On seeking warmth.

I can find good, too.

Words written here and there. Mexican food via Irish Canadians. Ha, no, hold it carefully and call it a Chilupo. You mean Chalupa? Yes, whatever. Isn't it yummy? Here, have some tiquotas. What? Just roll with it, okay, because I have no idea what this stuff is actually called.

Skating on the river.

My friends, who are the best friends a girl could ever have. I know that for every phone call I receive from far away, three others will be made to see how things really are and they won't cushion it. And PJ, who brought back my life today, bundled into a huge box in his arms, trailing bridges, notes falling out of his pockets, leads wailing in on a cold winter wind, he returned my CDs because one slip does not always result in a catastrophic, injurious fall.

Store-bought cinnamon buns, which are always four times as big as the ones I roll from my grandmother's recipe. With four times the calories. Who cares?

A dog that would rather sprawl on the kitchen floor than curl up near the fire, asleep where the doors meet causing everyone to have to step over and around him. He makes me laugh.

My kids, who have such awful attitudes sometimes and then with a word or a look they morph back into the little blonde angels I have tried to raise them to be. They're normal. They're loved.

An epic headache, being kept at bay with coffee, aspirins and laughter. A half-assed shoulder rub from Andrew that felt so good I begged him to keep going. I offered him $50 for a ten-minute rub but he wouldn't go for it. Hmmph. Henry will walk all over my back as I lay on the floor later for fifty cents. He thinks he is a millionaire. He may be. We gave up on his overflowing piggy bank and wallet and now he keeps his spare change in the stockpot, because it's large enough. Everyone who passes through the house empties their pockets into the kids' piggy banks. It's a thing.

We're leaving in a little while to go see Jumper. We went to see Spiderwick already this weekend. It was fantastic. Also tonight, American Gladiators, which has become sort of a group tradition.

Erin called today to say she is coming soon for a visit. I am so glad.

And cake. Bridget is always thankful there is cake.

Sleeping ugly.

How was the movie?

I have no idea. I remember checking my phone to make sure it was on vibrate when the reminder came on the screen and the next thing I knew Jacob was stroking my cheek and whispering to me to wake up, because it was time to go home.

Nice, Bridget. NICE.

I asked him why he didn't wake me and he said I looked so tired that he couldn't. He said the movie was good and that I would have liked it because I like loud music and skulls and stuff and drippy romance.

Well, double shit, then.

When we got home and PJ was gone we were getting ready for bed, I was sitting on the bed sleepily pulling my arms out of my thermal shirt, Jake came over and put his arms around me and we laid back until we were lying flat. He turned to face me and our noses touched. When he laughed gently I could feel his breath on my lips. I love that.

And yes, again, that was the last thing I remember, because I fell asleep again.

But do you want to know who fought with wakefulness from 5:17 on? Oh yes, that would be me.

At 6:30 Jacob got up and got dressed and the truck roared to life as he headed out in search of bagels and the paper. At 7:10 he was back and at 7:25 I heard Henry creep downstairs and then I could hear the soothing rumble of Jacob's voice as he and Henry had their breakfast. When I got up I crossed the room and caught my reflection in the mirror and I stopped and frowned.

The black circles are back and you could fall into them. I look like I've been awake for weeks. Every expression Jacob gives me is tinged with concern. He doesn't like that I'm falling asleep all over the place. He doesn't like that he has to reach out and steady me as I walk, steering me so that I don't glance off corners and the edges of doors. He doesn't like that I need to think for several beats before I give up and forget the answer when he asks me how I'm doing.

I've reached a 'levelness' that borders on comatose. I think I did better on some of the previous cocktails of liquor and tranquilizers, at least then I was relegated to vaguely drunk. I can handle vaguely drunk. Hell, I spent most of my early twenties vaguely drunk and I would prefer it to this.

Sometime this morning it wasn't funny anymore. Jacob phoned Claus and we're waiting for a callback because it has approached scary.

What's remarkable about this rambling pointless said-many-times-before post is that I'm typing with one hand while my other holds up my head and while I have to think very hard to articulate my words so that I don't scare the kids, this is what I can write.

My God, if I were ever sober I'd be a fucking genius.

Or maybe, just maybe I'm like that character on Heroes, the one who had to be high so he can paint the future. Maybe I should write the future right now before this goes away.

Or maybe I should really get those t-shirts made after all.

REad the directions and directly you will be directed in the right direction.

