off in order to travel or unwind before the festivities begin, I'd like to wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

I'll be posting daily as usual, no worries. I just wanted to send out a big virtual Bridget-hug to everyone who has cheered me on and helped hold me up this year. Without you I would have been lonely.

Thank you. Happy Holidays!

Crosby, Stills, Nash and you.

Geez, I post the sweetest thing in the world and all everyone wants to know was howdrunkwasBridgetlastnight?
I was going to say not so much until I saw that I did indeed write something here. Geez, someone take away the laptop when they bring the alcohol please?

I haven't had a drink in a long time. But I have a feeling that if I can maintain whatever emotional plateau I have climbed onto as of this week I can avoid going back on the freaking stupid zombie pills and maybe just stay like this, because this is nice, and it's nice to have a nightcap or a cocktail or whatever.

In any event, it was a nice, quiet evening. The kids were zonked and asleep by 8, and Jacob turned off all the lights except for the Christmas tree and we danced in the living room but I don't think my feet touched the floor, and I don't think his lips left my shoulder.

    All your life
    You were only waiting for this moment to be free
    Blackbird fly

Obligations and carrots.

Every year for the past ten years my Christmas dinners have been a round table of wayward folks. Cole, our friends, his coworkers, random guys he knew who were far from home, or just plain alone, or didn't want to have to do the fam-thing because of so many reasons. We've always hosted a big dinner to give people a hot meal and some new memories, and because I think I'd rather die than think someone was alone on Christmas.

I can't tell you how many years straight Loch and I got shitfaced on cheap wine and stuck Cole with the dishes. I can't tell you how many years in a row Jacob sat across the table after eating almost half of all the food and started a discussion about going out for dessert when everyone else, who had eaten a fraction of what he had, were stuffed. Or how many times we sang Christmas carol parodies until we couldn't stop laughing. I can't say how many times I left the table at the end of the meal and went outside for a fresh breath of air only to have Jake sneak up on me with some funny little present, a hug and a wish for a Merry Christmas in which we held each other a little too hard, a little too close and perhaps a little bit too often in one night.

This year I'm out of luck. We've all got colds, it's been a long, crowded year and for the first time in recent memory there appear to be no stragglers in need of an emergency Christmas dinner. Not to mention it's our first real honest-to-goodness actual Christmas together, married and together.

And since we're so far behind this year, Jacob asked me to make a list and he went to the grocery store to get everything while I helped Henry with a project.

He came home and we switched places, I went to put away the groceries and he sat down with Henry to see what progress we had made.

Jake!

What is it?

You forgot to get the carrots.

No I didn't.

They were on the list.

Bridget, I hate carrots.

What are you talking about? You eat them all the time.

Raw. I hate cooked carrots.

But..every year you've eaten them. I've seen you. You clean the plate.

Right. Yes.

Okay, you've lost me.

Bridget, I only eat them because you make them. But truth be told, I can't stand them cooked.

You only ate them because I made them?

Because you made them, princess.

Well, now, that is the sweetest thing I've ever heard. I think I could fall in love with you.

So we'll skip them? And I love you too.

Are you kidding me? I have to make them now! It'll be a new tradition.

He smiled, defeated, and looked at Henry. Henry reassured him,

That's okay, Jake. I hate it when mommy makes carrots too.

Cheer in a glass. Uh oh.

I think Jake has a forehead fetish. He put my drink on the desk and then kissed my forehead and headed out to the garage. Then later he comes back in and smooths my bangs back from said forehead. My forehead is a fivehead, okay, I won't lie. I sometimes put a bit of powder on it so the sun reflecting off it doesn't blind people walking toward me.

Next he rubs his thumb across it when he puts his hand over my ear. My drink? Long dranked.

Okay enough.

This is not a post. This is Bridget enjoying a loopy semidrunk minute far too early in the evening.

What's in the glass is eggnog. Or mostly brandy clouded with just enough eggnog so that it can be called Christmas Cheer and not OhfuckBridgetsdrunkagain. But it is five o'clock and dinner is almost done and I'm cut off and lord I hope no one comes by tonight because this hit damn hard

Coming in from the cold.

