Nanny state.

I made it through the year and I did not even collapse
Gotta say, "Thank God, for that"
I'm torn between what keeps me whole and what tears me in half
I'll fall apart or stay intact

With tired eyes I stumble back to bed
I need to realize my sorry life's not hanging by a thread
At least not yet

So look at me now
Its finally Christmas and I'm home
Head indoors, to get out of this weather
And I don't know how
But the closest friends I've ever known are all inside
Singing together
Singing merry Christmas, here's to many more/i>

It's quickly becoming my all-time favourite Christmastime song, though they all are, if I'm being honest (Just kidding! It's still and always will be Type O Negative's Red Water). I love Christmas. I love falling asleep in the big chair in the living room in my uniform after coming home from work from a really busy day and waking up to PJ running interference between Caleb and Lochlan, both of whom have vastly different but the exact same ideals when it comes to how best to deal with this pathetic state of affairs.

Jesus, I just sat down for a second. I fall asleep whenever I stop moving and suddenly it's a job con?

PJ ordered both of them out of the room. No more arguments, no more ultimatums just get the fuck out and let her sleep and he'll wake me up later and send me off to bed.

He didn't clarify which bed and Merry Christmas to both of us because guess where I woke up? I still haven't found my work uniform. I think PJ was hoping I would stay forever in his room if I couldn't leave with decorum but he doesn't know me as well as I hoped, I guess. I got up and started to walk out and he was suddenly full of shit.

Okay, okay. Here's your clothes. 

Gee, thanks, Padraig. 

No, thank you, Bridge. Best Christmas gift I never asked for. 

Ah. Too decadent?

Wrong size. 

Motherfucker!

Indeed. 

Weirdly proud.

I got a Christmas bonus today. Cash in a Christmas card from the owners of the restaurant. It is the equivalent of a half day's pay but it touches me all the same as I work my ass off to see that people like their meal and that they come back. I mopped twice today. I'm so tired I could cry and I came home and opened my card while Dalton looked on. This is something because it's the first bonus I've earned myself in twenty years that wasn't related to doing work for Caleb or Batman. It's the first one that's all mine. No strings. No expectations. Nothing but joy and generosity.

I feel a little bad for lecturing the manager today on the most efficient way to clean the windows.

But only a little. Maybe he put extra cash in afterwards because he knew I was right.

Postfamous.

And I feel so much depends on the weather
So is it raining in your bedroom?
And I see that these are the eyes of disarray
Would you even care?

And I feel it
And she feels it

I have the remote in a deathgrip, heart locked down, brain switched off as Jacob's swagger of a third incarnation (after God. After Bridget.) fills the screen in the theatre. Matt is rapt, watching Jacob sing in his STP cover band, watching him work the crowd, watching him find the camera and then address it. Watching him rake his hand through his hair, lean way out over the crowd and act so not-preacher-like it's almost as if he was someone else completely.

It was a test, if you can believe it. Matt's heard the stories, Matt's been here through someone of my worst after-flight moments, but never have I offered to show him the recordings, the videos of Jacob's band belting out Stone Temple Pilots hits while the townsfolk positively screamed for more. Jacob has always been just a name to Matt until today. But right now I feel like I could and so I did and I didn't implode or anything.

Matt sits back, sinking in the couch, his eyes wide. Wow, he whispers, looking at me.

I don't look back, I can't take my eyes from the screen. I know, right?

Deep end, shallow end, meet me in-between.

Matt pulled me in close to a hug this morning when we arrived at cold, rainy church and the seats were all saved because we get there early anyway.

Can I request a plot near the telescope? The orchard seems so far from the beautiful view. 

No. It's already dug and everything. Don't make me use it, Matthew. 

I won't be. It's for keeps this time, Bridget. Sam is the greatest thing about my life and I've fucked it up enough. He's got tears in his eyes. Great, now I do too.

I hold up my pinkie and Matt wraps his own little finger around mine, whispering Swear before we take our seats. The litmus test will be when I show up to the boathouse, however. Then we'll know for sure.

***

I kind of fell off a cliff reading Yrsa Daley-Ward's poetry late this morning, after church was over, only to find out she has an upcoming collaboration with Valentino early this spring with her poetry on the Garavani bags. Looks like I'll be fighting for one of the four hundred available and I don't even like the bags. Just the words. As usual.

I'll get you one, the Devil assures. Because of course he will.

