It's Official

I've read sooo many blogs who's authors having a no texting and driving rule. For us, it's never really been an issue. I do it, he knows I do it, he does it, though, admittedly, it's more of a rarity for him, and it's never really been a problem.

Until the other night--it was late, dark outside, and we live in the foothills, so all our roads are windy and twisted as a snake. We were on our way home--one of the few times we've driven separately. Normally, he drives and I don't worry about it. In this case, however, he was following me.

So, he saw how I swerved and took over the entire road when I texted. I've never really noticed--and I usually prefer to swerve away from the double yellows...but he definitely had a few things to say on the matter. Not the least of which that now, having seen how texting affects my driving, was that texting while behind the wheel was a definite no-no. Completely off-limits, dire punishment threatening situation...

I made it two days following this new rule:

This time, I managed to send my little Corolla straight off the road and into a nearby yard.

Needless to say, Steven was NOT happy.

I tried to defend it; after all, I was fine. The car was fine. The yard was barely even scuffed. Somehow, my defenses failed to work. Go figure. After all, there are rules and then there are Rules. Like, capital R, endangering your life and others' Rules.

This broke the latter.



This was an unpleasant, his leg holding my legs down(I'm a hopeless wriggler--I consent, but it's way hard for me to hold still on my own), arms stretched out in front of me, wooden spoon horror. It was a steady, constant lecture to underline what he was doing to my backside.

It didn't help that the new rule wasn't the only one I broke.

I smoked.

It's official.

I may never sit again.

And, ya know--he's due home soon...

And with him, comes Maintenance.  

Sigh.

You Want A Piece of This??

There's a little drift that happens sometimes, I find. I go from a loving, wanting to please, trying to be submissive gal to one that wants to fight over every little thing.

I want to "win" every encounter.

I question and challenge everything decision made or action taken.

And THAT takes a toll.

If he has me count during a spanking(thankfully, a rare occurrence), I count as quietly as I can scrape by with.

If he tells me to come to him, I take my time and drag my feet.

The sucky thing is that I can see myself doing it. And, I know it makes us both miserable. And I quietly resolve to fix my inner rebellion....and then, the very next thing out of my mouth is tinged with the same fire.

In the past couple of days, I have been spanked multiple times. I've been grounded. I've written lines.

I've not done anything just openly atrocious...it's all been the attitude. My inner me is just not feeling quiet.

Last night, I was writing lines, one of which commented that if I was feeling unsubmissive, I should be trying to find out the cause and working to get that resolved.

I don't know the cause.

But, Kypr's in hiding....

And, I just feel ready to fight.

Where It Goes From Here

Weellll, I decided to take the advice of a friend:

I called J. My heart felt close to breaking when it rang, and rang, and rang. Finally, a quick, to the point voicemail, in that heart-wrenchingly familiar voice. Since his job is inspecting, there was a snippet in there about that, so, I left him a message.

Uhm. Hey, J. This is Grace. I...uh...I don't need an inspection, but I still would really like to see you. So, if that's still something that maybe you'd be interested in...I miss you...you can give me a call back. I can be reached at (BLANK). Give me a call sometime.....I love you. 

And hung up. Quietly, I laid the phone down on the dresser, went to the couch, called my big Blue-dog to me, and curled up to have myself a good cry. But, the phone rang. I ran to answer, and we had a good thirty minute chat.

We decided to meet this coming Wednesday, and he told me he'd be in touch to pick an exact time and place. I hung up, elated that he called, doubtful he'd call again without prompting(that's just J), and, to my surprise, sad.

I cried the whole morning. I didn't blog about it, because I was, and really, still am, baffled by my response. I've cried, really, most of this week. Poor Steven's probably lost track of the times he's had to answer the "What if he doesn't like me anymore?" question.

But, he called again this morning. We set a concrete time. He gets off at 4--he wants us to meet by 4:30. He seemed eager; proud to tell me that I was in his phone. He was all jokes and "I'm buying" and "Do you still like Roadhouse?".

And, as for me...I'm just confused. I'm excited. I'm scared. I'm sad. I feel like I can't quite get a handle on the flashbacks that bring me joy or the ones that break my heart.

I just don't understand, and I don't know where to go from here, or what I'm expecting.

Yay, JB, for listening to me all week about this and for letting me bounce stuff off her and getting thoughts and opinions. :)

And, yay, Steven, for helping me lay floor(ahem, really, for LAYING floor) and taking such good care of me and our little family. He's in the kitchen, cooking now. He's a good man. :)

So, cross your fingers for me. We'll see where it goes from here.

I Wish I May, I Wish I Might

He never called.

J, the suddenly-changed-wants-to-get-to-know-the-older-me-ex-step-dad.

The one who promised when he got back from Yellowstone would give me a call.

He never did.

He's been home two days. Maybe, it's just too early yet.

Maybe work was rough.

I don't know.

