Bad News Bear

"I'm just saying..." I huffed, irritated. We were on the way to Steven's parents' house, to show them what all had turned up at the home inspection. It wasn't good. As much as we both want this house, having a foundation problem? Bad news bear, that right there.


"Grace," he warned, "You're pushing. Quit it now, while you're ahead."

"Fine."

"Not quitting..."

"I am, too!"

"Then what's the matter with you?"

"Ugh, nothing!" And a few other, more smart-alecky responses. All of a sudden, before I was even sure what had happened, the car had whipped off the road and up a small sort of access/work driveway.

"Come over here," he demanded, eyes too bright in the darkness of the car.

"See, I'm just not feeling like that's a very good idea..."

"And why's that?"

"You're going to spank me, and I don't want that."

"You could have stopped it. The only person getting you spanked is you, Grace. I told you to quit with the attitude."

I argued a bit more, but, when he tries, Steven can resemble a wall: hard, unyielding, and dang near deaf to any pleas, demands, or what have yous. It wasn't all that hard, really. It wasn't all that long. It was just...shocking and unpleasant.

So, for the first time, I was spanked on the side of the road. Gives a whole new level of meaning to 'Don't make me pull this car over.' Go figure--he means it. He means he's done with attitude. And, he's put us on daily maintenance for a while. (He hasn't said as much, but I'll say it's until I'm done working quite as much as I have been.)

Ew.

The Little Engine That Could

The hospital was bustling--over half of my patients were incontinent, and the other half was half crazy. Not the mean kind--the older, confused, heartbreaking kind. The dim lights from the hallway cut across patient room floors, causing the one half to complain, and the other half more confusion. The RN I was working for was making me nuts; she's definitely not the get-your-hands-dirty type. So what if that meant there was only one of me to go around 20 patients?

I'm off tomorrow night. I'm going to be with Steven all day long. We're taking his family to see the house...and I can make it through one more night.

Who are you kidding? 140 hours is just too damn much. You're gonna cry.

Nope, gonna make it. That little choo-choo train on Dumbo? "I think I can, I think  I can...I knew I could, I knew I could..."? Yeah, that's me. I got this.


A flash of black jacket next to the nurse station counter as I came out of the room and a wash of relief. Steven came to work. He does that periodically--brings me lunch or a book if I have a lunch break at all.

"Hey, baby," a quick grin and a kiss. I glanced over at my scowling RN. But, hey, it's 2 am, and no one's awake to see a peck anyway.

"Did you talk to your family about going to see the house tomorrow? What time they wanted to go?"

"Oh, yeah--I just went ahead and took them."

Now I know that the wash of emotion was completely an over-reaction. The hurt feelings, the rug yanked out from under my feet feeling was more about my period starting and sheer exhaustion than it was that he went ahead and took them without me. But, then?


"You did what?" My heart stopped beating for a second, and my throat swelled, right there at work. "Without me?" Over the next twenty minutes(mostly via text, since obviously he couldn't stand there at the nurse's station and have it out with me), I accused him of making me the pack-mule for this house: the person doing all the legwork, while someone else gets to see the benefits. I even sent the horrible "F--- you, not happening" text when he finally had enough and warned me that a spanking was coming in the morning when I got home.

Fifteen minutes after that, I was awash with remorse. The nurse who'd seen my quiet tears asked me if I even loved him--how could that be in question because of one mild tiff? No matter my upset? I assured her that I did; I spent the next while regaling her with more reasons that I did love him than I'm sure she wanted to hear...and by the time that was said and done, I felt horrible.

Unfortunately, once I arrived home(And we slept for our whole day off together--until we woke up and he informed me he was giving our fridge that comes with the house away; he'd already discussed this with his mother, and his aunt needed one...), I was upset again. We'd wasted our whole day, and he was giving away things "I" was working for, without even the benefit of a by-your-leave.

Admittedly, he's not been sitting on his hands. He's done all the house legwork. All the inspections, all the appraisals, the realtor and mortgage company back and forths...but, sitting at work, cramping and crying, I didn't care about all that. So when we finally did "talk"...I did more screaming than talking.

And, now, I'm doing more sitting than standing.

At one point, I was ballsy enough to demand, "Do you really have to keep DOING that?"

A pause. "Doing what?"

"Hitting me! Right there! I hate that!"

"Here?" he asked, unfazed, as he swatted down on that especially tender spot again.

"Yes, there! Stop it!"

"No, I don't think so. This is where you sit, and I think you'll need a reminder that this attitude is really over. I'm not tolerating it anymore. I'm tired of spanking you just enough to kind of mask the behavior. This time, it's going to be gone for good. So, yes, I really do have to 'keep doing this.'" Unruffled, no irritation, no argumentative comeback that can be made to such unflappable response. So, I did what I haven't done in a long, long time.

