Black tie optional (New Year's Absolutions)

Here is an education, the lesson professed is quite cruel
There are some things worse than death
And one of them is you.

Oh my goodness. All that hard physical work this week and one piece of cake yesterday is going to ruin the tenuous relationship I have with this dress.

I just won't breathe. Which is fine, since if I breathe I might take in cold air and it's freeeezing tonight. The dress will be hidden under a suit jacket most of the evening, unless it's very warm at the loft.

Caleb is throwing a New Year's Eve party.

He came back early after going to Montreal for much of the week and managed to pull together a huge soiree for this evening. The children are going to PJ's mother's house for a sleepover and we are all in our best right now, something I generally only see for memorial services and other people's weddings.

I borrowed an iron from my neighbor for Ben's shirt.

He looks amazing in a suit. I think I've said that before. Ben's linebacker shoulders squared up in a plain black suit and a dark grey shirt and dress shoes make me melt. Perhaps I can have Caleb teach him to shoot his cuffs and then my knees would be even more wobbly than they are when I look at him now.

This is the last party in this city. The last time all of us will be together here. The last New Years we will celebrate at thirty below and the final time that I visit the loft, since it has already sold and Caleb is actually staying at the house with us.

All of my boys look so handsome when they put some effort into finding something to wear other than their usual uniforms of flannel shirts, jeans and beards. And I think I look almost okay in my Marchesa dress. Okay enough to leave August speechless for the first few minutes when he arrived and I answered the door looking like a ballerina on a coffee break. Dress. Hair in curlers. Bare legs. Now that my hair is finished and I've found my garters and stockings and shoes the look is complete. Maybe he thought I looked awful.

Right.

Ben just stares and smiles, happy that the diamond and the amethyst rings that dangle off my finger came from him. Oddly still relieved on major holidays and events that I didn't marry Lochlan as they really and truly thought I would had all the planets aligned when we were teenagers. Now everyone seems to have come to a place where they leave Ben and I alone. Save for Caleb. He doesn't leave us alone. Lochlan does, because Lochlan is aware that major holidays and events belong to the devil. He doesn't like it, he is just aware.

This will be the last night we spend at the loft and I'm relieved for that. That is what I'm celebrating. The end of that place as Caleb's evil playground. Happy New Year indeed. I'm hoping that maybe he leaves me with enough dignity that I can show my face at New Year's Day brunch tomorrow without wanting to crawl into a hole until I'm given the signal that I am not blamed for the appetites of others and that it's merely a source of massive relief when I walk out of a room after being touched by Satan himself, instead of being carried out or led out unsteadily, painfully. I won't say bruised because bruises are a given. Bite marks too. Twisted, twitching muscles and mollified expressions a staple the day after.

I can only walk into the party tonight with the hopes that it runs long, which makes the endurance that Ben and I submit to shorter in length, and that Satan is feeling generous instead of selfish. But that's the thing with hopes. They are something that optimists hold. I never claimed to be one of those.

Happy New Year. Tomorrow if I have any wits left I'll share my resolutions. I hope you will too. I always love to hear what others have in store for the upcoming year.

Too tired to be dramatic tonight. Sigh.

Every single cut we made today had to be some sort of lazy parallelogram, a listing rectangle, screwed into the studs with a hope and a prayer and more swear words than ever before. We went through fourteen sheets of plasterboard and three hundred screws, suffering a host of injuries.

I wound up under a falling sheet once again and Ben didn't happen to be handy enough to catch it today so as a result my head is a little flat now in one space so there will be no words that begin with a D until it returns to normal. Ben carved up his knuckles and stepped on a huge rusted staple which wouldn't come out easily. I'm sure it hit bone and tetanus will befall him shortly.

But we're finished and he never nailed me to the wall by my hood and I never attempted to accidentally stab the crowbar into his back. We even cleaned up together, put away all of the tools and remarked on how good the porch looks now. And how warm it is. Amazing.

