My brother called last night. It caught me off guard. I haven’t spoken to G in more than a month and had not programmed his new number into my phone so I didn’t realize who was calling before I had already answered.

We didn’t talk. I made some excuse, I told a lie, and I got off the phone as quickly as I had answered.

We’ve had a falling out. A major one. With details far too intimate to discuss on a blog. And the truth is, I haven’t gotten past it. I think I’ve actually forgiven him for his trespasses against me, to be honest. The problem I have, the hostility I continue to feel, is more for the way I feel he is currently still taking advantage of family. For his lack of appreciation. For his arrogance that with all the generosity that has been afforded him (despite the major issues) he is unwilling to do the small things asked of him.

And so there is silence.

I cannot listen to his chipper voice tell me about his job, his golf, his friends. I cannot respond with the appropriate “mmhmm’s” or “really?”‘s when all I want to do is scream.

I know this is my burden. I know it is my heart that has to bend. I know that I have to learn to love him again, as he is. But I get hung up. I get angry at his arrogance, his disrespect, his lack of appreciation, in particular for all that my dad is doing for him.

But a voice, in the back of my head is whispering. Is reminding. Is nudging.

How arrogant, how disrespectful, how unappreciative am I at times, perhaps most of the time, of my Father’s generosity, of His grace? How often is God frustrated with me for my complete lack of obedience, lack of gratitude for all that He does for me?

When I call, does God tell me He is just sitting down to dinner and will call me back?

Grace is receiving something you don’t deserve. A gift. It’s not a reward, it’s not something you could ever earn. It has to be undeserved in order to be grace. My dad is demonstrating grace to my brother.

My Father is demonstrating grace to me.

When will I learn how to demonstrate it to my own brother?

No 40th birthday would be complete without a proper celebration and our day away was not over until we went out for dinner at a local restaurant with a piano bar. Neither of us had ever been, but moments in the door we knew this would not be our last visit.

The pianists (three) were amazing. Putting my own playing skills far to shame they played, sang, entertained. The crowd laugh, gasped and sang along with every classic hit, every familiar tune, every joke they played. With no less than seven bachelorette parties in attendance, we were also entertained by more than our fair share of drunk brides-to-be. The pianists had no mercy for women wearing flashing penises.

We enjoyed dinner and drinks and the music. And when I spoke to the waitress about taking home a piece of cheesecake (TB’s favorite- as his birthday dessert) I inquired about a birthday announcement. She explained the process and told me $5 would get me an announcement and a song played, $10 would get him called up on stage.

I didn’t know him well enough to know which option to choose. I knew myself – call me up on stage and I’ll find the closest exit and hold a grudge for years. But TB? I decided to test the waters. I sat down next to him with the request form and asked him for his favorite song. Unable to come up with a good one for the situation, he finally just suggested anything by Chicago. I added a comment on the card that it was his 40th birthday celebration and walked up to place my request on the piano. It was during the walk up that I had to decide. $5, or $10? Announced or embarrassed?

I put a ten on the piano.

And when they called TB up to the stage, alongside another bachelorette, I started to worry. The other birthday celebrations had been fairly tame, but the bachelorette songs had been downright hysterical, at the expense of the bride-to-be (in each case they were far too drunk to remember it in the morning).

They had TB sit in a chair and told the veiled drunken wonder it was her job to give him a lap dance. TB was laughing and I breathed a sigh of relief that at least he was the passive member of this spectacle.

It was halfway through the song that I realized the trouble I had started. The pianist stopped and told the two on stage to switch positions. It was up to TB to show this bride how a lap dance was really done.

And show her he did.

I do not remember the last time I have laughed so hard. Or the last time I saw someone stand with such penache in a moment that might otherwise be a debacle. He hammed it up. He laughed and danced. He did the white man’s overbite and had the crowd cheering. He was, in the moment, perfect.

And I, I am just happy to have photographic evidence of it all.

Happy 40th Birthday, TB!!