"Ok," a definite sniffle. A sigh, and releasing of all the tense muscles. I cried. No lying there. But, I did manage to submit totally--and that's the first in a long time. Today, I'm feeling mellow and calm, despite going back to work tonight. Despite being so, so desparately sore.

Today, I'm the "I knew I could" engine---with Steven behind me, pushing me up this hill.

I Feel Frazzled...Duz I Look Frazzled

"Babe....Baaaaabbbbbbyyyyyy......Hey, hey, babe!" A jab to the ribs, (supposedly a tickle...I question.) A swat. A kiss. "Babe, wake up! It's time to wake 'em ups, Mom!" Dogs licking, licking, jumping around.

And cue open grumpy eyes.

The good news?


Steven and I are buying a house. Contract signed and everything. (This is especially good news, considering the family that moved in with us are no longer getting along with us, and out of the two bills that have come due, they've been roundly unable to pay the significantly larger one. At which point, I was informed that if I didn't come up with the money to cover their half, we'd just have to do without electric, because she "couldn't shit a gold brick, dear." Technically, I could pay it. I could. But, we also have the home inspection, the appraisal fees, and we'll need furniture, and a million other things and I flat don't WANT to.)

The bad news? I'll have well over one hundred and thirty hours--just a hair over 50 hours in overtime. And, I'm beat. I feel like I go to bed half dead and wake up just regular old exhausted.

I even got spanked at one point--though, certainly I deserved it. And, truly, I welcomed it. It was very grounding; normally, Steven doesn't allow me to pick up like that. He knows that it runs me utterly ragged and that I come out of it very much the worse for wear.

But, in this case, I have to. If we want to get out of our present situation and move into a house that's our very, very own...we have to have the funds to do it. That being said, the spanking--though I won't go into details here--was very much a safety net feeling. I'd started to feel rather like I was spiralling. Knowing I was exhausted, Steven was letting more and more slide, and I was getting worse and worse. Really, I like to know the boundaries. To me, they are safe. And, he's safe. And it was safe. And, now, lol, I'm safe.

At any rate, we supposedly close the day before his birthday--we close May 10th. Super excited about that.

But, I have to go to work. I'm sure at some point, I'll get on here and post a legit update...but, for now...

The Family Tree

While we were eating breakfast this morning, Steven pointed out that I'd lied on here, my blog. He informed me, rather smartly I might add, that I'd said I was going to post and had neglected to do so. I was mildly surprised he'd even read it, though I'm not sure why.

So, anyway... on to the update!



First--a little "so here's how the new living situation is going" commentary. You all know I rather expected it to be horrible. In fact, I looked forward to their arrival with such dread I scarce knew HOW I was going to survive the actual meeting. The inital arrival was quite stressful for me. There were people in my house, my aunt, the cousin herself and a strange man I'd never met. The cat hated our dogs and nearly flayed us alive trying to escape them.

Then, the next morning, when I woke, I looked out the window and there were four cars in the drive. All night, Steven and I had whispered, trying not to be too loud for our new house-guests...house-partners?...Steven had already left for work, and I hadn't felt so alone in some time. I called my Dad and was outside on the phone when a strange vehicle pulled up. I felt my mouth drop open.

More people! Here to help them move in! ( I didn't mind that part, but the FIRST rule we'd all decided on was to put all visitors through each other.) When Steven arrived home, he was quietly livid, and had a little chat with L, reminding her of said agreement.

I watched that conversation from a distance, and felt my heart sink further. This was going to suck. I could just tell....

And, then, just like that, everything switched all around.

We've had group family dinners(L and Steven take turns cooking).

We've played board games: (Her man, C, MUST cheat, because he always seems to win).

We've played video games...L and Steven kick my tail at these...I bump into a lot of walls on MarioKart.

We've watched movies.

They've come with us to the dog park.

We've laughed.

We've washed the dishes.

They've snuggled my boys.

We've talked and gone out to eat and shared stories(they've come from Vegas straight to good ol' Tennessee...).

All in all, we've really enjoyed one another.

And, when we're done, we all go our separate ways.


That being said, there's only one problem we've bumped into: DD.

Slowly, Steven and I have started re-introducing DD into our lives. Only the most serious offenses are spankable--or the ones that I can't seem to let go of my guilt over. This has been taking place so slowly, we've scarce noticed. We were both so comfortable with it before, that it coming back felt more like putting on a comfy pair of sweats than going and buying a new pair of shoes. Familiar, instead of something that needed to be looked at and cleaned and put up on a shelf.

Unfortunately, in our house, despite the fact that they live upstairs, you can hear EVERYTHING. That being said, there's no WAY that skin slapping skin or a wooden spoon connecting solidly with bare bottom wouldn't be heard.
The "silent" implements are really too extreme for most offenses, and the "silent" punishments are usually--USUALLY--things to kind of "tide you over" until the real discipline can be seen to. And, ya know--all four of us? We're really just home-bodies.