And then we had cake. And now coffee. And looked at our phones and found a second round of missed calls and orphan messages that will be returned tomorrow because tomorrow will not be spent working.

All of the very major construction-type thingies are finished now and I'm so happy for that tonight it's hard to be freaked out that I can't lift my arms anymore and I have splinters in my splinters and plaster in my hair and I may have killed another vacume (yes, spelling) cleaner with errant screws and construction wreckage.

So happy.

I will never put up plasterboard again. Ever.

(Find any d-words yet?) <---epic princess FAIL. Look at the title.

It started off sweet enough.

I was sitting on the floor trying to loosen the chuck of the drill or whatever that thing is you do when you want to change the bit when I heard a yell and saw Ben's feet appear beside me, then his face. Above his shoulders and resting on his back was the eight-foot sheet of heavy drywall that would have fallen on me otherwise.

Had it happened two hours later he probably would have let it fall on me and no one would have blamed him.

We managed to get eight sheets of it up today after finishing the framing-in and are planning to get the rest done tomorrow. My back and my legs are aching, I failed to sleep much again last night am I'm frustrated that we're mired in his last week home doing work on the house and I pretty much had a very unpretty meltdown just as we opted to hang it up for the night, after hours of bickering and admiring our work, alternately.

I hate tomorrow already but I plan to drag my sorry little aching butt to the grocery store first and I'm going to buy a giant chocolate cake or six so that when it's all done the princess gets a treat. Seriously, fuck these crooked walls and unsquare floors, all will be well when it's finished and we can have dessert. Dessert makes everything better.

It's Monday, I think.

I have twenty minutes to myself before the laundry will be dry and need folding so I end up here, knocking lightly on the door to my journal, hoping to stop in for a quick coffee before the day continues. I have coffee with me, a big fresh cup from the pot I made a few minutes ago because Ben wanted some too. I have some every day between two and three no matter what or I'm a narcoleptic nightmare after supper. Coffee does bad things to Ben's guts and he shouldn't have any but he does it anyway. He is here beside me working on his macbook.

Today toward moving we went and got the drywall screws and tape to go with the drywall they brought in on the twenty-third, and we worked for a couple hours finishing up the shelves in the kitchen. We had shortened the counter space a few years ago to accommodate the pastry station/chopping block end, and were left with an odd little open corner where the drawers met the rest of the cupboards.

Ben finished all of that off today, adding two shelves for cookbooks or wine or trays or whatever you want to put in them. They're cubby-holes and they work very well, adding a little more character because that's what we are good at. I will paint them after he goes to New York. I'll be painting a lot of things. For today I was content to assume my role of sitting on the floor handing him drill bits and levels and screws, burning his image into my brain as if I haven't already done that a thousand times over.

Also toward moving today we gave away Butterfield's big metal cage to a neighbor. It's far too large for little Bonham, and it's been sitting in the back porch for two years. We're going to need to empty the room in order to get the drywall up tomorrow.

I also had much success in shoveling the end of the driveway. After our Christmas storm, we were finally plowed out this morning, and I took the shovel down to the end of the driveway to clear the ridge of snow-plates that wind up blocking my escape and the bulldozer operator saw me and came back and scraped all the snow away from the drive before I had a chance to level my shovel at the mess. Bless him. I blew kisses as he drove away, went inside and fully half the boys in residence expressed doubt that I had finished that quickly. I said nothing and they went and looked and saw it all done and since I have no poker face I told them about the driver who came back and cleared it and they are content now that my charm still functions well enough to get the job done any way I can.

(Which is a total double standard in that it's okay for snow-clearing but not okay for anything related to Caleb. Surprise.)