(It should be noted that I have gone to extreme lengths to emphasize to TB that reciprocity, while considered fair play in this situation, will not go over well. I embarrass easily and I hold grudges.)

He had asked me a couple weeks ago, so very early in all of this, if I would go away with him. It had felt too soon, felt like too much, but he didn’t push, he just asked. Would I go away with him for the day, for his birthday?

And so I did.

We left on Saturday morning and he drove. I had guessed where he was taking me, to a place he went to as a child, a place he had been to a year ago but without joy. A place he wanted to experience again, experience together, experience the fun. It was great to talk during the drive, and to enjoy the silence, too. We arrived late morning on the most beautiful of all Saturdays. We walked the streets of the historic town. We browsed the shops and ate lunch on the patio. He held my hand and laughed with me. We walked and walked and with each step we grew closer. The memories he had of the place returned with the same joy.

We wandered around the largest Christmas store in the country. We talked about the holiday, of the importance of faith in our lives, in our children. It was amazing what conversations arose from looking at thousands of ornaments. Do you play an instrument? Have you always lived in this state? Do you decorate with white lights or colored? Nothing of such remarkably signficance, but all pieces of a puzzle that seems to be coming together too easily.

He challenged me to mini-golf, a choice he now regrets. I tried to warn him. I tried to tell him. But he’s a competitor, too. He had to learn the hard way. (I tried. I even played the back 9 left-handed.)

He indulged me at the outlet mall. I only wanted to browse Pottery Barn. Even though shopping isn’t his thing, he indulged me and ungrudgingly followed me into a half dozen stores.

We didn’t stay the night. We decided it was early enough to come back home. We stopped by his aunt’s to pick up his dog and then went out for the night to celebrate his birthday in style.

The day was so casual, so beautiful, so unremarkable that it was, well, remarkable. Thanks, TB, for a gorgeous day away with a great companion.

It was, all things considered, the perfect plan.

When I arrived at TB’s, the Rentals greeted me with squeals and hugs. We ran to the market and shopped for pizza and cake ingredients. The Rentals helped me make the cake, blow up balloons and color a banner for their dad.

We started making pizzas a few hours later. The kids were tickled to do their own. TB even seemed to enjoy family involvement with dinner. His daughter chose sauce and pepperoni (she’s allergic to dairy things) and his son wanted nothing more than the perfect cheese pizza, proud of his own creation.

Dinner was wonderful. We started holding hands around the table during grace. Both kids love to say the prayer and it is often the most adorable moment of the day. His son loves doing Highs, Lows and Thanks and will be the first to yell “HALT!” and start us off with our daily lows. His daughter caught me off guard when she said her high was when I arrived and “squeezed her soooo tight!” making me feel both joy for how loved she feels, and concern that the love is coming from me.

We had promised the Rentals that we would have cake and TB would open gifts after dinner, before their mom came to pick them up. The last bite of pizza was barely swallowed when the kids scurried off to the couch to help their dad open the gifts I brought. They each knew which gift was “from them” and were eager for him to open it. All the gifts were enjoyed by all.

The Rentals and I retrieved the cake from its hidden location, lit candles and sang as we presented it to a closed-eyed TB. Three breaths of air helped blow out the candles. Three smiles looked up at me while I took pictures. Three of a family and one behind the lens were tickled with the celebration.

And then, in a split second it was over. Their mom showed up significantly early. Parked at the curb in her car, unwilling, unable in the midst of the battle to come to the door, she waited. In an instant, in a heartbreaking moment, we whisked the kids out of the clothes their dad bought them and back into the now clean clothes they had arrived in. His daughter became quiet, head down she walked down the driveway to where her mom waited in the street. His son cried. Not ready to leave, with no transition, no warning, he wanted to stay. He wanted cake. He wanted to celebrate longer. He wanted his dad. We tried. We reassured. We hugged, we promised. We soothed. We tried to create a transition for children so young in a fraction of the time required.

TB took them out the door, gave last minute hugs and kisses and promised we would save cake for their return on Monday. No words were exchanged between he and his ex wife. She was taking pictures of his car, the house, him to use in some threatening manner later.