I think I was just too excited. That I wanted that relationship again too badly. I think, somewhere where my sub-conscious dreams and fantasizes, was a remembered life of card games and goodnight hugs. Maybe that dream leaked out into my mind, latching into forgotten memories:

One hand on my neck, the other pointed at a huge clock on the mantle. Wide eyes, blue, eager to understand and make him so proud of me. 
 "What number is the V, Grace? Come on, you know this.."
"Uhm..." A quick glance around the face of the clock, counting in my mind...
"Five, Daddy. V means five." His huge hand, clapping me on the shoulder.
"Good job! That's it!" 

The room is dark with candles scattered around, flickering lights on the ivory of each young student's gi, and on every teacher's.  My heart hammers as one finger traces the outline of my white belt. Behind me, my mom and my real dad sit, watching. J--the daddy of my heart, kneels at the front of the room. His gi is spotless white, starched into stiff perfection; his black belt is tied neatly, showing clearly the three little ticks that mark him a true expert. My name is called, and everyone watches me go to him and bow. With quick motions, he divests me of the old belt, and replaces it with the next step up, a yellow. Neither of us speak, but I imagine I see pride gleaming alongside candle lights. 

Quick wind, hair blown back, hot excitement as the the go-cart makes another lap. J..Dad..he's in the driver's seat, while I hold tight to the edge of the passenger's. Another dad and his kid try to pull up beside us, but Daddy throws the pedal down and whips around in front so that they can't pass.
"Haha!" He crows, and I laugh with delight. "You're playing with the big dogs now!" 

"Dad, that's not fair. You can't win every single time," I gripe, throwing my cards down in frustration. 
"Sure, I can," he shrugs. "If you can't beat me, I can win til ya do."
"Some dads let their kids win. I think it's probably in some dad handbook somewhere." 
"But,then, you'd never know if you actually beat me. What's the fun in that?"

Christmas lights, tangled around the perfect pine. Only one small flattened part, where we laid it in the back of the truck, but that part's turned to the corner, so no one can see. It's been four hours since we brought it home, and each ornaments and light string was hung with the utmost care and mutual discussion--lest we hang something wrong. Now, a fire blazes beside, casting faint glows on both the tree and the cream carpet. It's our moment; my favorite of Christmas. He and I--we did that together. 

And, maybe when I woke, I carried those dreams and memories forward, desperate to hope he was going to want to get that back, the same as I did.

Steven's been worried about that--that I'm looking to get my daddy back, and that it won't happen. I think I would have settled for a call of any kind, even one to cancel.

I guess he just forgot.

But, you know--then again...

Maybe work was rough.

Maybe his wife needed to talk to him.

Maybe his flight was delayed, and he's not back yet.

This doesn't mean he WON'T call...just that he hasn't..

After all, there's still a lot of stars for me to count on, outside my window. And, if I just wish hard enough...

Maybe, tomorrow, he'll call.

 










I wish I may
I wish I might
Have this wish
I wish Tonight.. 

NOT One of My Brighter Moments

Has anyone else ever had that MOMENT? You know the one. It's right when you look back on the day, and think, "Oh, crap...SO dead."



Today was one of the moments.

Nope. Not a typo. The whole day was a string of those moments.

Firstly, we had some plans, just he and I. If anyone else has ever been on a family vacation, you know that moments like that are few and far between. In keeping with that tradition, we didn't make it out the door before his 15 year old little brother was back in the room and ready to tag along.

I should have accepted with grace. Instead, I pitched a little fit. I got a nearly-page long line to write, and a deadline to write it in. Instead, I texted my DD friend...who offered me the chance to call. I jumped on it. I waited until Steven stepped out onto the balcony, mentioned to his mom that I was taking a walk(in a city I've never been in before), and beat feet out the door.

Twenty minutes later, I'm still on the phone with her, and he's texting to ask where I'm at. I shot him a quick text telling him I was out for a walk, and then, in the best interests of listening to her, ignored all incoming texts and calls....until I got a string of them.

You. Are. In. The. Biggest.Trouble. Of. Your. Life. Answer. Me. Now. 

I quickly let her know I needed to call him, and I'd text her.

Moment number one: I realized I'd walked out on him, for the second time in as many days; this time, instead of hitting the beach, I'd gone out somewhere I was unfamiliar with. 

He was pissed.

And I was lost.

Ok. So, I finally walked to the restaurant that he and his little brother were eating at. We had a series of looks and quick signs that assured me I was, in fact, toast. And, then, a quick hug and kiss on the head.

"You may die, but I love you, baby."

So, off we went to play frisbee golf. I was grumpy because his brother had used my cherished disks--before I'd even gotten to play with them!--and they were all beat up. I griped.

I had my phone taken.

That was moment number two.

Number three arrived after he'd bought some Capciasin cream. His parents were taking the car...and I grabbed the box, but conveniently dropped the actual cream under the seat. It's gone.

He mentioned me finishing my lines, and I remembered...

I'd ripped up the page long diatribe and flushed it down the toilet to avoid having to write it.

This.

This, here, is moment number three.

The moment where he's waiting for me to finish so he can apply cream and I can finish my lines.

And, this is the oh-crap moment right before he finds out the cream is across town and the line he intends for me to write is in pieces in the sewer.

Awesome.