Or maybe the book he's reading is boring but I doubt it (It's called The Great Zoo of China).

It's raining and warmer today, everything is a lush, soaked green, a dim, muted rainforest weekend day meant for doubling down on snuggles and holding out for nothing short of extreme comfort. My hot chocolate was spiked with Irish cream, my boys have multiplied and the library is dark and quiet.

Lochlan dozes lightly beside me. He was reading, but his glasses keep slipping down his nose as his eyes close. Then he jerks awake, his arm tightening around me only to realize he is safe and then he goes to sleep again.

I like watching it happen. He was never one for blackout curtains or dark rooms and I would always watch him lose his grip on the day slowly and then all at once, his whole face going slack from where before his expression would be coiled and tense.

He falls asleep like no one else I know.

Every time someone pokes their head in the door I hold a hand up in warning. Then they fumble for their phone and text me their question/offer/request and then they go away again.

I said yes to the hot chocolate though, and I'll say yes to the leftover Friday-night pizza if it comes to that. I just don't want to move right now. He's so content. I'm so content.

AWD for Christmas is you..

The tree is up! It's lit and decorated and wrapped with miles and miles of vintage wired embroidered ribbon. It's a very forties-looking tree to that end, and every single ornament has a story. Everyone is very happy but no one is as happy as the cats, who parked underneath it and haven't budged since.

All the presents are bought. I just honestly need some time to wrap them and a moment to run out and lug home the turkeys for dinner but other than that the spirit is here and we're set. This weekend is for egg nog and making tourtière pies and maybe watching Krampus. Maybe sleeping in a tiny bit. Maybe coughing less, I hope (rolls eyes). Maybe not eating the entire dish of Hershey kisses that's on the table in the hallway.

I'm sort of car-shopping as well, while I'm at it. While I'm off, I guess. I've finally had it with the way giant pickup trucks treat me on the highway, as if I'm a nuisance, in their way. I'm tired of their headlights shining directly into my eyes. I'm tired of hoping Henry hasn't grown again when I give him driving lessons, as he actually doesn't fit in this car at all, as a passenger never mind as a driver, and I don't like the little knocks and fits it has when it torques around corners and such. It's been a fun couple of years but I think I'm going to buy a Jeep. I like PJ's and he says it's a good vehicle so why the heck not?

I have time to shop. I'm a car salesman's worst nightmare though. You would think the boys do all the talking but they don't say a word. 

A single moment on a Thursday in early December, 2018.

Watching: Kodaline's almost-short film, in the form of two music videos, All I Want (Part 1) and All I Want (Part 2). Came for the nice guy, stayed for the dog (who looks a lot like my dog). It's ten minutes of wonderful, simple storytelling with a lovely song. I'm not crying, you're crying.

Listening to: Cary Brothers CHRISTMAS MUSIC (Takes me forever to find these things, sorry. Yes I know). Still love him. It's been fifteen years. 

Eating: Had Pad Kee Mao for lunch. I'm spoiled rotten. Now I'm drinking hot chocolate. Dinner will be late, I think. Or nonexistent, maybe, as PJ already sent out a FFY warning (fend for yourself).

Wearing: Leggings and a huge sweater, gold hoop earrings, wedding rings + boyfriend ring. Lip gloss. Mascara. (Why do people constantly ask for this? Who cares?)

Plotting: To put up the tree this weekend. It's time! I held out forever and it's time. Also the dog needs a bath. Badly. I don't know what he got into, maybe just the garden beds near the garage but he's grungy. 

Working on: self-care. I don't think I'm doing it right, still, though I remembered to put on hand cream last night before bed and I'm drinking the hot chocolate as a treat. Right? Right????

Ordering: Henry's graduation photos. Many, many copies for everyone. The proofs look amazing, he's a stupidly photogenic human. Like his father. Now I have to wait a month or more for them to arrive and we're in the home stretch of high school forever. I can't even believe it. 

(Actual content tomorrow. Currently busy referring a standoff between Duncan and August over something dumb. August thinks he's going to toss Duncan off the cliff. In this weather. They're teasing but I'm making sure no one goes in the water when it's this cold. It's not safe.)

The pie thief.

I went over to check on how things were going at the boathouse only because I like to be a good hostess and because it's Wednesday and on Wednesdays my restaurant sends home any full leftover pies for the Reverend and today was a positive bounty in that I knocked on the door with three. Strawberry, pumpkin and a key lime. Sam kept the pumpkin but asked me to share the wealth with the others and so Schuyler and Duncan took the key lime and Batman and New Jake took the strawberry. Everyone is happy. Our house doesn't need pie, trust me. We're cake people anyway.

