Entry 001 - Starting over!
Alright, so, yes, I am at a bit of a loss over Hades Ira's disappearance...
But, you know, 'tis Christmas. Merry Christmas, and all that.
Christmas Eve is the time of year that should be spent reflecting on the events occuring over the past year, and also on events that occured during this time in years long passed.
Such event that was brought to mind, when shuffling through my personals, and just trying to keep myself from breaking something. It is truly memories like these that reminds me that inside those two dashing (and wicked, wicked, horrible) young men, are two very good, innocent little boys.
We had been watching the snow fall that night, which had been something they had been looking forward to for quite some time (for their various reasons, mind you: Dante looked forward to snow fights and to sledding, while Vergil simply enjoyed doing his personal activities, like reading and drawing, during snowy days. Unfortunately, Dante oft' included his studious twin in such things, whether Vergil desired it [at first] or not.). So, we were sitting on the porch, on a lovely swinging seat meant for two but easily sat three consisting of a mother and her six year old sons; Dante was on one side of me, with Vergil on the other. While Vergil sat straight as a board, eyes wide and watching the flakes appear from the dark sky above, Dante was sprawled slack against me, his eyes in the same direction.
Now, I think it needs to be said that neither boy believed in St. Nick at this time, as after a rather... embarassing previous year, completely at the fault of their father, that illusion was shattered like a frail mirror (I told him not to wear the hat of St. Nick while taking care of the squirrels), so there was no anticipation of seeing reindeer, no rushing to prepare the milk and cookies. I think they had it in their minds to rattle the gifts Sparda and I had placed around the tree for them, but after earlier in the week when Vergil shook one of the gifts and broke a snowglobe, we repackaged everything with blankets. Yes, blankets.
So, it is easy to say that our conversations had evolved to questions about why people said St. Nick, or Santa Claus, was/is real, and so on in that vein. I believe it was Dante who asked it that night, as Vergil had simply been too taken with the falling snow. Now, simply saying St. Nick exists and allowing that belief to teach the lessons that surround his myth is far easier than trying to explain them on one Christmas Eve, with bedtime so near. I do remember summarizing it as, "St. Nicholas teaches us that it truly is better to give than to receive." You know that hubbub. Of course, the follow-up question was why only good boys and good girls got presents, while bad children got lumps of coal in their fireplace stockings (the boys' fourth Christmas, until Sparda and I felt so bad we 'defied St. Nick' and got the boys actual gifts). I explained this as just a way to coerce little children to behave themselves the year 'round, so they would get those presents on Christmas Day; Dante then dutifully reminded me that 'who needed Christmas when there were birthdays.' ...
But it was then that Vergil looked at me and asked about where mothers and fathers get their gifts on Christmas. I replied honestly enough, explaining that we simply exchanged gifts with one another after they were placed to bed that Eve (an often romantic exchange, spent wandering the property and talking as we did before our declaration of matrimony). The boys exchanged looks at this information, but did not bother to carry out that subject any further; not that they got much a chance, as Sparda came out only moments later to inform them that it was time for bed.
And might I say, bedtime was always an absolute delight with those two. At least they had grown out of making naked mad dashes from the bathtub to make a "grand escape" from bed. In fact, they had grown old enough to demand that they not be bathed together any longer (who knew such a thing could make a woman sad? My sons were growing up...). But that is not to say it was not a simply hellacious time, getting them bathed, teeth and hair brushed, into pajamas, and into bed. And on Christmas Eve? Belief in St. Nick or not, they were still eager for daylight to arrive, so that they could open their gifts. (They had tried to pull the, 'But in Germany, they open their gifts on Christmas Eve' ploy, but Sparda simply replied, 'And this is why it is better to worry about your own country when you study.')
Soon enough... well, perhaps an hour and a half later, both boys were clean and dry, buttoned up warmly in pajamas, and we were tucking them in safely into their respective beds in their room. After the nightly prayer I had taught them since they were very young (an action that, fortunately, never hurt them given their heritage from Sparda), they were kissed and wished goodnight. As I was walking for the door where Sparda was waiting, I heard the two hiss and whisper to one another in conversation, which was not all that bizarre as they were always speaking with one another just before bed. What was bizarre, however, was when Dante sat up and simply declared that we had been 'good too this year'. Adorable as that was, it was a bit confusing! With a thank you passed to him, he just grinned and plopped back down onto his back (and promptly went back to whisper-talking to his twin).