Jacob came in from the cold at lunch yesterday and said he needed me, come quick, hurry. I ran down to the porch door and he came through it and grabbed me up in a hug, forcing my arms down and then putting his hands up the back of my shirt until I squealed for him to stop. His hands were giant ice cubes. He didn't need me, he just wanted to freeze me out because the squealing is so funny.

I wish he wouldn't do that, but he insists it's payback for when I put my cold toes between his ankles in bed every night. Of course, he doesn't squeal so instead I get a rounded-out litany of swear words with the full-on Newfie accent. So I'll keep doing it forever because he usually keeps the accent in check, except when he's cursing.

He was starting to come around, albeit slowly. My biggest argument against another baby is finally becoming clear to him when he looks at me now. Just now escaping the underweight label but still pale, dark circles a permanent feature of my face. And tenuously clinging to that shred of sanity I talk about that gets rubbed raw and then somehow heals itself. On and off medication. Prone to nightmares and middle of the night crying jags that wear him down and leave me depleted. Not stronger. Coming out of this surprisingly and permanently frail. Fragile Miss Bridget never changes much, you guys.

Somehow balancing my emotional landmines with sex, cake and rock n' roll.

Jacob confessed that one of his earliest dreams after I told him I was pregnant with Ruth was that he wished so badly that he could be in Cole's place from that moment on, waiting for his baby to be born, watching me grow and change, being able to hold the baby and love that child.

And in my frustration at another round of his guilt shoved down my throat I lost it and I reminded him that he did all those things. That he didn't miss a goddamn thing and now he is in Cole's place and he has me, he has two children now that are HIS and why isn't that good enough?

And then Jacob did something he's never done before. He looked at me as if he was hearing me for the very first time and he laid down the gauntlet.

It is.

Then why are we fighting, Jake?

I have no idea, Bridget.

Then we need to stop before we ruin this. You can't have those years back, Jake, they're gone, just let them go. You made me do it and now it's your turn.
He came over to me and put his hands up to my face and he apologized, formally apologized for being argumentative and still incredulous at the fact that I wouldn't stand up to him and say no, instead talking around the issue and making it known that I didn't want this without flat-out refusing him.

You need to say no to me, princess. You won't and when I push you to stand up for yourself you have to do it.

I...I can't.

Yes, you can. It isn't right and you can and I'm not going anywhere and I'm still going to love you.

You say that now.

No, I say that forever, Bridge. Forever. You're right. We really have no business having another baby.

I don't want you to resent me.

I don't. I couldn't. I love you more knowing you would give in because you knew I wanted it.

How is that any different from you giving in?

It's not the same thing. I'm letting a bad idea rest. I got carried away. I get jealous. I get angry when I think about some of the things that have happened over the past few years and I forget where I am now. I'm not perfect. But I'm not going to be a monster, either.

I cringed when he said that. How many times did I describe Cole that way, or insist that he wasn't one?

I had to breathe. I left the house and went for a long walk, alone. He kissed me goodbye, sadly. When I do return I give him back his kiss and retreat to the den to work. He's already cooking something that smells wonderful that I probably won't eat because I don't eat when I'm upset.

But don't talk to me about it because again, the explosions.

You can't be angry with me forever, princess.

I'm not angry at all, Jake. I'm frustrated. I don't know what to do with this. Or where to take it.

It goes wherever we go.

That's what I'm afraid of.

Bridge, everything will be okay, why won't you believe me?

Because it never has been before, Jake.

Maybe we're not trying hard enough.

Maybe we're not trying at all.

I don't believe it. Do you?

Sometimes, yes.

Aw, Christ.

I can't help it.These are some pretty agonizing growing pains.

That's an apt description.

What if they kill us?

They can't. We're indestructible.

We were. Are we still?

Moreso. I love you more now, not less. Coveting wasn't something that magnified my feelings for you, princess. Marriage did that. Arguing does that. Frustration does that. When we need each other the most, I feel the most.

Lucky for us.

It's not luck, princess. It's true love.

Then why can't we sort this out?

Maybe we're overthinking it so that we can put it to rest at last. I'm satisfied, I'm blessed, Bridget. You three as my family is more than I ever imagined and I wouldn't change a thing.

I nodded, still not sure.

What's wrong?

The last two times we fought about this so hard you assured me much the same thing.

