Status Reports.

This morning I'm still riding on previous highs. Movies with faces I know almost as well as the ones I see every day in person. Celebrating new lines and graceful changes. Music that weaves in and out of my days, notes punctuated against the backdrop of muted noise that I travel through like fog around the shore.

Food so decadent yesterday I relented and wound up spending most of the afternoon and evening drunk on prime rib and lobster and wine and chocolate. I may never eat again, and jumped out at the gas pump hours later to get some fresh air and move around a little, if only to shake some of it down into my knees where there may have been some space remaining.

Plotting spring running shoes to buy this week and planning even more paint colors as we vow to finish the house this year and finally, a new, very quiet dream emerges, one of packing suitcases once again to clutch an international flight for a view that is unfamiliar yet comforting, a far away place we've decided to return to. Don't know when or how, but it's there, a new pot with a new dish, simmering quietly on the backburner of the dual-fuel stove that seems to be my life.

Hands so distracted they haven't had time to tremble or fumble. Busy hands. Chores and distractions choking off the flutters with flurries of activities all hellbent on filling voids that have become chasms. And instead of going through, or falling in, or just sitting there on the edge waiting for a change or a bridge or a tiny airplane to get me to the other side, I've been doing something different. Uncharacteristic and downright risky.

I don't know that I take risks. Everything is sewn up so tight. Double-stitched, securely knotted, evenly-spaced and then I burn a hole through the fabric and attempt to squeeze through it.

This time, well, just, no.

I packed up as much as I could carry, and I'm inching my way around the edge. There are no obstacles in the way, I can do this the whole way around and then I'll be on the other side. it's so slow-going. Progress takes forever. The ledge is narrow and crumbling slightly. Some places I hold my breath. Others I can sit and rest. But every time I finally give in to the urge to look back and see if I have made it anywhere, I'm surprised to see that I have. The starting place is hard to see now. Dammit, it's working. It's narrow and I'm terrified and I'm shaking because I'm afraid of heights and it gets worse as I go instead of better but there's no other way. I see no planes, I can't build a bridge and if I fall I know damn well that eight lives have been used up and I'm on my last.

I miss Ben. I miss him more than you could possibly understand. It feels like he's dead but he isn't and my brain wants to take the easy way out and just mark an x over his face and Bridget's Survivor gameshow will continue with nightly tribal councils and challenges designed to make the cream rise to the top but surprise! The game has changed and we're bringing this contestant back. Voted off but a second chance looms and this time Ben has plans to win because the stakes are high. So high. I'm balanced on one of them right now. On my brain, on this ledge, with these analogies tightly clutched in my fists.

(I am the teacup on the ruler on the hairbrush on the ball on the bowling pin on the seal's nose held by the clown on the unicycle at centre ring. My circus never seems to end or stop or pack up and leave this town for the next. We're a permanent installation and admission is free.)

My children will be home in an hour and I would bounce off the walls, but if I do that, I'll fall off my ledge. Instead I'll stop here and breath deeply and wait to hold them in my arms again, and then when I've rested enough and they are ready, we'll hold hands and resume the slow progress around this hole.

Full circles for a Saturday morning.

Lay beside me, tell me what they've done
Speak the words I want to hear, to make my demons run
The door is locked now, but it's open if you're true
If you can understand the me, than I can understand the you.

Lay beside me, under wicked sky
Through black of day, dark of night, we share this pair of lives
The door cracks open, but there's no sun shining through
Black heart scarring darker still, but there's no sun shining through
No, there's no sun shining through
No, there's no sun shining.

I didn't realize just how good our seats are for the Metallica show this fall until five minutes ago. This is awesome. So, so awesome.

1080p in a 480i world.

This morning the little monster that rolls out of bed that gets coffee poured into it until it coughs up your favorite princess is very excited indeed.

Cough. Sputter.

Hallo, world. It's Paul Walker day.