The rest of the night was spent doing exactly as Sparda and I had always done in years past, as stated above: exchanging gifts and... well, normally it would have consisted with walking about the property, but Sparda had decided that it was simply too cold, and opted sitting in front of a fire instead. There were a couple of times he had jerked up during our conversations that night, looking about and saying he had heard something, but after a moment or two at attention, he would slink back down and decide it was simply the house settling.
Quite some time had passed, but eventually we made our way to bed (more like Sparda shouldering me the entire way, as I believe I went a little hard on the wine that night), and after our own nightly routines of hygiene, we too were curled up comfortably in bed. (And to this day I swear to the Lord Almighty that man smells of lilacs.) We suspected we would be up in a few hours, once daylight broke, because we both knew how much the boys were anticipating opening their gifts, but a little bit of sleep was better than none, correct?
So, imagine my surprise when I found myself opening my eyes well around 9 AM, with Sparda still fast asleep next to me. The boys had probably gotten up and just completely forgotten to wake us, I figured, proceeding to the den with the tree, and ultimately their gifts, to celebrate Christmas morning without us.
I left Sparda in bed, wishing to handle the discipline myself as we operated better when alone, as somehow when together we always managed to give one another silent guilt trips until we simply defeated our purpose by counteracting the disciplinary actions taken against the boys (again: lumps of coal = gifts a day later). Though, to my credit, I gave them the benefit of the doubt by checking their room first. Much to my surprise, not only were the boys gone, and their beds an absolute mess, but so was their entire room. Dante's side, not that much of a surprise, although it had been spotless the prior night, but so was Vergil's half, which was quite the surprise. Even then, Vergil and Dante reflected what they are today: Vergil, cleanly to a manic degree, and Dante, chaotically organized.
To say the least, this was a bit disturbing, and it had me then jogging my way to the den. They had no reason to wreak such havoc on their room, so maybe something was wrong? I wondered. Sparda had heard quite a few things the prior night, after all, and we had just ignored them, so what if something had indeed been happening? It would have been my fault, entirely, and oh, how I prayed as I made my way there.
Entering the French doors to the spacious den, I was taken aback to find... well, all of the gifts still perfectly wrapped and placed perfectly around the glittering tree. Nothing was amiss at all; everything was as Sparda and I had left it when we went to bed, including the wine bottle and accompanying glasses we had left on the table between the sofa (I could just see them over the sofa's back) and the fireplace.
Walking in a little further, my eyes went back to the presents around the tree, and coincidentally landed on the one thing that was a bit out of place from everything else in the room: A small brown box, with a clumsy red and green ribbon tied amateurly around it to hold it closed. On the lid, scribbled in childlike writing, were the words, "To Mommy and Daddy". I truly pride myself on being a strong woman, ladies and gentleman, but that... Even thinking about it now brings the tears brimming, along with the most wondrous smile.
Though, given the boys' history for playing practical jokes, I attempted to not jump to conclusions as I knelt by it and began to tug away the horribly tied ribbons, to free the lid so that I could see what was inside. Once they were removed, I went to removing the lid; slowly so, as there had been one time they had decided to give me a toad. Generous as it was... No.
Lid removed, and assured that nothing was going to jump out at me, I peered inside to see a number of items: four, to be exact. First had been a metal and blue yoyo that Vergil had adored playing with all the time, and the second a small, wood-carved soldier painted in red: a preferred toy of Dante's. Pushing those gently to the side, I pulled out the next two items: two papers with elaborate drawings, clearly at the hands of each son, covering each. Both of them with some depiction of all four members of our family. Hugging, the theme of Dante's, and fairytales the theme of Vergil's. Very good, for two six year olds, and every shred of anger that had possibly lingered after all of that simply... disappeared.
A small shuffle to my right, on the sofa facing the fireplace, caught my attention and I looked over to find Vergil seated there, not looking very pleased, watching me. "You weren't supposed to open that 'til dad was here too," he said. I gave him my apologies, gently replacing the drawings under the toys, collecting the box and standing to go take a seat with it beside him. Rounding around, however, I caught sight that the couch was quite occupied without me. Sprawled over Vergil's lap was Dante, unconscious and looking quite comfortable, with his legs all over the one side of the sofa. I let out a small laugh as I moved the bottle and glasses on the table to a side, and sat before them with the box placed in my lap. "We're stuck," Vergil explained. His eyes trailed down to where a large mess of ribbon had somehow been knotted up rather firmly against his left arm and Dante's right, thus explaining why Dante was sprawled where he was.