I sat in the house out of sight. On a chair at the now vacant table. Where plates were sitting empty at each chair. Where fruit punch remained in his son’s glass. Where a cake sat, candles only moments ago removed, uneaten, uncut. I stood and began picking up the clothes we had quickly changed them out of. Clothes that would never return back if sent with them. Her beautiful dress. His shirt, his shorts, his spiderman mask. The lion I gave her, the one she named Aslan, was on the couch. I picked it up, all of it, and I carried it reluctantly into their rooms. I tucked Aslan into bed. I folded their clothes, her dress, and I put them away. TB had returned into the house solemn, silent. He was in the kitchen, putting dinner things away. Trying to keep himself together.

I was standing in his son’s doorway when it overtook me. I had never experienced a moment so traumatic in my own divorce. I had never been witness to such a painful transition with such fragile children. I had not felt such heartache in years. I stood, in an empty, silent, doorway and I sobbed. He found me there and put his arms around me. I was embarrassed. These weren’t even my children. It wasn’t my divorce. I was only an outsider. But the pain was tangible. The emptiness, the shock, the heartache was as real to me as any.

The perfect birthday celebration, this perfect family of three had been torn in two. And standing there as witness, so had my heart.

My 29th birthday. It was the first birthday I spent alone after the divorce. It was, in all honesty, one of the worst birthdays I ever had. LM was not with me, but even in the days surrounding, he had no idea of the occasion and I felt selfish being the one to tell him. A friend came to visit for the day but his mind was elsewhere and I felt the burden of being an obligation.

Since then I’ve done as little as possible to mark my annual day. It is difficult being a single parent in the situation. You don’t want to make a fuss over yourself but you want to teach your children that we celebrate everyone and not just them.

Tomorrow, TB celebrates his 29th birthday for the 11th time. He has expressed his desire to make a deal of it if only to mark a new stage in his life, a new beginning. He is taking the two of us away tomorrow to a place yet undisclosed to spend quiet time together in celebration.

But today is even more important. Today he has the Rentals and it is important to me that they share in the festivities. I spoke with TB about this last evening, throwing out some simple ideas. “We’ll make pizza, and the kids and I can bake a cake together.”

Last night I wrapped gifts. Mere tokens, really, but items carefully chosen as presents not just from me but from the Rentals, too. And we will make pizzas together (a concept received with a quizzical look from a boy who is used to delivery) and we’ll make and decorate a cake (which will be far more fun for me than I suspect as I get the joy of working with the kids) and we will open gifts and sing the song and laugh and love and hug.

Because that is how everyone should celebrate their birthday.

Together.

It’s been hovering in the air for days. There were moments when the feeling was so tangible I thought I might reach out and grab it. But not a word was spoken. I knew he was holding back for my sake. He is not the one that is afraid.

I finally came to grips, I put a name to the emotion I realized what must be done, what had to be said. But I thought I would wait. His birthday is on Saturday. When he’s taking me away for the day. It could wait. It would be better to wait.

But last night, within moments of walking in his door, after two children had run from their rooms to jump into my arms and hug me, after family dinner around the table filled with prayers, highs and lows and winks across the table, I knew it with such certainty I could avoid it no longer.

Laying on the hardwood floors, him working with his boy’s Lego creation, me reading with his girl while she twisted my hair in her little fingers the emotion overwhelmed me. In a brief moment, when the kids had run to their rooms, I whispered all that I was holding in my heart.

“I love you.”

“I have been wanting to say that for days,” he replied in a whisper. “I love you, too.”

My car has been stuttering when started. It seems to need a few moments to gather itself together before starting its day. A day or two ago it performed this dramatic event in the presence of The Boy (TB). He gave me a look that told me to pay attention, this isn’t in your imagination and it isn’t going to just go away.