Tonight I have to take a pill to summon sleep and possibly will hit my head a few more times to spool up the birds and take myself out of evil consciousness for a brief respite. I didn't sleep for five minutes last night and am frustrated with just about everything today as a result. Which is silly because I had a lovely night wrapped tightly in Ben's arms while he took away any chance I'll ever have again of being regarded as a lady proper, and then when he finally fell asleep I was wide awake and unable to quiet my head but not able to identify anything I could actively work on which defeats the purpose of being able to talk myself out of panic and that isn't fair.

For the moment, however, it is good to know the house is almost done, the roads are driveable again, the coffee is hot Sumatra, Ben still has this whole week here in within reach of the princess, which is nice. Time finally moves a little bit slowly. Or so it feels today.

Tomorrow the framing will be finished and the drywall goes up in the porch. It's going to be a busy day but it will be satisfying too to get that big job underway at last. I'm almost excited. And I HATE renovating. Think I can get a new house next time? Yeah, me neither.

Bridget's going to earn her merit badge for post-apocalyptic survivalism.

And if you were with me tonight,
I'd sing to you just one more time.
A song for a heart so big,
god wouldn't let it live.
May angels lead you in.
Hear you me my friends.
On sleepless roads the sleepless go.
May angels lead you in.

Twenty-four hours later and I am marginally better, trying on this whole inevitable being alone for a couple of months thing under different lights, with different shoes and bracelets even. I've found a couple of angles that work and some that spell certain disaster. Overall it's a ridiculously bad idea and I've spent much of the day fidgeting with my new Blackberry, that now has ten different methods of instant-messaging installed and tested. God help us all, if someone wants to get a hold of me I'm pretty sure I won't miss their attempt. I can also sound the alarm a hundred different ways. Not like it will matter though.

August came seeking absolution on toast for breakfast this morning and he got it, because like I said last night, none of this is his fault by any means. A lot of the mannerisms and actions the boys display mirror each other, from years of being friends, brothers, roommates, bandmates, and rivals. It's inevitable. And the initial disapproval over Lochlan choosing to give Bridget a few glasses of wine rather than wait out the inevitable blonde tornado and her subsequent destruction was appreciated in the end in spite of the hypocritical nature of our actions. This is a house full of hypocrites at the end of every day. We are nothing if not humble and transparent and fallible and apologetic. We are equally narcissistic, veiled and unconquerable, refusing to be held accountable for what is surely an emotional wasteland that we will pick through for treasures, sustenance, adventure and safety, too.

Such is life really.

I see no point in sugarcoating bad things to make them taste sweeter. Shit is shit after all and artificially-sweetened shit is even more disgusting. Who am I fooling? I'm not okay by a long shot. But I'm a functional, darned cute little lunatic and that's what butters my bread for now. Just insane enough to make people laugh and suck them into my vulnerable, dark and beautiful world before letting them become aware that everything here is glass painted black and they have morphed into a bull with no room to turn around.

And wow, someday I'm going to run out of my ridiculous analogies. That's going to be a sad day indeed.

In the meantime, the boys say they love them and that's all that matters to me. This week I'll be helping them finish the house, everything but the paint and plaster gets done this week. There isn't all that much left. I will cover painting and minor plasterwork after they have left and then as Ben returns here and there (once in January and once in February) he can inspect my handiwork and look forward to those trips instead of imagining this as a blanket absence like those of my past. The hard part is expecting change over expecting the same experience, time after time. Apparently I will need to experience this to be able to see it for what it is.

Huh.

Character building is difficult and complicated and we have run out of wine. At least I have. I'm off to have a hot bath and then curl up in my flannel pajamas with Benjamin the Stoic to watch a movie and finish off the Christmas cake. I guess that is something to look forward to. Instead of cooking dinner for between eight and sixteen people every night I will be cooking for three and I could actually just cook for the children and sit with them and eat cake instead of dinner.

That might be pretty cool, come to think of it. I find it utterly fascinating that the boys can spoil me so thoroughly and yet I remain incredibly hard on myself. So much work to do and so little time to do it in. I guess I'd better get started. It's a pretty big freaking list and I've gotten great at putting it off.