Another small laugh, and I reached over to help pull the silly ribbon off. While doing so, I figured it would not be harmful to ask, "What's the meaning of this gift, Vergil-darling?" Dante, unsurprisingly, did not stir from the tugging on his arm, or the quiet conversation above his head. Dante always had the amazing ability to understand when he was safe enough to fall into a deep sleep that no one could shake him from (not easily, anyway). This was especially true when Vergil was at his side. And, truly, Vergil was the same way to an extent, but always assuming the role of the 'older', he tended to be a lighter sleeper, and if Dante was sleeping during daylight hours, Vergil tended not to rest at all, but simply would take to being used as a living pillow.
Vergil shrugged to my question, patiently watching me attempt to free him from his brother. "You and dad were good this year," he replied. "Just like Dante said."
"But... why give us your favorite toys? I understand the drawings, but..." It was quite perplexing, as those were indeed their absolute favorite toys. If they were not playing with them, they had them on them, in a pocket or in a carrying bag of some sort.
Again, Vergil shrugged, and simply said, "That's how much you both mean to us."
Even thinking about that now brings me around to complete tears. It would be something Dante would reiterate once he came to a little later on, rubbing at blurry eyes, hair an absolute mess, and jabbing his brother in the ribs with his free arm, albeit unintentionally.
I recently asked Sparda if he had been able to locate the yoyo and little toy soldier following... well, you know. Much to my dismay, he was unable to, and truly, that breaks my heart. No fault of Sparda's, of course, nor mine... but...
If there was only one thing I could have for Christmas, it would be those two toys, and the little scrawled drawings that accompanied them, to remind me of the two little innocent boys that I remember so well. Time and pains unspoken have worn them thin, tearing them apart from one another, and from themselves, I believe. Irreparable, no matter how much I try, unless I should find a time machine, a simple reminder of what they both once were as six year old boys, wide eyed and eager to learn, to experience...
Not to say that I do not love them for absolutely everything they are now. They are good, good boys, nay, strong, intelligent young men. Independant and courageous. But so very jaded, and for that I will apologize forever for.
At least I can take comfort that I know, somewhere in both of them, are those two cute little boys that I remember so well. Buried further and further as time goes on for each of them, but there nonetheless.
Merry Christmas, my dearest family, even if the three of you celebrate it not these days. Despite this wish, simply having the three of you in my life is all I could truly want.
But, you know, 'tis Christmas. Merry Christmas, and all that.
Christmas Eve is the time of year that should be spent reflecting on the events occuring over the past year, and also on events that occured during this time in years long passed.
Such event that was brought to mind, when shuffling through my personals, and just trying to keep myself from breaking something. It is truly memories like these that reminds me that inside those two dashing (and wicked, wicked, horrible) young men, are two very good, innocent little boys.
We had been watching the snow fall that night, which had been something they had been looking forward to for quite some time (for their various reasons, mind you: Dante looked forward to snow fights and to sledding, while Vergil simply enjoyed doing his personal activities, like reading and drawing, during snowy days. Unfortunately, Dante oft' included his studious twin in such things, whether Vergil desired it [at first] or not.). So, we were sitting on the porch, on a lovely swinging seat meant for two but easily sat three consisting of a mother and her six year old sons; Dante was on one side of me, with Vergil on the other. While Vergil sat straight as a board, eyes wide and watching the flakes appear from the dark sky above, Dante was sprawled slack against me, his eyes in the same direction.
Now, I think it needs to be said that neither boy believed in St. Nick at this time, as after a rather... embarassing previous year, completely at the fault of their father, that illusion was shattered like a frail mirror (I told him not to wear the hat of St. Nick while taking care of the squirrels), so there was no anticipation of seeing reindeer, no rushing to prepare the milk and cookies. I think they had it in their minds to rattle the gifts Sparda and I had placed around the tree for them, but after earlier in the week when Vergil shook one of the gifts and broke a snowglobe, we repackaged everything with blankets. Yes, blankets.
So, it is easy to say that our conversations had evolved to questions about why people said St. Nick, or Santa Claus, was/is real, and so on in that vein. I believe it was Dante who asked it that night, as Vergil had simply been too taken with the falling snow. Now, simply saying St. Nick exists and allowing that belief to teach the lessons that surround his myth is far easier than trying to explain them on one Christmas Eve, with bedtime so near. I do remember summarizing it as, "St. Nicholas teaches us that it truly is better to give than to receive." You know that hubbub. Of course, the follow-up question was why only good boys and good girls got presents, while bad children got lumps of coal in their fireplace stockings (the boys' fourth Christmas, until Sparda and I felt so bad we 'defied St. Nick' and got the boys actual gifts). I explained this as just a way to coerce little children to behave themselves the year 'round, so they would get those presents on Christmas Day; Dante then dutifully reminded me that 'who needed Christmas when there were birthdays.' ...