At 9 am when I got home from walking the kids to school my flowers had already arrived. White roses with just the barest hint of pale green if you're paying attention, some of my favorites. They're pretty much all my favorites at this point, with every step I take bringing me within eyesight of a beautiful bouquet of roses. I do feel like a princess much moreso than I ever did before this.

Are you tired of this yet? Oh, my apologies. I'll stop there, instead of telling you about the trail of paper hearts I followed out of the bedroom this morning to find coffee and toast all ready for us to eat and I certainly won't tell you what shapes the toast was cut into because you're seriously going to need to come down from the sugar rush of pure sweetness.

He loves the new tattoo. Go big or go home, Bridget. Oh yes indeed. I went from a tattoo the size of a plum to one that's the size of a paperback. He expressed surprise at the cross and I expressed my surprise at not having been struck by lightning while I was being inked with it.

Much laughter ensues, because I've got a place somewhere on God's incorrigible list. Cute but totally fucking impossible. Like Henry, somewhat. Oh, he is so much like me.

Happy Valentime's week, Mommy.

Wait'll you hear what I found this week that Cole did, but no, I can't write about it right now while this high continues. Cross your fingers and I'll somehow let it go and you'll never have to hear about it and I'll never come down from this high. Wouldn't that be lovely?

Instead I'll give you an annotated barometer to round out the week.

-Jacob's ex-wife is engaged! To her lawyer boyfriend, we're thrilled for them. She's in love. They're still friends. We're all friends. We talk on the phone just about every second week. She and Jacob were never in love, it makes it easier somehow. He loves her as a friend, I think she loves him as a brother. It's so civilized.

-Bridget is still heavily medicated. I think we found a winner in dosages here. I may never drive again which annoys me. I may never have a drink again which is a good thing but also rather annoying. But hello, have you seen me this level in a while? Ignore the occasional slurring and tendencies to space out or stumble a little bit. Right. I am fully aware that this is not your ordinary everyday antidepressant trip and I have been sent down the rabbit hole for my own protection. But who cares? Not Alice, she's eating cookies and has grown very small.

-The kids had perfect report cards. Ruth caught up to her peers with her reading. Henry can't hop on one foot because he's not in mood but otherwise they are happy, kind little kids who listen, follow directions and are liked by their teachers and their friends. I couldn't ask for more. Monday will be the 100th day of school.

-Jacob has Relient K's Deathbed stuck in his head. Which is great, he sings it well. I can't figure out how he's able to remember the lyrics to a song that's that long but it's a better choice than some of the other songs he walks around singing. I love the bridge of that song. I love the bridge of every song. I can't remember lyrics this week, I'm too busy concentrating on walking and breathing at the same time.

-I stopped procrastinating. And it hurts like all fuck. But I don't really care.

-Oh, and Ben? Yes, that Ben, my ever fucked-up friend who squeezes just a little more than he should, has a girlfriend. One who puts up with none of his frat-boy shit. Cross your fingers. He needs this. He really really likes her, and she is nothing like me.

TGIF, Alice, I've got my own white rabbit today.

Indulging my inner Irish.

If you met my parents, you'd be surprised. My father will tell you I was named for Saint Brigid of Ireland, to commemorate his own father's journey to Canada from Ireland as a young man. My mother will swear at Dad and insist that I was named for Brigitte Bardot, the freewheeling french sexpot starlet.

They have agreed to disagree and so they chose the easiest spelling. And thus, 1971 brought you Bridget. Me.

Half saint, half sexpot. Yes. Get it now?

And as further proof that I can be less stubborn than the rest of my family is, I went and did something extra smart today that I should have done (or maybe not done) a long time ago.

When I was twenty I got our zodiac signs tattooed on my side, a stylized Taurus for me incorporated into a Gemini symbol for Cole. It was a wicked tattoo but I didn't want it anymore. This is the part where non-tattooed people nod and say I told you so. Tattoed people will now cringe in sympathy and nod too, because cover-ups rock.

My artist here said he could cover it up, go a little bigger and do a new Taurus design with a Scorpio.

Er...well, um...

No worries. I vetoed that rather awkward suggestion and came home with a wicked Celtic cross, which took far longer and is a lot bigger than I expected but I am almost almost home now.

Happy Valentine's day to us. This will be a very good surprise. Because Jacob doesn't know, and boy did he ever hate that tattoo.

Hey mom, I think I did better this time.