Now, it's possible that L knows. I feel certain that at some point I've shared that information with her. Back in the day, when we were closer.

But, there's a difference in knowing and hearing.

And, let's just say, by all rights, I've certainly got a spanking coming.

I was totally out of line today. I snapped, my attitude was atrocious, I screamed at him. Blue-dog hid in the closet. And, worse, I committed one of Steven's least favorite sins: I used people as a buffer to prevent a spanking.

This predicament should leave me pleased. I can't be spanked, after all, right?

Instead, I feel guilty and uneasy. Blegh. Ideas?

One Frustrated Fur-Momma

Do NOT bring your dog aggressive dogs to an off-leash dog park.

It says that, right on the front gate.

That means, if your dog is going at my Boxer, through the gate, before you even get him off leash or let him in:

Don't let him in. (Does that look like a face that should be attacked?)

If you get your dog in the dog park, and it is snapping and growling and its hackles are up:

Take him back out.

If you have two German Shepherds that are huge and behaving in such a manner:

Get them out faster.

Ya'll know I don't have a problem with big dogs. I really don't. In fact, they're my "dogs of choice." But, for crying out loud! These people! (He's cute. You can say it. Sweet Diesel boy).

That DOESN'T mean take them off their leash and let them go after my eight year old Great Dane.

That DOESN'T mean watch as they go after him with teeth bared and hackles raised, sounding like a chain saw. (Does he look up to defending himself from bratty dogs, uncontrolled by their stupid owners? Of course not. He's all love.)

It sure doesn't mean watch as they broadside him into the mud, and only allow him up to limp away, bleeding from the tail and his legs scraped up and covered in mud.

And, for God's sake, if all that DOES happen--

TAKE THEM OUT THEN.

Do NOT leave them in the park to torment my babies!!

Blue-dog is ok. His tail is the worst scraped, and his joints are a little sore. Thankfully, we gave him a puppy pain pill and rinsed out his scrapes. His precious tail has lost some hair, and he's tired and sore. But, thankfully, he's ok.

I apologize for this completely unrelated to anything rant.

But, I'm not a dog hover mom. I believe dogs will mostly work it out themselves if given half a chance.

EXCEPT with Blue-dog. He's my rescue puppy..my old love. My cuddle-bug during the day when I'm the only one in bed.

He's my sweetheart who stays right by me, walking at the dog park, rather than out mingling. Every now and then, he'll play, but mostly, he just wants me or Steven.

And, I can't handle him getting picked on.

Rant over.

Sorry again.

Tomorrow, I'll post an update on life in general or something and leave the dog park rants to some other frustrated fur-momma.

Cross Your Fingers, We'll Need It

SOOO much has happened since my last post. For real, it's been crazy.

To start with my cousin, T, with her three month old baby came and stayed the week with us last week. She just left yesterday morning. It was a bittersweet week, to be sure. I so enjoyed that baby. I loved waking up and hearing him in the other room, playing. My boxer, Diesel-dog, was a perfect nanny nursemaid. He smelled dirty diapers and snorted, then looked at me like, "Uh, Mom? You wanna do something about this?" and if I didn't get the message, he'd do it again. And again. He would check on Chase periodically, especially if he was sleeping in his play-pen, and the adults were in the other room. I came in at one point because I couldn't find my dog, and there he was, laying beside the play pen, watching carefully. Chase toppled from his bottom onto his stomach, and Diesel leapt to his feet and whined at me until I set the baby back to rights.

I've said before that I work night shift--I worked all this week, so(I didn't get MUCH sleep), but I tried to sleep during the day. Unfortunately, anytime Chase cried during the day, Diesel would leap up onto my bed and frantically lick my face until I woke up. At which point, he would jump from the door to the bed, until I got up to check on the baby myself. Didn't matter if he'd stopped crying. Didn't matter that I told Diesel that T was taking care of him. (I swear, sometimes this dog knows EXACTLY what I'm saying.) When the baby left yesterday morning, Diesel pined. He searched the house, smelt the play pen, and the toy they forgot. He was nearly frantic, poor dear.

(Not my dog, but I doubt T would want her baby plastered all over my blog, and they found this position particularly comfortable.)

However, T was a little difficult for me. Mostly, because I'm very family oriented. I want us to all be doing something together. Dog parks, the library, board games, family movies, what have you. I all but couldn't convince her to leave the television. When her baby was awake, he was stuck there in front of the T.V., same as her. I found it very discouraging. Steven was a life-send though, because he made a formula run at 2:30 am, while I was at work, when T ran out. She texted me, I called him, and he never made one single complaint. He rocked the baby, he cooked dinner holding him, he crooned to him and watched out for him. I think he's going to be a good daddy someday. :) He still managed to juggle cooking us all dinner, packing my lunch, and seeing to the dogs when I ran out of time. I'm telling you, he's been a rock for me this hectic week.