But it was then that Vergil looked at me and asked about where mothers and fathers get their gifts on Christmas. I replied honestly enough, explaining that we simply exchanged gifts with one another after they were placed to bed that Eve (an often romantic exchange, spent wandering the property and talking as we did before our declaration of matrimony). The boys exchanged looks at this information, but did not bother to carry out that subject any further; not that they got much a chance, as Sparda came out only moments later to inform them that it was time for bed.
And might I say, bedtime was always an absolute delight with those two. At least they had grown out of making naked mad dashes from the bathtub to make a "grand escape" from bed. In fact, they had grown old enough to demand that they not be bathed together any longer (who knew such a thing could make a woman sad? My sons were growing up...). But that is not to say it was not a simply hellacious time, getting them bathed, teeth and hair brushed, into pajamas, and into bed. And on Christmas Eve? Belief in St. Nick or not, they were still eager for daylight to arrive, so that they could open their gifts. (They had tried to pull the, 'But in Germany, they open their gifts on Christmas Eve' ploy, but Sparda simply replied, 'And this is why it is better to worry about your own country when you study.')
Soon enough... well, perhaps an hour and a half later, both boys were clean and dry, buttoned up warmly in pajamas, and we were tucking them in safely into their respective beds in their room. After the nightly prayer I had taught them since they were very young (an action that, fortunately, never hurt them given their heritage from Sparda), they were kissed and wished goodnight. As I was walking for the door where Sparda was waiting, I heard the two hiss and whisper to one another in conversation, which was not all that bizarre as they were always speaking with one another just before bed. What was bizarre, however, was when Dante sat up and simply declared that we had been 'good too this year'. Adorable as that was, it was a bit confusing! With a thank you passed to him, he just grinned and plopped back down onto his back (and promptly went back to whisper-talking to his twin).
The rest of the night was spent doing exactly as Sparda and I had always done in years past, as stated above: exchanging gifts and... well, normally it would have consisted with walking about the property, but Sparda had decided that it was simply too cold, and opted sitting in front of a fire instead. There were a couple of times he had jerked up during our conversations that night, looking about and saying he had heard something, but after a moment or two at attention, he would slink back down and decide it was simply the house settling.
Quite some time had passed, but eventually we made our way to bed (more like Sparda shouldering me the entire way, as I believe I went a little hard on the wine that night), and after our own nightly routines of hygiene, we too were curled up comfortably in bed. (And to this day I swear to the Lord Almighty that man smells of lilacs.) We suspected we would be up in a few hours, once daylight broke, because we both knew how much the boys were anticipating opening their gifts, but a little bit of sleep was better than none, correct?
So, imagine my surprise when I found myself opening my eyes well around 9 AM, with Sparda still fast asleep next to me. The boys had probably gotten up and just completely forgotten to wake us, I figured, proceeding to the den with the tree, and ultimately their gifts, to celebrate Christmas morning without us.
I left Sparda in bed, wishing to handle the discipline myself as we operated better when alone, as somehow when together we always managed to give one another silent guilt trips until we simply defeated our purpose by counteracting the disciplinary actions taken against the boys (again: lumps of coal = gifts a day later). Though, to my credit, I gave them the benefit of the doubt by checking their room first. Much to my surprise, not only were the boys gone, and their beds an absolute mess, but so was their entire room. Dante's side, not that much of a surprise, although it had been spotless the prior night, but so was Vergil's half, which was quite the surprise. Even then, Vergil and Dante reflected what they are today: Vergil, cleanly to a manic degree, and Dante, chaotically organized.
To say the least, this was a bit disturbing, and it had me then jogging my way to the den. They had no reason to wreak such havoc on their room, so maybe something was wrong? I wondered. Sparda had heard quite a few things the prior night, after all, and we had just ignored them, so what if something had indeed been happening? It would have been my fault, entirely, and oh, how I prayed as I made my way there.
Entering the French doors to the spacious den, I was taken aback to find... well, all of the gifts still perfectly wrapped and placed perfectly around the glittering tree. Nothing was amiss at all; everything was as Sparda and I had left it when we went to bed, including the wine bottle and accompanying glasses we had left on the table between the sofa (I could just see them over the sofa's back) and the fireplace.