More flowers came today. Ethereal pale blue roses. I didn't know roses came in blue. I have been staring at them curiously. They're softer, more pastel than Jacob's washed blue eyes, but deeper grey undertones than the sky. This entire week is a glorious departure as I fight to catalogue the hundred million ways Jacob is proving his worth as the world's most romantic man and completely ignore all the other stuff that's going on in between his gestures. So far so good.

Last night was a tailgate party for two.

He's silly. He told me to bundle up good, there was something out in the garage that he needed help with. I swore at him mildly and he laughed. It was after 9 pm. I was warm, I was snuggled under a blanket embroidering pillowcases. Because my fingers always have to be doing things and it's not always convenient to have them trailing over his skin somewhere on his lanky frame all the time. Especially when he's ticklish. Ticklish and on the phone and slamming doors as he stomped back and forth between the den and outdoors.

He waited for me in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets, wearing my favorite quilted flannel shirt that he wears. It's blue plaid and I steal it every chance I get because it smells like him and it's warm. Much warmer than his old corduroy jacket but not quite as cumbersome as the big Carhartt.

He smiled, his eyes full of mirth and pleading.

Just come, princess.

For you, I will, but if anyone else asks, forget it, buster.

I got ready and followed him out to the garage. I could hear music, he has music on constantly when he works. I picked out Bryter Later. Drake. Uh-oh, he's totally up to something.

Raise your hand if you've ever walked into a candlelit garage.

He had the tailgate down and the window up on the cap of the truck, a blanket spread in the box, and a picnic all set up. Champagne (a tiny bottle just for a toast). Take-out chinese. I don't know how he managed that. Apparently they deliver to our back door now. Cake. Our stadium blankets to put over our legs while we shared the meal.

We ate out of the boxes with chopsticks, snuggled together in the truck. I noticed the baby monitor on the workbench just as I was about to suggest we sneak in and check on the kids. I think he thought of everything.

After he cleared away our dessert plates and refilled my glass he got all flustery and weird for a moment. The same way he was when that hot air balloon rose up into the air and all I could think was, well, don't be stupid, he already proposed and you've been married forever, now.

Of course.

So I just watched the antics on his face as he tried on twenty different expressions and settled for sheepish pride. Or what appeared to be sheepish pride, maybe it was embarrassing gloat.

He raised his glass.

I...

Then he stopped and turned away and fumbled in his pocket and he turned back around and started over.

I really wanted you to have a new necklace that you can wear all the time because you can't wear your pearls every day and I know you always had your heart necklace on all the time before and..just open it, princess.

He passed me the box and took my glass.

A blue box, from Birks.

I opened it slowly and light poured out everywhere.

Look, if you don't like it I can take it back and we'll find you something different but I think it'll look pretty on you.
Bridget couldn't speak. She became a deer in the headlights. Bridget just sat there and stared at it and nodded. It was a diamond pendant, one that slides. He had a habit of sliding my old necklace around and around my neck when we were having conversations in bed and I haven't worn a necklace other than my pearls (but not to bed) since that night in May. We had looked at this one once before but I pulled him out of the store because it was a small fortune.

He put it around my neck and centered the pendant in the hollow, that hollow. The giant flaming erogenous zone that sends fireworks off inside my head when he touches it.

Now it's a permanent touch, and permanent fireworks.

He sat back and stared at me, relieved in reading my expression of dazed adoration.

You like it, then?

I nodded and put my hand up to touch it.

Good. Cause I kind of like you.

I'm very poor company at this point. A nodding speechless Bridget. Jacob is not the kind of man who buys diamonds. Ever. I don't think his first wife had an engagement ring even.

He laughed. Finished both the champagnes and then swore at the cold night and suggested we go inside and find some warmth. He blew out all the candles and turned off the stereo. We loaded the plates into the picnic basket and locked up. He told me I looked even prettier now and he didn't know how that was possible.

I briefly began a trip on a train of thought that involved remembering I don't deserve this, that no one should be buying me diamonds and putting an effort into making me happy, and he read my mind and he shook his head and whispered to me and I heard it clearly and I listened and followed his advice.

Don't, Bridget. Don't harbor any doubts about anything. Just know that I love you.
And then he laughed because I was crying. Because I was happy.

V is for the most valiant of knights. And Valentines Day. And victory over the hardest times.

Happy Valentine's Day.

I want the whole world to be in love, at least for this day. I'm teased mercilessly for my childlike idealism about love and I don't even care.

I won't even tell you how I was woken up this morning. It's gloriously unprintable. But I would like to wake up that way forever, please and thank you. I have a smile chiseled into my face.

