I Must Have Been Blind

After some of my favorite bloggers went quiet, I guess I opened my eyes and looked around. I'd seen mention of an article, but, since everyone who mentioned seemed to be violently opposed to it, I felt I should just ignore it and move on. After all, for all of our differences and different places and different writing styles, we're a tough little community.

I don't doubt that I have friends here who support me.

I don't doubt that, while he's certainly not always been perfect, I have friends here who support my husband.

Likewise, our journey--both the journey of marriage itself, the journey of relationship itself, and our bumpy road of DD.

I assumed that this article would be blown off with a ferocity. After all, what did it really have to do with us? With our little community that shares its ups and downs and worries and fears and joys?

I underestimated. I didn't realize the extent of damage an article could do. After seeing it churn up the community that I love, I decided to see what it was all about.

I was appalled. Sickened. Disgusted. That woman's lack of research--or her prejudice towards the research she had--was striking. I was furious, upset. I still am.

I couldn't decide if I wanted to go private with my own blog. After all, the immediate, gut reaction is to grab up all the writings of your life, the things that share your struggles, and put your most difficult moments on show, and tuck it away.

After some deliberation, I've decided, at least for the moment, to not respond that way. I completely understand and support the members that have. I, however, feel that, for myself, that would be letting this stranger win over me. There are others who've struggled like I have. Who have been cheated on, and who have used DD as a tool towards working through that and other problems and towards a better and more peaceful marriage. Who want to use DD as a tool towards a stronger relationship. Domestic Harmony, as one of my favorite bloggers put it. And, for them, I want to leave my blog up. I know how much strength and encouragement I derived over the years from reading others' and seeing, "oh, wow, hey, they've been there! Look, they can't hold still, either! Man, her husband made a mistake...but, she forgave him, and they were able to move forward, stronger."

I need to talk to my husband about this whole situation. He's at work, and I've not had a chance to discuss this situation with him. But, I wanted, first and foremost, to say that this is my heart for blogland:

That we would take this like we do any other struggle and prejudice thrown our way and move on stronger.

That we would band together as a community and support one another.

That there would be healing for the hurt and damage this stupid article has done.

I'm not sure whether or not I'll be allowed after talking to Steven to stay public. As always, feel free to shoot me an email.

And, more important than all that stupid article nonsense---

Thinking about Christina and her beautiful family, and sending all good thoughts and encouragement and prayers her way.

Loves!

Oops!

I know that it's awful to laugh when you're in trouble. But, sometimes...sometimes, you just can't help yourself.

The other night, after a rather frisky encounter, we were lying in bed; I rolled over and looked at Steven and asked one of the questions that he rather dreads.

"Did you feed the animals today?" He thumped his head back against the pillow. Now, let me be clear: I normally do it. I don't much like the way he does, and it stresses me out, wondering whether or not my babies got fed. That being said, when I ask him to, I expect it done....but, I still ask, just in case.

"Not yet," he grumbled.

"Not even first breakfast?" I gasped, eyes flying to my phone to check the time. 8:30 pm! "Honey, they're probably starving!" In a t-shirt that hung to my knees and little else, I dashed out to the garage to get the dog food.

But...ya know, that bag was SUPER heavy. I don't mean a little bit, I mean I picked it up and grunted my way out the garage door, trying to get it around to the front yard. Unfortunately, this took me bending over--which I realized in the garage. Not wanting to flash my panties to our new neighbors, I went back inside.

"Honey, you're going to have to do it. The bag's just super heavy, and I need your help. Besides, you were supposed to have fed them today anyway." He groaned. He grumbled. He whined. He told me to take the bowls to the dog food, one at a time.  "Fine, then!" I snapped, finally at my wit's end. "I'll just get it myself!" It was dark, I reasoned. Who was gonna see anyway?

So, I went back to get the dog food and proceeded to drag the bag around towards the porch. Just for reference. Our new house is connected to an off the house garage via a kind of deck that has two layers. Directly in front of the building is nothing but woodlands. Directly behind is a ridiculously steep hill; a trailer with a sweet little old man living in it adorns the top. On either side of our house is another. The deck, however, is blocked by the garage and the house.

I had made it half way to the porch when the door inched open, and Steven stuck his head out. "Hey," he said. "Give me a minute, let me put some clothes on, and I'll come get it. Just come back inside."

"No," I said adamantly. "Look at the boys...they've already seen the food, and they need first AND second breakfast before we go to bed. I'll just take care of it, and you can do it next time. IF you've even fed them the times you've said...this bag is awfully full for you to have fed them the last two days."

He rolled his eyes. "I fed them! Maybe not as much as YOU feed them, but I fed them! Now, come back inside. I'm serious. I'll take care of it. I should have fed them, and I didn't but I will." I glanced at the boys. All three were dancing around in front of the gate, eyes trained on the bright red bag in my hand.

"No. I'll just do it. YOU go back inside. I'LL tend our pets." He growled. Like, actually rumbled down deep in his chest. I fought back a snort. "And, close the door," I instructed. "I don't have jammie bottoms on under this, and with the garage light, the porch light, and the kitchen light all coming through the doors, the whole deck's lit up."

"Grace," he said, irritated, "You're pushing it. I'm serious, you're about to get yourself spanked for not listening. I'm telling you. I'll take care of the dogs. I'm sorry I didn't do it earlier, but I'll get it now. Come back inside."

"No," I shrugged, feeling very matter of fact.

"Grace..."His tone was laden with warning. "If I have to come out there, I'll spank you all the way to the bedroom before we even get started...come inside. Now."

"You can't come out here, you're..." and the door flung open, and he stormed outside. Stark naked. His hands on his hips, fire shooting out of his eyes--under normal circumstances, he might have made quite an imposing picture...but, with all the lights spotlighting the deck, and him buck naked...I felt a traitorous giggle forcing itself up out of my throat...I clapped my hands over my mouth.

"Back inside," he snarled, pointing towards the kitchen door. I lost it. I started laughing and didn't stop until I had been bent over the bed for a hot minute. I quit then...but, I will say, I've teased him about it mercilessly since...and now, even he sees the humor...

That Was Six!

"Alright. Does that all make sense?"

"Yes, Pastor--it's pretty much a walk down the isle, repeat after me thing. Got it." I nodded vigorously, trying to hide my nerves behind the make-up and curls.

"And, don't forget--we don't want hoots and hollers or anything, but hold the kiss long enough that our photographers can get some good pictures."

"Oh...how long is that? Like, I could use some direction. Can you give me a number to count to?"

"Oh, ok...uhm, how about five?"

"Five." Another vigorous nod. "Like...1, 2, 3 kind of five? Or 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi?"

The pastor looked utterly confused, but then smiled off my oddness.

"One, two, three will be fine," he assured me. "Don't worry. You make a beautiful bride."

"Thank you--uhm, you're gonna tell Steven, too, right? You'll tell him it's five?" After a promise to do just that, he made his way out of my tiny dressing room and down the hall to where my fiancé waited. Dad took my arm.

"I'm so proud of you. He's going to love it...but, remember--don't lock your knees; seen way too many people drop like a horse at the altar from locking their knees." I barely had time to roll my eyes before the bridal march started, and the doors swung open.

Steven stood at the end of that isle, seeming so very far away and so very dashing in his suit, my bright yellow themed flowers pinned to his chest.

I met him at the end, our close family and a few friends looking on. After a hurried whisper, insuring he had in fact been told '5', we said our vows.

He said "I do,", and I did, too.

And, they announced my new name, and told Steven he could kiss me--like he's ever needed permission. :)

"That was six!" I yelped as I pulled away--my first words as a married woman.

Romantic, huh? :)