The natural fool (excused for her behavior).

(Lit like a fibre-optic Christmas tree and back to sober in a three-hour span. Welcome to my rollercoaster. No pushing.)

I wasn't contemplating any of Lochlan's wine until August walked in through the back porch door, hung his plaid coat on a hook in the hallway and then reached for my ear with his thumb and forefinger as he was putting his arms around me for a hug, ostensibly checking to see if I had my hearing aids in.

I wouldn't be drunk but that's exactly the routine Jake would carry out when he came home from the church or from the university and I know damn well August didn't mean anything by it. Hell, I just typed something to that effect the other day about my bobby pins always falling out because the boys are always touching my head, it's a given, they check for the hearing aids daily or whenever they come in, all of them so I don't really think about it much, and my head is at midchest level for most of them which means it's far more comfortable for them to put their arms around my head (blockouttheworld) than around my shoulders or waist or something. I'm five feet tall. Try it. It's just weird to reach way down, I bet.

In my peripheral vision I could see August greeting the guys, their routine of grasping hands and thumping backs a few times swimming in blurry flannel when it became too much, when my knees were too weak to hold me up because it was the single most painful case of deja vu I've ever felt since Jake died. The tea towel fell on the floor and I sat down heavily in the chair by the dining room door and started hyperventilating. So so quietly. They don't need this. They've had enough. Pull yourself together and just relax. Only it wasn't working and I could hear the little tiny gasps and I couldn't keep them silent anymore and I banged my head against the wall and oh Jesus Ben came running after the third crack into the plaster and I pointed out the stars around my head and asked if maybe they were accompanied by birds and into his arms I went, shaking like a leaf.

Jake was-

I know, princess.

No, August was here and-

Holidays are hard, Bridget.

He squeezed me in his arms and I squealed and he let go and looked at me. I looked at my knees (Flutterbyesbrowneyes). I sat on my hands. I did not meet his eyes. A hard holiday indeed when missing someone two years gone grinds a perfectly reasonable season to a halt. A feeling I wish I could bury forever.

Lochlan was in the doorway and he crossed to the cupboard and took out a glass and the bottle of red wine from last night that we opened and did not get to. (DullthepaindullitdullitquietnotSatansway)

Just for tonight.

Yeah. Just for tonight. Bring me the wine and bookend me. Keep the ghost away and don't let him come back. He doesn't deserve to take responsibility for how I feel.

Has she already been drinking? (Andrew, surprised by such a rapid decent. He doesn't see so many of these.)

I don't think so.

Where is August?

I'm right here, Bridget.

It's not your fault.

I know.

I don't think you do.

Yeah, I miss him too. It isn't easy not having him here.

Everyone nodded. Which seemed comical. They were standing in a semicircle around where I sat, like jokers performing for the princess. Make her laugh. Win her favor and you will become the court jester! Everyone loves to laugh. Ben was on his knees in front of me, Lochlan had already turned his back and was pouring me a glass of wine because I won't take pills to feel better because pills take away the sad but they take away all the other feelings too and you wind up with cardboard-cutout Bridget and she's dull.

Bookends, Lochlan.

I'm right here, princess.

Don't go either, Ben.

I'm not going anywhere tonight, bee.

No, don't go away. You can't. I can't do this.

We'll be okay.

Why won't you LISTEN?

Three glasses of wine now and I'm not angry with Ben anymore. I know if we had a choice this would not be it. I know that I'm a hypocrite for taking the night off from my feral emotions, my vehemence and using alcohol to do it, and I know that August is not Jake. Okay, well, sometimes he is and those are the times you really must look out for Bridget because she goes to hell in her handbasket, handwoven from the bones within her flesh and really they will just ride this out.

A good crack on the head should always feature birds for entertainment, shouldn't it?

No, bee. It shouldn't.

Oh, well, in a perfect world it totally would, Benny.