Oh don't my boys HATE these days with a passion. It's the one day of each year (gee, thanks, Paul, for making these movies with huge gaps in between. Could you stop that? Thank you, yours truly, Bridget) when I get to happily drag a bunch of them to the movies with me so I can see Paul's gorgeous face on the big screen.

Required trailer goodness.

I've had a crush on him for nine years now (don't know why he hasn't called yet. Usually it doesn't take this long). Ever since I saw him in The Skulls, in which, ironically, he played a character named Caleb, otherwise I wouldn't have noticed him at all.

It was love at first sight.

And it's tolerated because I have put up with certain blistering crushes on Jessica Alba, Jessica Biel, Selma Blair, and Megan Fox, among others.

Thankfully a few of them also adore Amy Smart, Naomi Watts and Nicole Kidman, which makes it bearable, because I have crushes on those girls too. I just don't tell the guys because then their brains go into overdrive imagining all that hot girl-on-girl action and they might burst into gratuitous, perfectly acceptable and encouraged flames.

We just can't have that. If my boys implode then who the heck is going to take me to the movies so I can see Paul?

Yes, I know you're still picturing bad, bad things in your head. Stop it. Stop it now.

Drive-by Thursdays (Nice teeth, Bridget).

Man she saves me
To this day I don't know why
She picked me up
When I was down on the road
With the wind when it blowed

I think I surprised the boys when I said I could listen to Citizen Cope for a week straight. I think I also surprised them when I came out of the dentist with no cavities, a wonderful feat considering I'm loathe to give up my jolly ranchers, skittles and rockets and I'm also loathe to floss.

I surprised them once again when I threw a few wicked knuckleballs of snow during the impromptu snowball fight on our street. I only did that because I knew PJ was aiming for a head shot and I'm having a good hair day, I was hoping I could knock him out before he could land one.

I surprised myself when, confronted with those crazy butter curls at the restaurant we hardly ever go to for lunch because it costs a fortune, I had restraint and didn't make any butternauts at all.

There's a void now.

I'll make some at dinner to make up for it.

I surprised August by picking a fight with him over Rascall Flatt's song, Me and my Gang. I swear to God I have heard the chorus before. I was singing along the first time I heard it. I was like, decent cover. I was told it wasn't a cover. It has to be. If it isn't a remake, cover or at least a sample of a song from the seventies I'll eat my record player.

I'm home for ten minutes to change (wet. snowy. princess.) and my teeth STILL hurt. Ow.

Ow ow ow.

That is all. I'm going back out. See ya!

"Incredulity is the wisdom of the fool." -Josh Billings

This morning PJ called me very early and asked me how I slept, if I wanted him to bring breakfast over and if I really wanted to go for a run with fifteen centimetres of fresh white stuff on the ground. My answers were okay, yes, and no, he had a point. Under the white fluffies were hazardous, icy spots and I'm in no mood to hurt myself like I did the last time. Thank God for being double-jointed. He was about to hang up but he paused. He sounded troubled.

What's up, PJ?

If I tell you something will you keep it between us?

Of course. Unless I'd be better served to retain plausible deniability.

No, Bridge, come on. This is important.

Tell me what's going on, PJ.

I'm...

Pregnant?

How did you know?

You've been unusually cranky and eating for two.

Yes, well, I was hoping to keep this a secret.

PJ, I think everyone knows, you've been eating for two for years.

How long can this pregnancy last?

Who's the mother?

You are.

I thought we were more careful.

Remember that time you sneezed on me in the truck?

Oh, yes. I didn't think you could get pregnant from that. I mean, I only sneezed once.

It's a myth. There's an outside chance it could still be Christian's. He picked up the wrong coffee once.

I always thought you two would make beautiful children together.

Yeah, me too.

Really?

He's got that great red hair.

I was still laughing half and hour after I hung up, when PJ appeared in the back porch bearing a large bag from McDonald's. We're not running. What I would most like to do today is wait for that magic phone call from Lochlan, who can read better than he listens, telling me that living at John's house isn't going to be the new plan and that he is going home to be with his daughter. Cross your fingers.