And look where it got us? Almost divided once again. I'm done fighting. I don't want to fight with you, princess. I've got too much to be happy about and too much to lose.

So then how do we resolve this formally?

You mean permanently.

Yes.

I'll go see about getting the big operation.

No, I'll go. It's not a big deal anymore for me to be in a hospital.

No, you've been through enough. Besides, mine would be outpatients, I think.

Then you'll hate me forever.

I couldn't hate you if I tried. And I have tried so many times so don't think you're immune.

When?

Just about every time you went home with him over the years, princess.

Wow. That's harsh.

So was watching Cole touch you and knowing what he was. And I promised I wouldn't be anything like him, that I would never put you through pain or fear or uncertainty and that's just what I did and I feel like the monster now.

You're not.

Don't take this personally, Bridge, but you're a shitty judge of character.

I didn't start this argument to rip you to shreds, Jake.

Then just forgive me and we'll call and get an appointment.

Done.

When you pull your head out of your ass you're very easy to get along with, you know that?

Nice, Jake. Nice. I could say the same for you.

Sometimes, princess, I wish you would.

Familiar orbit.

Not pregnant.

And with mixed-the-hell-up cycles to boot. I'm so off-kilter I think I've drifted to a new orbit.

Not pregnant.

I knew I wasn't. I wasn't sick at all, not nauseous. Just the damn cold. And our odds of successfully conceiving are so low, come on. So today I'm just sad for Jake. I watched him as he buttoned his shirt this morning and he talked about nothing, pretending he was fine with it when he's clearly not. I brushed my hair and agreed with everything he said, and I clearly don't and we both know it.

This is what makes my life difficult. When matters of the heart are at odds with logic. When the smart decision isn't the decisions of your dreams. It's a phenomenon that seems to be unique to us and every time I think I'll survive another round it reaches out long fingers to hook me and pull me back in.

I'm drowning in it. But this time we don't have nine years to make a decision. And what's worse, it's a decision with a small chance of success, so why are we putting ourselves through it at all?

But now I'm making my own case, and that's not what this post was about.

More later, if I feel inclined. My brain is overfull today.

An appointment with the Devil.

    You have been dying since the day
    You were born
    You know it has all been planned
    The quartet of deliverance rides
    A sinner once a sinner twice
    No need for confession now
    Cause now you've got the fight of your life

Note to self. People who work tirelessly to wear you down will eventually prevail.

I'm rambling again.

I agreed to allow Caleb to take me out for a coffee before he leaves the city. He's coming by Friday to spend a bit of time with the kids, and drop off presents (which he's never done before but maybe now he's feeling guilty and wanting to shower the children of his poor dead brother with kindness or something) and he has a car that takes him around and so he said he'd arrange to have it arrive at 7 and we'll find a coffee shop and he can explain why he's being such a creep.

I'll allow you to take turns guessing exactly how impressed my husband is by this.

Yes, of course you're right. He's not. And he wasn't invited. And Caleb declined my diplomatic offer to make coffee here at home for crying out loud because it's no secret how lovely my coffee is (yuck) and I'm well aware that he would refuse because he wants to get me alone to charm his way back into my good graces because when he and Jacob are in the same room I defer to Jake and that doesn't allow Caleb any room for maneuvering.

They know all the tricks. I tell you, it's mind-boggling.

I have allowed an hour for his nonsense, mostly because I love good coffee after dinner and I want to know exactly what the heck they're talking about, from his own mouth. I'll indulge the gossip and hopefully usurp Ben in the process.

Because I can be catty and bitchy too.

Humbled and pie.

Despite Jacob's best efforts and attempts to reassure his parish that he has so much more than he ever dreamed of, they ambushed him anyway this weekend. He was joyfully hoarse from spreading his messages as we delivered cards (and pies!) yesterday.

He has been spending weeks encouraging the congregation to reach out, support the food banks, donate warm things, give to local charities that could look after people without a place to lay their heads and in general to step outside of themselves and abandon the materialistic temptations of a commercialized season, instead helping others and showing the spirit from within. This time of year it's especially important. It's so cold out there you would freeze in moments. And the holidays? They're just difficult as it is. People need to be reminded that while they are celebrating, others are suffering. Dark times, my friends.