Bridget, in a perfect world you wouldn't injure yourself on purpose.

Right. No one would, would they? Not me, not you, and certainly not Jake.

Jake didn't-

I know what Jake did. I hate him. And I love you.

Then put down the damned glass and come sit with me for a bit. Read the paper. Write something while I work on emails. Just put the glass down.

I can do that.

No ghosts?

No birds. Good enough, I guess.

You're disappointed, aren't you?

Yes. I think birds should fly around my head perpetually, don't you?

I can do pathetic. What I can't seem to pull off is progress.

Latin lovers.

Merry Christmas, or maybe I should say hilaris sarcalogos!

Wake up, it's Christmas mourn
Those loved have long since gone
The stockings are hung but who cares
preserved for those no longer there
six feet beneath me sleep

I'm stealing a few moments for some latin between peanut butter and banana sandwiches and turkey proper. The turkey smells heavenly, we put it in just before lunch so it will be ready in hours. I need to go soon and pat it with more butter, lingering in the warm kitchen for a bit. Puttering.

Christmas this morning was a laid-back, relaxed endeavor. Coffee, juice and icing-sugar doughnuts and a quick dog-walk in the blizzard blowing outside. Ben in pajamas. Then Ben in his big warm sweater and jeans. Still riding the ridiculous confidence high of his spotlight among his peers, relishing his chance to serenade us publicly. He and Daniel sang Adeste Fidelis just after the sermon and then at the end of the service Ben sang Red Water (Christmas Mourning). A capella. Alone.

Wow.

I wondered for a moment if Ben had tricked Sam, or if Sam knew the basis for that song since it's something you would never hear in a church, let alone as part of a Christmas Eve candlelight service, but when I looked at Sam he was mouthing the words, hypnotized by Ben's voice. Sam began his ministry here as such a hard ass and wound up more laid back than Jacob, if that is possible. You'd have to be lying down to be more laid back than Jacob was. Sam has achieved the impossible. Or better yet, has taken Jacob's place in areas I did not expect him to embrace.

I'm losing my train of thought. The phone keeps ringing. People wishing us a Merry Christmas. People complimenting Ben's singing. People telling us they wish us well, they wish we'd stay, they wish I felt differently about how accepted or unaccepted I have felt since moving here. Not that any of it is more than holiday lush-service, since moving is a good thing, not a bad thing, and since most people have already lit into the wine or brandy. The blizzard here means wherever you are is wherever you will stay for the remainder of today and maybe tomorrow too. I'm almost glad for that. It's a quiet little Christmas where we had strict rules. Presents must fit in the palm of one's hand, must cost under a thousand dollars and we must enjoy every moment because time is running out on routine here and our snowglobe is due to be picked up and shaken hard. Or so says Christian and I believe him.

And so Ben ticked off everything on my list this year, bringing me Mary Weiland's book and the Blackberry Bold 2 (the 9700) that I've been seriously coveting since using the Bold 9000 for work. This Bold kicks that Bold's ass alllllllll around the room and I love it to pieces and him too. He is my gift. Every damned day.

The kids loved all their presents too. They got pajamas and books and games but the best gift of all for the children and for Bridget was Ben going to Build-a-Bear and while we thought we were just checking it out and then left to continue browsing in another shop, Ben wondered aloud if he had locked the truck and went to check.

(Trickster.)

Lo and behold this morning Ruth, Henry and I opened our own custom-chosen bears, made by Ben, who says he stood on the pedal to stuff them and chose hearts to put inside and made the wishes and everything else you have to do to make a bear, plus he recorded a goodnight message for each of us to listen to when we miss him, which plays when you squeeze a paw. Which made all four (okay twelve) of us cry and I don't think anyone could have come up with a better gift unless it included winning the lottery and paying off the record company so he would be released from his obligations once and for all.