Part of the reason it's been so hectic? My cousin, L, just moved in over top of us last night at 1 am. This has been very difficult for me. Two more polar opposites you've never met. I'm not a health buff, but I certainly care to be relatively fit and clean. She's niether. She refuses to do anything but watch television and play computer games. She and her fiance moved here without jobs, and no jobs on the horizon. Remember J? My ex-stepdad that I'm still close to? Through a very twisted, NOT incestual turn of events, he's her dad-dad. They don't speak. They can't stand one another. She's rude and crude and doesn't have a whole lot going on upstairs.

About a year and a half ago, she was living at home with her mom. She was internet dating a guy from Vermont.They were offered the very house we live in now. She took a sledge-hammer to my dear great grandmother's kitchen table, painted crosses and her name all over the house. Brought in a "witch" to cast a love spell.

I was terribly close to my great-grandmother. It kills me to think how L desecrated this house through all that. Mamaw would have wanted something so different. I've worked very hard, since L turned down the house to move to Vermont, to make it something she'd be proud of. Fast forward. She and the Vermont boyfriend moved back in with her mom. Fast forward again, about two months. She disappeared, alone, in the middle of the night. Computer, gone. Car, gone. Clothes, everything, gone.

Discovered later, she moved to Nevada, leaving a note saying she couldn't live with our family's women anymore. Now, several months after that, she and her new fiance have moved in above me. Without jobs. She entered my house with a cat litter pan and the declaration, "I come bearing cat shit." Those were the first words out of her mouth.

How in God's name are we going to stay here with them? Ugh.Ya'll cross your fingers for me and Steven. We're gonna need it.

A Daddy's Advice--When Your Dad is Insane.

I don't talk much about my father on here. I've hinted at my ex-step-dad. I've mentioned my real dad maybe a few times. This may have given the impression that we aren't close. In reality, that's the farthest thing from the truth.

I love my dad. He's crazy--like, clinically, has the papers to prove it insane. When I was young, I so wanted him to be normal that I shoved him out of my life. Now, we talk every day. It's not a very father-daughter relationship, but I know for a fact that he loves me. And, if I listen, carefully, and with a grain of salt, he has some very good advice and comments. Granted, they're quite...uhm..crude..sometimes, lol, but often, like him, at the heart, they're good.

Today, I've been mulling over mine and Stephen's bumpy waters over the last...well, nearly a year, really. All the ups, all the downs. And I remembbered a conversation that Dad and I had, right at the heart of everything.

I was crying and angry, bitter as gall. "I just...ugh! I hate him sometimes!" I spewed.

"Well, I reckon you do," Dad said in his typical hill-billy drawl.

"And you shouldn't stay with people you hate!" There was a pause. "You disagree?" I asked, all ready to fight, to defend my position.

"Well, I figger you hate everybody at some point. And I figger that's because ain't nobody not gonna let ya down."

"So, you're staying I should stay? I don't know, Dad. I think I just fell in love with the wrong person."

"Bullshit," he answered immediately.

"You don't think I did? He CHEATED, Dad," I reminded him.

"That maybe true. But, ain't what I'm saying is bullshit. You don't fall in love, Grace. That's for the movies. And it's bullshit. You don't fall in love. You fall in shit. You fall in a hole. You fall and bust your ass. You don't fall in love. It's something you work at. It's something you want to give up on. It's something that's damn hard, and spends at least a quarter of the time being a colossal pain in the ass. It's not something you fall in. It's a two way extra job. I don't know if you oughta stay, and I don't reckon that's anyone's choice but yours. But, like with any job, you gotta decide if the pay is worth the stay." A pause, while I considered this and he grumbled, "Fall in love. What a load..."

Today, while I sit at home, waiting on Stephen to come home, I've considered that conversation quite a bit. He and I are going to the library. Just like we did when we were younger. To sit on the lily pads and read kids books, and sign, and laugh 'cause of how awkwardly we signed something that was so obvious, or how well we signed it, should our hands shake off enough rust.

We've laughed more in the last two months than we have in the last year. We've had more heart-wrenching, tear filled conversations than we have ever. I've had nightmares. He's brought me ice cream and flowers. We've gone to dog parks and real parks and had game nights. And, I've loved him.

And he's loved me, better than he ever has.

And, it's been work.

I've decided Dad was right.

You don't fall in love.

You work at it.

Both of you.

And it's hard.

And you cry.

You laugh.

You yell.

You (get)spanked, or spank. (If you are DD, lol. In which case, it is unwise to yell.)

Either way, you work.

And, when that happens?

It works.