Me? I had a good night last night. Andrew and Duncan came over and convinced Lochlan to go to John's, (okay, fine, they MADE him go) and then we made some pizza and watched a little TV and they were gone by eleven with promises that speed dial was my friend, as always, and they didn't care what the reason was, I was to use it if I felt like it. I had five similar promises before midnight, including one from Ben, who volunteered Daniel in his place and seemed completely unfazed by the drama because he knows we make it. We cause it and we stir it up and let it boil over and sometimes we bake it dry. He and I laughed and talked a little bit about how the children were doing and how the boys were doing and then he said that he missed me.

I was doing so well up until that point, you know? So well. I blubbered that three weeks without him was too long and I didn't have a date to look forward to because he doesn't know when he's coming home and this was too hard and Lochlan was on my case and I was messed up and I don't want to be messed up anymore.

He told me I was perfect. That he would be home soon. That he couldn't picture spending his life with anyone else, ever, in a million years. And then he said to watch out for tomorrow because it was April Fool's Day and PJ would probably call me and tell me that he was pregnant or something.

Bystander effect.

Change the colors of the sky
And open up to
The ways you made me feel alive
The ways I loved you.
For all the things that never died
To make it through the night
Love will find you
What about now?
What about today?
What if you're making me
all that I was meant to be?
What if our love never went away?
What if it's lost behind
words we could never find?

It isn't fair to chip away at my resolve or to yank the rug out from under my feet. You forced me to stumble until my hands found the wall and I pressed my back to it and slid down, until I was rocking on my stupid high heels and hidden in the shadow of the wall that cuts off the headlights as they pass the window on the stairwell. I put my arms up over my head so that I was as small as I could possibly be and how is that I'm still the biggest obstacle to you? How is that no one can move forward or sideways even? How is that you can't be kind in a time when I'm relying on you to help keep my spirits up? You took them instead and throttled them right off, drowning them in an icy puddle for good measure.

You admired me and then had the nerve to chastise me for wearing ridiculous shoes for your ridiculous night. Anger always worn on your sleeve for me, right beside the love, because I grew up and left you. Because you pushed me away because you were scared and I just figured that out last night.

You were scared.

Scared because for once you couldn't control every last emotion you had, scared because you didn't like the depth of what you felt and scared because you weren't the one people stared at any more. All those warning signs and you still chose to remain within reach, maybe because you couldn't help it or maybe because I couldn't. If your memory is that bad, just remember one thing.

I wasn't the one who wanted to let go.

This is your fault. Instead of being a coward, instead of shoving me away, you could have been a man like your friends were. You could have saved me from three lifetimes of pain and instead you're here to feast on my carcass like some kind of sick fucking vulture.

Every last time there was something difficult to do you weren't the one to do it, instead doubling back and reaping the spoils in your throwaway manner, forcing others to stand up and be men while you acted as if you were above all that. Well, you weren't, and I begged you to step in and show that perfection in your adult form, because you can't coast on sunburned-freckle fast-car teenage-curls forever.

Maybe you're the one who isn't strong and that's why I can hide from you, still on my feet, curled into a ball, avoiding the carnage when you land on your ass. Christ, I can see it from here but somehow you don't. Somehow you're blind, caught in a bright light but can't you see that everyone is passing you? They're stepping around you and in front of you like you're not even there.

I asked for one thing from all of you to help me through this. One simple thing. One thing to help me ignore my pliable resolve and keep me focused on the end in sight. A bigger picture for once instead of the here and now. Don't take too much. No looking back, no stepping sideways, no doubling around and sneaking into the dark to see me through to the morning. I asked for help because I needed help and instead you've taken advantage. I wanted one single happy ending in my life and instead you've worked hard to see that it never happens for me. Is it worth it? Can you sleep at night knowing that I don't feel safe with you anymore, knowing that I never know which end is up when I'm with you and that I'm not able to make any decisions at all anymore? Knowing that I'll never pick you?