Of course it's preachy.

He is a preacher.

He puts his money where his mouth is, too. So do I. You would be surprised how many times I cried last week over things that had nothing to do with my life. How many times I was smacked in the face with something bigger and more difficult that anything I have ever had to face personally. These are financial pledges and personal obligations that I have grown to covet, for they keep my perspective fresh and my selfishness in check. In years past I have always gone down for a few hours and packed boxes or helped cook or serve somewhere heartbreakingly full of people but this year it's become an urgent, all-encompassing endeavor. A brand new full-time job for me, a welcome addition by Jacob's side, though I am sick and not quite as tireless as he is.

It's been a welcome distraction from my usual life and all the other stuff we're going through.

And still I watch as Jacob comes home with presents for the children from members of the church, 'little somethings' for us as a family, generous outpourings of acknowledgment for Jacob who has become an extended member of the family to everyone he's ever met, and the kids and I an unexpected completion, a compliment to his life, in their eyes.

He remarked this morning that his record of 54 invitations to Christmas dinner received last year as a single man (read: long-distance estranged husband to his ex-wife) will not be broken because this year he received exactly one invitation, dinner at his own home, with his wife and children and that it was the best invitation a man could have and that he hoped everyone had a home wrapped in love and surrounded by faith and touched with the true spirit of the holiday season.

I came home with a stack of cards in my hand two inches thick. When Jacob arrived later on, the backseat of the car was covered with gifts. He's thrilled and yet chagrined. This money and effort could be better spent.

It's difficult. Everyone knows that this is his last Christmas with the church. They want him to know he is unforgettable and will be missed. They have few other ways to profess their love for him, their appreciation for the work he has done, the sacrifices he has made, the hours he has spent. They understand why he's leaving and that he's not really leaving.

And we got a very special completely unexpected gift this year from one of Jacob's community minister friends, who requested to perform the Christmas Eve service, which was printed in the bulletin as a surprise after Jacob signed off on inclusions. So he'll be home, here with us, for the first time, for our first Christmas as a family.

Who needs presents when you have this?

In gracious acceptance of the gifts we received this morning we're going to attempt to put a value on all of it and donate that same amount in addition to what we do already. We can't come up with any other way to make this generosity right.

We are blessed. I'll end this with a small part of Jacob's closing prayer. (He rambles spectacularly, so I put in the good parts remembered in spite of the Dayquil haze-forgive me if some of what I wrote is poorly strung together today.)

Dear God,

Bless our family and all its members and friends. Bind us together in your love and in your light. Give us kindness and forethought to help each other in difficult times and support and knowledge in everything we do...May peace enter into our hearts and remain with us...May we rejoice in the blessings you have given us and thank you for this one day that we have shared together and for all the days that remain.

Amen.

Just for a moment.

Someone is sitting across from me reading the paper and just for a moment, this morning I'm going to do a study in the here and now because sometimes a fresh outlook makes it all better. Sometimes in our rush to complicate things we can irrevocably change them forever and I don't want that.

I just want this:

Jacob is sitting sideways so he can cross one foot over the opposite knee. He's wearing navy plaid pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved waffle knit t shirt that is at least a size too small (not to call attention to his wall of a chest but because I shrunk it, stupid 100% cotton shirts). His big bare foot supports the middle of the newspaper, the rest is balanced on his thighs and he's holding it up with one hand and with the other he's sipping his coffee very quietly and then making a face every time he stops which means it's a little bitter. When he put his cup down he automatically rubs his left eyebrow and then frowns back at the head lines. He has cleared his throat three times since I started this entry, which means he's getting a cold.

He hasn't shaved since last Saturday, his beard has reached the soft fuzzy stage. It's so blonde it's a golden-white, matching his eyebrows and eyelashes. I can just see slivers of pale blue beneath his lashes as his pupils dart all around the page. His hair, just a little darker than his beard, is messed up like someone walked past him and rubbed it. It's completely flat but curls up around his ears and against his neck and he has a cowlick right in the front that sticks up enough to show his smooth, unlined forehead, pushing his long bangs off to one side. Oh, now he's sucking in his dimples, hollowing his cheeks, which tells me he has no idea I'm documenting his weekend ritual.