Yesterday my car was more serious in its demands for attention. I left home with plans of making a couple stops before heading to TB’s (where I could do laundry and mow his lawn while he paced the courtroom floor) and found that after the first errand my car needed such serious deliberations to start that I had better take it to either the auto store or TB’s. I didn’t know where exactly the auto store was so I headed to TB’s.

Later, after court, I asked if TB would follow me to the auto store, in case I got it there but needed a jump to get any further. He went one step further and told me to stay and watch the Red Sox game, he’d take my car and get the battery checked and be back in a minute. As appealing as that idea was (and ooooh how appealing) I turned him down and said no, let’s take two cars and do this together.

After the remarkably disinterested auto store man confirmed it was neither the battery nor the alternator and proclaimed I must have issues with the starter (replaced just a couple years ago), TB asked what I thought I wanted to do next.

Out of habit I said, “call my brother in law”, my Knight In Shining Armor who has always saved the day in such moments. And so I did, and Bear gave directions to TB to a local mechanic he was comfortable with.

And so TB discussed the plan with me. The car would no longer start, even if cajoled. We decided eating was a priority (going on 8:30). And so he took me to dinner (after insisting I not argue about money spent or who was paying) and then drove me to the mechanic to drop off a key and a note and then went one step further to lend me one of his cars to give me transportation home and for the next day or two until my car is fixed.

I am not used to having someone to help other than Bear and Jules. I am not accustomed to having someone right there with answers, ideas, solutions and assistance. I am not used to having my own prince show up to save the day.

Old habits die hard, but I suspect Bear and Jules both are thrilled to have someone else handling my crises and coming to my aid. I know I am.

A day in court. Friends, neighbors, relatives, police officers, teachers subpoenaed and yet never called to testify. Thousands spent. A day spent looking at the crocodile tears of his ex-wife and witnessing the drama only she can produce. And what came of it? A trial date. No mediation, no compromise will happen here. The case will have to go to trial. A wasted day.

And yet not.

For all my worries that getting involved now was a horrible idea. For all my concern that he needs time to mourn, to learn, to accept, to appreciate, he taught me more today than he could have otherwise.

He was commended by many for his calm demeanor. For his gentle approach to an unyielding ex. For his patience. For his generosity in the face of greed and selfishness. He spent a day in the middle of the battle field and proved himself the worthy victor despite a lack of a true, resolved outcome.

He will stand before this same mediator on an upcoming day and will have little to prove. He has already demonstrated his true character to everyone present.

And even to the one who began the process with so much doubt.

This boy is more than I was prepared for him to be. And everything I had hoped to find. I can only hope he feels the same about me.

I tease The Boy that he rented two of the cutest kids in the world to lure me in. At six and four they could not possibly be more adorable, or more loved by their father. Today The Boy is in court fighting for those kids. It’s the last of the divorce hearings, the big one, the hardest day he’s ever faced in this mess.

There are people coming to court to testify on his behalf. There are people coming to court to pray on his behalf. And in and amongst them all will be The Rentals. The two beings that matter more to The Boy than his home, his retirement, his possessions. She can have it all, he doesn’t care. Just don’t take away The Rentals.

He has 50% custody now. He’d love to have full, but won’t settle for anything less than half. We have no idea how the judge will rule today or what mud she will sling today. I have no idea when we meet up later tonight for dinner if The Boy will be elated or defeated.

All I know to do is to pray. Pray for The Rentals. This is, after all, all about them.

The excuse was his daughter’s dance class was performing during the service, but the invitation to attend was genuine and real. I met at his house and we rode together, walking in holding hands with the kids and with each other. It was the first time in fifteen years I have sat next to a boy in church.

The kids were amazing and wonderful. His son wrapped himself around me and held me when we prayed. His daughter’s dancing was as adorable as it had been at the performance just two nights prior. An arm across my shoulders during a sermon; a hand holding mine during prayer. A shared smile during the performance.

We talked about the sermon and the Sunday School lesson over lunch. And later, we both remarked how much sitting side by side in a pew meant to us.

It is no small thing to share a pew. It meant more to me than anything else we’ve done together. More to me than anything else ever could.