And then you show your beautiful contempt for me and you look down your nose and tell me I'm slow and indecisive and irresponsible. Exactly as you raised me to be. You take pride in the fact that I tremble when you touch me, instead of seeing why I really do it. You refuse to see anything but what's right in front of you. You're as ruined as I am but there's no reason to your destruction so capitalizing on mine isn't going to save you anymore than this will save me. When are you going to get out of my way so I can stand up again? Who's going to let go first?

It should be me, only I can't do it, and that's why I asked you to do it for me. Why didn't you just tell me you couldn't do it either? Why didn't you tell me I was the strong one? That's it's the courage that makes me flutter? You forced me to grow up fast and yet you haven't changed a bit. Get out. Just go. Just take your leave from my life and stop coming back. I can't do this, I need you to. It can't be that hard to let me go, hell, all your other friends have done it. Just have some fucking courage for once in your miserable life and listen to me, please, Lochlan.

For once.

Dirty Little Secrets, edition#485759372-D

1)PJ's surrogate husband status.

PJ went on date number three with eharmony girl number five last night. She gave him the "it's not going to work out" speech and cut the night short before dessert. Why? Oh, because PJ thought his dinner conversation about Ruth's science fair project and his work on revamping the workshop in my basement was perfect dinner conversation. Apparently his date told him he should have listed his wife and children as his interests. He said he didn't have a wife and kids and she told him he most certainly did and he was a jerk for trying to pick something up on the side. Did we not go through this six times already? But I tell him to go away and he just stays around longer. Ironic, the ones I want to leave won't and the ones I want to keep don't stay.

2) Behind and above my fridge.

Please know I'm a neat freak. Everything has a place. Everything. I used to be worse, every dish in the sink would be washed or I couldn't fall asleep at night. I'm training myself to leave the empty mug on the coffee table overnight just to see if I can.

But the top of my fridge is a whole other story. I don't know if it's a fallback to the days of childproofing (or maybe dogproofing), but important papers and things I need to read are placed on top of the fridge. And since my fridge is six feet tall and I am five feet tall, I try to shove new papers up on top and that pushes all the other papers back further. Eventually they begin to fall behind the fridge. It's built into a cupboard so I don't notice.

I knew I had a problem when someone asked for a copy of Jacob's death certificate and I was out of them (Make copies. You will always need copies) and so I said I would grab one, that it was probably behind the fridge and she looked at me funny and of course, I got PJ (fake husband #1) to pull out the fridge and it was there, along with Cole's softball schedule and Ruth's first origami project. Lochlan's missing vehicle registration from 2006 was there too. Oops. Condoms that expired a year ago. Church proofs. God, it was a time capsule from hell. Everything went into a bin for sorting and there is now a stack of empty baskets on top of the fridge. They will remain empty.

I'm thinking of shoving the bin full of papers under my bed.

3) The lyrics.

I got a very imaginative letter from a reader who wonders if the song lyrics I post are actually secret messages.

Well, now, hello, my pretty.

You're half right and really this is the FIRST time ever in almost five years someone has contacted me to ask that very question and I'm really proud. I should have had prizes prepared. Also stellar are the two people who may have guessed right on a few other topics of great mystery and intrigue but I won't address any of them because great mystery! Intrigue!

Is this the most annoying entry I have ever written? Yes, I think so too.

I got to be Diane Lane for a night. Don't laugh too hard.

Notice I'm not sleeping in, which is kind of ironic and not surprising at all. I'm so used to the kids getting me up earlier and the pets wanting to be fed that I am up regardless.

Last night was fun. I played third wheel on a date with Daniel and Schuyler and they took me to see a movie in another language (Korean, I think) with no subtitles so it was very difficult to figure out what happened. Then we went to what had to be the world's most dimly-lit Italian restaurant, where they make these GIGANTIC overstuffed tortellinis and at every bite you promise you're done. But then they pour more wine and bring more baskets of olive-oil-soaked bread, and before I knew it, it was after midnight and they had pulled the tables back and turned the music up and we were dancing.

Okay, they were dancing.