And every time I turned on a lamp or a ceiling light the bulb was red. He put red bulbs in every single fixture. I am thrilled. It's beautiful. We couldn't see a thing.

The kids were thrilled when they came downstairs for breakfast and found white teddy bears, new red pencils and heart-shaped chocolates by their places at the table. Today is a fun day planned at school, they went off with their backpacks loaded down with paper valentines and sugar cookies to distribute, taking no notice of the -41 degree windchill.

I dreaded starting today off with therapy and so I cancelled early, by voicemail, much to Jacob's swift and Claus' eventual disappointment. Things have smoothed out and I don't want today to be ruined. I don't seem to be holding my breath, maybe I am. Maybe ratcheting down to the basics and taking the pressure off and Caleb being far away and everyone just being present and yet slightly absent has helped. Routine helps. Running helps so much, even if it's on the stupid treadmill because it's too cold to be outside. Being busy helps, being happy helps. Oh my God, being happy is such a phenomenal accomplishment. I'm not standing at the airport waiting for the plane, weighed down by the specter of a past I never welcomed but wouldn't put down.

Life is good.

Is Jacob holding his breath?

He says no. He smiles very very wide so I can count at least twelve big white chiclet-teeth straight across the top row of his grin before I fall into the dimple holes. I know he says this for my benefit and that he does, anyway. But he is happy.

Claus is more hesitant, speaking only of Bridget being in a high and doing really well but he knows, as do we all, highs are followed by unspeakable depths. But for today, I'm okay. I am going back as I promised him I would, next week as scheduled, sooner if I need to.

First thing this morning also saw the delivery of the most breathtaking red roses ever. And Jacob smiled even wider then, at my surprise, because I figured three bouquets already was so amazing, I jumped on him, kissing every inch of his face that maybe I may have possibly missed before. I gave him his present early, because I wanted him to enjoy it for the whole day through. A new watch. A neat eco-drive with a blue face and this one is waterproof, his old swiss army fiasco was not because he smashed it against a rock and it was never reliable again but he just kept wearing it. This one is engraved. It suits him and he loves it.

Finally it was requested that I make no plans tonight, that plans had been established for us. No babysitter required, as these plans will commence after the kids go to bed and take place here at home.

Interesting...

He wouldn't tell me if it would involve Stoli on the dining room table because he wants people to think he is too buttoned-up for that. He grinned while he refused to answer any incriminating questions but he walked around most of the morning talking about how he really hoped it would warm up later on.

    If I could through myself
    Set your spirit free
    I'd lead your heart away
    See you break, break away
    Into the light
    And to the day

    To let it go
    And so to fade away
    To let it go
    And so fade away

    I'm wide awake
    I'm wide awake
    Wide awake
    I'm not sleeping
I'm almost convinced that if I looked outside the window right now, there might be a white horse tied up somewhere in the yard, a trusty steed for my knight in warm flannel.

Have a wonderful day. I hope you're in love.

War of the roses.

We're affecting a habit here. The flower shop deliveryman just left. He thinks this is a riot.

Today has brought lavender roses.

I've never even heard of lavender roses before.

And I am officially a rotten, no-good girl, having picked a fight with Mr. Incredible mere moments ago as he headed down to work for a little bit. Well, maybe that's harsh analysis, for it was mostly a disagreement about something that can't be fixed anyways, so my stance was not to even think about it, while he wants to process it, and deal with it and accept it. My apathy drives him up the wall. He thinks I don't care, and he refuses to accept that the apathy is my coping method. If I think about it I'll dissolve. 'What' I'll not think about will be left to another time, simply because I'm not ready to bring it up any further than I just did. My mistake.

So now I'm feeling guilty for not just giving in to everything he wants because he's being adorable. Balance is a difficult thing for me, I've made no secret about being easily influenced by Jacob to the point where he calls all the shots, micro-managing Bridget to the point where it could become unhealthy. I said could.

I'm just trying to not fall into old habits. He means well, he really does. And it would be a good move overall to deal with things, but perhaps it would also destroy whatever place I have come to emotionally, and I'm not willing to sacrifice this for the greater good. Would you?

In the meantime, my house smells like an English garden. I had forgotten how beautiful roses are, especially in the drab, cold days at the end of winter.

Turning pages.

The massage turned out to be a deeply appreciated early Valentine's Day present. He smiled all through the day, sliding under the door when he arrived back home and draping himself over various pieces of furniture. He said he didn't think he'd ever feel solid again and he was happy to have the gift of relaxation. Jacob seems so laid-back but I don't think he ever actually is so this was a welcome change.