I will squeeze the paw on my patchwork bear to hear Ben's voice every night that he is away from us and I will laugh when I think of him having to go through the 'construction' process at the workshop with the workers in their aprons and then having to sit and fill out birth certificates for the bears on the low stools meant for people much smaller than he is.

He didn't think it would mean so much but it does. It means more than he'll ever understand. It's such a departure from belting out holidayesque gothic metal songs in a darkened church or skating out of his net swinging in the middle of a friendly hockey game. It gives his big scarred boyheart a new purpose and it makes him the giant goof that makes Christmas fun, bringing light and music to a house ruled by the tiny glowing-haired tyrant and her ghosts of Christmas past.

Dinner will be ready in just under two hours. I have turkey, stuffing, gravy, braided buns, baby red potatoes, peas, wine, cranberry juice and chocolate cake and fruit for dessert. Plus we have Christmas crackers to pull with trinkets inside, which always brings a mad effort on part of Benjamin and PJ to set the table on fire with the biggest sparks they can make. That probably wasn't a good idea but I won't leave the crackers off the table, because they contain our crowns, and dammit, this Christmas in this kingdom, we are royalty.

Red water chase them away
My tables been set for but seven
just last year I dined with eleven
goddamn ye merry gentlemen
Whoa mistletoe (It's growing cold)
I'm seeing ghosts (I'm drinking old)

Merry Christmas to you all. Hope you have snap-crackers, turkey and loved ones to enjoy tonight too.

Teflon Jesus calls it Chutzpah and that makes me laugh.

Rank on rank the host of heaven
spreads its vanguard on the way,
as the Light of Light descendeth
from the realms of endless day,
that the powers of hell may vanish
as the darkness clears away.

Supper will be late tonight.

I've got my stiletto boots on, and my dark green silk Valentino and I'll keep my black wool coat on throughout the service tonight, because it's been a little over two years since the church was warm. I've got around seventeen bobby pins holding the usual braided knot in place because the wisps began to escape early because the boys are always touching my hair, holding my head for a kiss or a hug, stroking a cheek or an ear, dunking me upside down in the snowdrifts. The usual.

I'll climb the steps of the church and go inside, clutching Ben's hand with both of mine, spinning his rings, Lochlan not far behind to catch the princess and help her find her balance. The stares will be unavoidable. Half of this congregation hates me and the other half wants to be me. Equal feverish hopes unspoken in which they wish to alternately spend a moment or two in my six-inch heels or burn me at the stake, laughing all the while. I'm not oblivious, I just pretend. It's been this way since I left Cole.

Ben is going to pry my hands from his just after Sam gives him the nod and he will advance to the front of the sanctuary and sing Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence while people finish filing in and get settled, their eyes taking my inventory. Judging me. Judging us.

The children appear to be well-dressed, neat and content.

Yes, all of the boys are here too. What goes on in that giant black house with the white gingerbread anyway?

He doesn't SEEM all that frightening right now.

She does. It's always the ones you don't expect.

I've been grinding my teeth alot lately, but I did my dutiful Christmas preparations. Everything is wrapped and most of it hidden away in a little-used room in the basement. The tree is decorated and lit. I left it plugged in. Dinner will be a casserole that will bake slowly while we are out tonight and the sparkling water is chilling in the refrigerator door. We leave the Christmas lights on in the porch around the clock and the children will work on the gingerbread house later on when we get home from the service.

I have cookies, groceries, and a new cake from the bakery. The sidewalks, walkways and driveway are shoveled. It's done. I'm ready, just as soon as I walk the gauntlet of churchgoers and hypocrites, who smile to my face while they're thrusting knives into my back, jealous of God only knows what, but loathe to admit it. Hateful because of their envy.

They should not envy me.