I was watching for a long time and eventually the bread ran out too and Daniel gave me his coat because they had opened the doors to the patio for some air and the elderly owner came over and offered me his arm so I did a waltz with him, very slowly. Twice around. Older men have no issues, he stared into my eyes, a delighted smile on his face, sure feet, sure hands. Schuyler has video. Everyone stopped dancing and I got this twinge as we moved. Like why am I here? What in the hell am I doing in this fun and dark little place wearing my husband's little brother's suit coat over my dress dancing intimately with a seventy-year old (at least) man whose name I don't even know and I felt like there was a rock in my stomach and a lump in my throat.

Eventually the music faded and I was passed on to Daniel's arm for the walk to the car, through the snow in my little high heels and thin black wool coat. Lochlan was waiting up. He asked if we had a good time and I said it was the best, save for the homesickness. I was halfway up the stairs and I stopped when I realized he was still talking from the living room below.

It sucks, being a grownup sometimes, doesn't it, princess?

No, Lochlan, it really doesn't. I just danced with a man who is far away from home, too. If I could give him a moment from his memory when he was a young man, dancing with a pretty girl while people clapped, and have the music, the food and everything else the same? Then it definitely didn't suck. By default, I think I learned something.

What's that?

I definitely need to have more fun.

He didn't say anymore and I came upstairs and had a hot shower, tossed my beautiful dress in the hamper, noticing for the first time exactly how much wine and olive oil I had spilled on it, decided I didn't care, and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

No dreams.

Redefine pulse.

Spring break has descended on the house once again and this morning the excitement was palpable as the kids gathered up their backpacks and most treasured books and their new digital cameras for the flight home. They get to go on the little plane with their Uncle Caleb, who is taking the week off and will puddle-jump them from Nova Scotia to Newfoundland before returning them to me at the end of next week.

(Don't ask. First one to say Mafia Uncle under their breath swims with the fishes.)

I would have gone but I don't go, this trip is not for me, it's a chance for the kids to be free of me, free from my rules and my moods and free from the darkness that keeps a fairly tight grip on this beautiful house.

Ben called last evening and talked to each child for a very long time, asking them to be safe and listen carefully to their uncle and their grandparents too and to have fun, that he missed them badly. He talked to me too and then he even talked to Lochlan and then he talked to me again.

And I realized about an hour ago that all of my anchors are now gone.

Crumbs in the guitar.

I can't focus when I'm near you.
Do you notice me at all?

Three-year-olds always know when you're distracted. And my house is no longer childproofed nearly enough for this little tornado of a boy. Gabriel, who is going to piggyback on the rest of my day because his mom got stuck at work this morning and has a chance to take another shift until she can have her husband pick her up on his way home. For those who are new to the story Gabriel is my little neighbor across the street. I look after him when there is an emergency, which amounts to about once every six or eight months.

Gabriel has tried seven times to make me share his peanut butter and jelly.

Share? Bridgie? Some? Eat some? Have some?

No, thank you.

Hungry, Bridgie? Here, half. I have half. Do you have cookies?

Yes, I have cookies and apple slices when you're finished your sandwich.

Chocolate cookies, Bridgie?

Yes, sweetheart. Chocolate. We like chocolate in this house.

Me, too.

He keeps things simple, you know that? Lochlan walked past the living room earlier on his way to get a glass of milk and stopped and watched us. We made a ramp with books and we were driving little bulldozers up into the plants and rearranging the dirt. Okay, I was, because clearly Gabe is a animal-lover and my cats are terrorized beyond belief, having been picked up and hoisted over his shoulder so many times in one morning they have gone off to hide until the tornado warning has ended.

I'm kind of hoping he stays for dinner. It's awfully nice to be with a cute guy who wants to share his sandwich, with no expectations or innuendos otherwise. Of course someday Gabriel is going to grow up and use these blonde curls and blue eyes to wreak all kinds of havoc on hearts everywhere so maybe I'm just tilting at windmills again.

I'll just enjoy it while it lasts.