Walking in a little further, my eyes went back to the presents around the tree, and coincidentally landed on the one thing that was a bit out of place from everything else in the room: A small brown box, with a clumsy red and green ribbon tied amateurly around it to hold it closed. On the lid, scribbled in childlike writing, were the words, "To Mommy and Daddy". I truly pride myself on being a strong woman, ladies and gentleman, but that... Even thinking about it now brings the tears brimming, along with the most wondrous smile.
Though, given the boys' history for playing practical jokes, I attempted to not jump to conclusions as I knelt by it and began to tug away the horribly tied ribbons, to free the lid so that I could see what was inside. Once they were removed, I went to removing the lid; slowly so, as there had been one time they had decided to give me a toad. Generous as it was... No.
Lid removed, and assured that nothing was going to jump out at me, I peered inside to see a number of items: four, to be exact. First had been a metal and blue yoyo that Vergil had adored playing with all the time, and the second a small, wood-carved soldier painted in red: a preferred toy of Dante's. Pushing those gently to the side, I pulled out the next two items: two papers with elaborate drawings, clearly at the hands of each son, covering each. Both of them with some depiction of all four members of our family. Hugging, the theme of Dante's, and fairytales the theme of Vergil's. Very good, for two six year olds, and every shred of anger that had possibly lingered after all of that simply... disappeared.
A small shuffle to my right, on the sofa facing the fireplace, caught my attention and I looked over to find Vergil seated there, not looking very pleased, watching me. "You weren't supposed to open that 'til dad was here too," he said. I gave him my apologies, gently replacing the drawings under the toys, collecting the box and standing to go take a seat with it beside him. Rounding around, however, I caught sight that the couch was quite occupied without me. Sprawled over Vergil's lap was Dante, unconscious and looking quite comfortable, with his legs all over the one side of the sofa. I let out a small laugh as I moved the bottle and glasses on the table to a side, and sat before them with the box placed in my lap. "We're stuck," Vergil explained. His eyes trailed down to where a large mess of ribbon had somehow been knotted up rather firmly against his left arm and Dante's right, thus explaining why Dante was sprawled where he was.
Another small laugh, and I reached over to help pull the silly ribbon off. While doing so, I figured it would not be harmful to ask, "What's the meaning of this gift, Vergil-darling?" Dante, unsurprisingly, did not stir from the tugging on his arm, or the quiet conversation above his head. Dante always had the amazing ability to understand when he was safe enough to fall into a deep sleep that no one could shake him from (not easily, anyway). This was especially true when Vergil was at his side. And, truly, Vergil was the same way to an extent, but always assuming the role of the 'older', he tended to be a lighter sleeper, and if Dante was sleeping during daylight hours, Vergil tended not to rest at all, but simply would take to being used as a living pillow.
Vergil shrugged to my question, patiently watching me attempt to free him from his brother. "You and dad were good this year," he replied. "Just like Dante said."
"But... why give us your favorite toys? I understand the drawings, but..." It was quite perplexing, as those were indeed their absolute favorite toys. If they were not playing with them, they had them on them, in a pocket or in a carrying bag of some sort.
Again, Vergil shrugged, and simply said, "That's how much you both mean to us."
Even thinking about that now brings me around to complete tears. It would be something Dante would reiterate once he came to a little later on, rubbing at blurry eyes, hair an absolute mess, and jabbing his brother in the ribs with his free arm, albeit unintentionally.
I recently asked Sparda if he had been able to locate the yoyo and little toy soldier following... well, you know. Much to my dismay, he was unable to, and truly, that breaks my heart. No fault of Sparda's, of course, nor mine... but...
If there was only one thing I could have for Christmas, it would be those two toys, and the little scrawled drawings that accompanied them, to remind me of the two little innocent boys that I remember so well. Time and pains unspoken have worn them thin, tearing them apart from one another, and from themselves, I believe. Irreparable, no matter how much I try, unless I should find a time machine, a simple reminder of what they both once were as six year old boys, wide eyed and eager to learn, to experience...
Not to say that I do not love them for absolutely everything they are now. They are good, good boys, nay, strong, intelligent young men. Independant and courageous. But so very jaded, and for that I will apologize forever for.
At least I can take comfort that I know, somewhere in both of them, are those two cute little boys that I remember so well. Buried further and further as time goes on for each of them, but there nonetheless.
Merry Christmas, my dearest family, even if the three of you celebrate it not these days. Despite this wish, simply having the three of you in my life is all I could truly want.