He did make pancakes too, heart-shaped ones. I can't even fathom. He decorated the plates with strawberries and drizzled syrup hearts over everything. Lots of butter. I love butter.

And more flowers came, just after lunch. Yellow roses. A dozen. They're huge and gloriously sweet-smelling. I don't know where to put them, since the pink ones are on the dining room table, so they're on the kitchen table and I keep having to scoop the cat away from them. She loves to eat flowers. Jacob swore at her mightily but laughed and audibly hoped for a rose-smelling litter box by the end of the day.

This morning he took me to the bookstore after we took the kids to school and we surrendered to our inner yuppies, drinking complicated coffees and splitting a piece of cake and he asked me to choose a book for us for him to read aloud. I chose Fitzgerald, surprising Jacob, who had expected me to chose the darker Hawthorne. We have the greatest discussions about writing sometimes that lead us down some very unexpected paths.

He said we would start it tonight. After a long bubblebath.

Which is just what I need. I hope it's for two.

For the record, he really wasn't all that impressed with my heavy spending yesterday and so I relented slightly, ordering just the dress in the end. He did say he was also looking forward to seeing me in it, so all is well.

Roses and Thai.

I feel like I'm live-blogging the romance of the century here, some days.

Last night brought me a delivery of a dozen baby-pink roses, and a plea elicited from Jacob that I would feed the kids but not eat and he would bring home Pad Thai later on. He knows the way to my heart. I have a thing for it. I have a little squeal of delight whenever he offers it. Pad Thai! Pad Thai! Pad Thai! I only had to promise him a late night lapdance.

Oh, please, preacher boy, you can have one of those anytime your big heart desires, my head said. My mouth played coy.

I promise, Jake.

Good, I've got a little present for you to wear.
The present turned out to be a very incredibly cute pink bra and panties set with white embroidery that I was loathe to let him take off me because they were so very pretty.

But Jacob gets what he wants, always. And to tell you the truth, by the time they were off I had forgotten all about everything, save for his hands on me.

I have no idea what today will bring. It's his day off and right now he's walking around in his longjohns again, flexing his muscles and talking about making pancakes. He's a clown today. He keeps interrupting me with kisses that have reduced me to mush. Bridget the marshmallow. Aw. S'more, please, honey. Snort. He could cover me in chocolate and I would never complain.

What he doesn't know is that since today is his day off I'm sending him for an hour-long massage this afternoon. He had one while we were in Whistler and loved it. I know he'll be surprised. I love to spoil him rotten, for he has earned it living with me.

Easy like Sunday morning.

Who am I kidding? Sundays are the busiest day of the week around here. Which is why I'm losing bagel crumbs all over my keyboard and typing standing up while I pull up my tights and try and keep my skirt from sticking itself to my legs with all the static I carry around. I'm balancing my cell phone and my coffee cup and trying to reassure Jacob that yes, we're leaving in five minutes, honey.

He'll be already pacing in the vestibule, not looking at his watch but instead checking the sidewalk for his three favorite blondes, bundled up and rushing furiously.

Stacked on the table in front of me are 64 Winnie-the-Pooh valentine cards, 24 chocolate cupids, wrapped individually and 36 heart-shaped sugar cookies. Henry has a party for his day at Kindergarten and Ruth expressed her wishes to fill up her friends with cards and chocolate.

They have a short week this week with inservices and report cards going out and it's hard to believe it was a year ago that I called the school for a tour and subsequently registered the kids for public school, thereby hanging up my hat as a homeschooling mom. It's still the best decision I ever made and the kids are thriving and having fun, making friends and absorbing so much information that each night I have to wring them out so they can start fresh the next day. Ruth has advanced 15 reading levels in the past 3 months and Henry writes all his letters with ease and loves to choose books to bring home for Ruth and I to read to him.

Jacob has announced that this year Valentine's Day will be abandoned in favor of Valentine's Week. I don't know what this means for me, but I have several surprises up my sleeves for him, and we're both buoyed by the news that it will be thirty degrees warmer by the end of this week anyway. That's enough reason to celebrate, don't you think?

Yes, I'm well aware that the King of Romance has thrown down a promise the likes of which will become legend in our universe. I'm a little bit floaty off the ground with tingling thoughts of anticipation and trying desperately to ignore it, because I won't get anything done this way!

Yes, so now I'm late. Shit.