Matt wasn't even home. He was at a meeting with Ben. I would have known that but I went to the boathouse first because of the pies, you see. Sam said things are going well, that he didn't realize all of Matt's confidence came from a bottle and I gently reminded him he should have, for that's how it generally works.

How about you come back late tonight with Ben for dessert? We can have some tea and some pie and Matt can work to get back on your good side. 

I don't have a bad side, Sam. I'm just protective of you. 

And my gratitude for that is bottomless, Bridget, but it's something Matt wants to do. 

Let's give him space to settle in. I'm going to give him a little time first. He doesn't need me breathing down his neck. He can ride to church with us on Sunday. I'll check with him on Saturday. Until then I just want him to feel at home. 

Bottomless, Bridge-

I already dug a hole in the orchard for him, Sam. 

People can change, Bridget.

Yes, and it's only for that reason that I haven't put him in it yet. 

I did tell him if he hurts Sam a third time his body will be buried in the orchard.

Matt arrived this morning with his pride under his tongue and flowers in his hand. One bouquet for Sam, and the other for...

Ben.

Ben is Matt's sponsor, but only after hours (weeks, months, actually) of conversation in which Matt has agreed to get some help for his issues (drinking too much, levelling ultimatums and dealbreakers and names called at Sam, at me, at all of us and so we cast him out and yet Sam was still in love.

Sam's in love with everything. God, me, Matt, Ben, Lochlan, the evening sky and the cold empty beaches too so when someone is that open with their heart they tend to get stomped on. And since Matt and Sam have had two magnificent go-arounds already, you can see we're a little hesitant to open our home and our hearts once again. The last time Matt burned every bridge to this island and then he came back and threw sharks in the water just to finish the job. Sam on the other hand, hesitated for less than the space of a heartbeat and jumped right back in with both feet.

He's getting help. Remember when Ben went through this? 

Oh. Don't compare apples to oranges, Samuel.

But we have agreed to give Matt a chance. As long as he sticks to the program.

He has his three-month milestone so far, ninety days sober and he's already like a different man from what I've seen. Gone is the quiet confidence, the understated ego and in it's place remains a frailty, an honesty I always wished for from him. Sam emerges as the newly confident, the sure-stepping, direct and positive force and Matt is buckling down to work at last. I wondered if it was alcohol but he hid it well.

Matt also seems more comfortable with Sam being in the boathouse. There's more privacy and he seems to feel as if maybe we haven't brainwashed Sam after all, that clearly he's free to detach slightly, to move out of the main house and be ever so slightly apart from the Collective as a whole. That's not to say that them living downstairs doomed their marriage, but that a little breathing room is never a bad thing and Sam's move has done wonders to reassure Matt.

Or maybe he's lonely for the holidays and feeding us a tale.

I don't know. I'm a little suspicious and I'm not alone. But he asked Sam if I spend time there (at the boathouse) and Sam told Matt, if you can believe this, that it's none of his business.

And Matt said he deserved that.

And Sam said it doesn't change his answer.

And Matt said he can accept it.

Because you have to, Sam told him.

And Matt nodded.

And there was a lot more to the conversation and all of it turned me back around from a blackened, wizened cynic into a champion of true love once again and that's how it came to be that Matt has moved into the boathouse with Sam and has given notice on his rental.

(None of this happened today except for the actual move.)

Ugg boots were made for people who walk all damn day and thank God for that.

Tonight the dryer runs in tandem with the furnace, as the temperatures dip down below zero and the sun pulls a blanket of darkness up over its head, the hemlocks crowding in close to lift up the moon and point to the stars overhead.

It's a good night for spicy french fries stolen from over broad shoulders and for egg nog, nutmeg and whiskey. It's a good night to pour over Henry's graduation picture proofs. It's a good night to finalize the Christmas shopping list (I'm down to a spare handful of things left to pick up) and it's a good night to go to bed early, as I really fought myself to go out the door this morning, where it was so cold I've added a cardigan to my uniform dress and the car never did fully defrost by the time I made it to work. PJ didn't start the car for me. Neither did Ben. Mondays are for being a big girl, I guess.

I'm always glad when Mondays are over, even though I armed my brain to the teeth with things to think about when I was in danger of being overwhelmed. That helps too.