His hands are strong and smooth, short, ragged, clean fingernails in need of some attention, softly calloused fingertips, big hands, huge hands, he really has to search to find gloves and gear that fits those hands.

No jokes about big hands and big feet. Yes, the rumors are true. Happy? I am.

What are you doing, princess?

Oh, just working on a story, Jakey.

'Jakey' this morning? What's in that mug?

He laughs, I usually only call him Jakey when I'm slightly drunk.

Bitter coffee.

I watch his right eyebrow grow up. I wonder if he wonders if I can read his mind? He resumes scrolling through the sports section now, telling me which of our favorite teams are doing well and which are not. He makes a few comments about coaches needing to shake up their players.

Now he stands up, folds the paper and offers it to me. He does this every Saturday and I have declined every Saturday but he still offers. And then he bends down to kiss my cheek and-

..ha. I'm busted.

Have a nice weekend!

Princess in a snowglobe.

Here's the lowdown today, in case you thought that I had retreated to my ivory tower with my typewriter in hand, having Jacob run up trays, muscles ripped and toothy grins and all sexy-like.

That's only on Tuesdays and Saturdays. I'm kidding. It's whenever I damn well feel like it. He's awesome.

I woke up in the middle of a coughing fit this morning. Drippy, miserable, scratchy-voiced and I got that super-woozy feeling in the shower this morning and I called Jacob and he came in and I burst into tears and he canceled today for me just because.

I still haven't shipped the gifts home yet and today I was going to finish pulling everything together but it's nicer to sit at the keyboard and write a bit, one hand firmly wrapped around a perpetual cup of warmth.

I haven't touched the spinning wheel in recent memory and I even bailed on running today (which I have barely resumed as it is) because of the weather this morning and I feel guilty even though it's stupid to go running when you're sick and even dumber when you're detoxing and half insane. I need a new outlet. Oh, besides the crying. Lord.

So I babble endlessly. I called Caleb to reschedule his visit since he's here in town every second week for a few days, even though I honestly don't feel I can face him anymore, so much has changed. That was a hard conversation.

Caleb C______.

Caleb? Hey, it's me.

Bridget! How are you doing? And is this a new number? You sound sick.

It is. I'm okay. It's just a cold.

Is he treating you alright?

Of course.

Your journal makes me wonder.

That's my padded room, Caleb. And it's none of your business.

I know, that's why I didn't call.

I appreciate that.

Did you find a time when I can stop in?

Yes, any time from now til Christmas, the kids are finished school in a week if that helps.

Maybe I can take you out to lunch.

Right. So, just let me know when you want to see them.

You've going to avoid me, aren't you?

I won't lie and say no. Self-preservation is a must.

Tell that to your new husband.

I'm not asking for your input, Caleb.

I realize that and I apologize, Bridget. But I'm asking you point-blank if I can take you out for a drink or a coffee while I'm there.

Maybe, I don't know.

Fair enough. I'll let you know when my flights are as soon as my assistant books them. I've got meetings there end of next week as it is.

Okay, thanks.

Thank you, Bridget.

Jacob made his disapproval clear when I repeated the conversation to him and he doesn't understand why I would allow Caleb anywhere near here but I reminded him that he (Jake)was the kids' favorite uncle/godfather forever and how would he have liked it if I had said he couldn't see them anymore? He pointed out Caleb's once a year previous contact with them and the facts that Jake and I were so close, everything is completely different. He has a point but I continue to try to do the right things for the kids' sakes and I don't think I'm going to go out with Caleb at all because it's not necessary.

Christian, in his infinite red-headed, freckled wisdom made a funny observation the other day and the more I think about it, the more it fits. He said my life is like a snowglobe, you can shake me up and slowly watch as the music plays and the glitter swirls madly around in a tornado and then slowly the music begins to wind down and the glitter eventually settles down all over everything and all is peaceful for a few moments or days and then someone comes along again and picks up the globe and gives it another violent shake and it begins all over again.

That says that I still have some of my sparkles but it also highlights the lack of responsibility people hold me to these days. Which would be fun if I was anyone else, but no, I'm uptight, responsible Bridget. At least most of the time I am, anyway. Oh, please. I'm not. I'm not that stupid that I don't see it.

I'm going back to bed for a bit.