Satan hovers close, a malevolent satellite keeping things calm, far more frightening than Benjamin could ever be. Ben is a lion who can be tamed with a lip balm, a set of headphones and a Big Mac. Caleb's appetites see no end, he's the moebius man, content to hide his deadly fetishes behind his generosity and his charm. Sort of like I do, except I am not generous, I am selfish and spoiled and I have earned every curiosity they've ever guessed at and then some. They only think they know what sort of life I lead, what is real and what is imaginary. Sort of like believing in the spirit of Christmas versus believing that there is a Santa Claus.

Some people just don't know the difference.

I was not put here to educate them just like I know how to tame Caleb, but I can't pull it off. I've tried. I'm just not ready to die at his hand. I would die for others, not for him.

I will not go tonight to laud my current choices in front of them, I'm too fragile for their brand of neighbourly derision. I'll go tonight to listen to Ben sing Christmas carols and possibly a secular song (I don't know which. I think I know but he's not telling) in the sanctuary and I will go to listen to Sam and to represent the failure of God to drive me away just because I still think he has it in for me and I like to thumb my nose at him every chance I get in proof that he won't win either.

I'll go to spend extra time terrorizing and arousing my neighbours as I alternately accept hands to hold and arms to tuck under, just to keep them all confused. I'll go to support Sam as he prepares to soon tell his congregation that for the second time in three years they are losing their minister and I'll go because it's Christmas, pure and simple.

And I'll go because this dress is beautiful. I didn't buy it, it was a gift. One I can't return because it was custom-made for me. Just like my soul. You can't have either so take both items off your list and be grateful for what you do have.

It works for me.

“The world is full of people who have never, since childhood, met an open doorway with an open mind”
~E. B. White

He won't even tell me which song!

Well, holy shit. Ben is going to sing again this year in the Christmas Eve service at church. I don't know how Sam managed to exact that promise this year. It was probably the cupcakes and fellowship bribe of this afternoon that sealed the deal.

We're in for such a treat. I'm excited.

Disengaging.

Today toward moving we took the final load out to the landfill, mostly pieces of wood from building the fence and the old barbecue that isn't worth taking or giving away and the contents of the rafters in my garage. Most of the guys were free to load the truck and everyone just wanted to get the outside work finished before the snowfall that I see in the forecast. I helped bring armloads of wood and verified that yes, that's it for things that need to be taken away. I made sure they had cash for gas and load fees and then they were off to do man things, surely stopping at the hardware store on the way back because we need plasterboard. There's still the back porch to finish, it was stripped right down to the studs and now it's freshly wired and insulated and ready for actual walls again.

Other than that we've been laying low, sleeping in, eating out, holding each other, making sure everyone is okay with changes coming up. With the plans falling into place slowly but surely. With making sure the children are informed and okay with what happens next. It's not an easy undertaking, after all. We're a very large family.

Ben has been surprising me often, which is nice because he seemed to be pulling away again., like he always seems to do before tour, before anything that takes him away. Withdrawing even to the point where by yesterday afternoon I was jumping around him waving my arms like a stranded hiker in the woods who finally spots a helicopter. He noticed and I was rescued from the certain boredom and stinging dismissal with a trip around town, out for dinner and then a final round of Christmas shopping. Then home and everyone scatters to their favorite haunts in the house to unwind. It's like a tiny little poignant vacation at home before all hell breaks loose and I'm grateful for it.

I don't sleep though, not enough and so I'm pretty much worn out and overwhelmed by everything that's going to happen sooner rather than later. I lie awake in the dark and tears just roll and sometimes he notices those and sometimes he is already asleep. I can't help it. That's when the fear takes over. It's hard to force myself to think about good things or other things but eventually exhaustion takes over, at least for a few hours and then it all begins again.

This is the hard part. The same thing happened last time. We knew everyone was coming out too, but there were months in between, in transit where we were all in different places and things were tough and we all felt disconnected and the boys were quieter than usual while they dealt with missing me and each other and the children too. I don't like the quiet times, I'll take the fist-swinging and the big pounding hugs and the rock-bottom pleas and boisterous laughter any day over this uneasy peaceful quiet.

Oh yes I would.