Tuesday with Master. Belated.

(Posted per Master’s orders)

Pictures of Painful Pussy stuff back here

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike

Silence

It’s tempting now to erase the last several entries. That last entry, posted this morning, was written here and there over the weekend. But since I remain stubbornly determined to post it all, even with my ass hanging out, they remain. Evidence of my self-destruction.

I always think I have to get “this” figured out, I have to have some angle to work from.

But I don’t. This isn’t my problem to fix. It’s not even my problem to identify.

At every turn, every “issue” I’ve pinpointed, I get hung up on one.tiny.little.detail.

Master.

Without His direction, I’m doing nothing but spinning my wheels. Spinning my wheels in a big ol’ mudbog, creating one helluva mess on the walls from my splatters.

Until He comes along and gives me a push I’m going to continue to go nowhere.

Until I stop spinning in circles and creating a cloud of muddy-mess, He can’t get close enough to direct me anywhere.

I get caught up in the noise in my own head. It’s not until it shuts off that I realize just how loud it was.

I get those emails every day, the Notes From the Universe. I know a lot of us do. This morning’s message was like someone reaching in and shutting me off. I’ll only copy the last little bit.

So now you know what I mean when I say that even as you would ideally imagine every conceivable detail of your heart’s desire, don’t attach yourself to those details, only to the bigger pictures of wealth and abundance, friends and laughter, health and harmony, thereby leaving me the wiggle-room I need to blow your beautiful mind.

The “I” and the “me” represent the entity of the Universe. My universe is (supposed to be) Master. So insert His presence, or influence, for the “I” and the “me” and you’ll see why it hit me as it did.

I’m going to take some quiet time. Where I need to focus, and patiently wait, is on Him. When He’s directed me again, I’ll be back. I don’t dare put a time limit on this because I know from experience that it could be anywhere from 2 hours to 2 days to 2 weeks.

What I do know is that I’m done pushing.

~cunt

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike

To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Some time ago I made a quick entry about a few things that Master does that affect me in a somewhat negative way. You may remember it, it was the day that He laid on the floor at my feet and how it made me uncomfortable. I listed a few other things that give me that same vaguely uneasy feeling; driving was one, as was having Him lie with His head in my lap.

Someone made the comment that if they were to were to express those “uncomfortable sentiments” to their Master, he would ignore it. Because it’s not about how it makes the slave feel, but only about how it makes the Master feel.

That line of thinking, to me, is online propaganda. Because when you are talking about face to face interactions, everything that Master does to me causes a reaction. A reaction that He’s then obligated to deal with. Online (or phone or weekend visits) don’t carry the same consequence.

This isn’t about judging online or part-time relationships. Master and I have been online and part-time and it’s that experience that I’m comparing.

I always used to tell Him that He was “meaner on MSN”. I meant it too. But I don’t think I quite understood why. Now I do. Because when He was gone, He didn’t have to deal with the consequences of being a hardass. Whatever mood, good or bad, that His actions created in me were mine to “suffer” alone. No amount of phone contact, or emailing, was going to be the same as sitting right here, looking into my eyes, and working through the consequences with me.

So when I express to Him that a certain activity makes me uncomfortable, since He’s going to be in the same house with me, He then has to weigh the pros and cons. He can continue, which is His right (and I never asked Him to stop, I only express what I feel at any given moment) but then accept He has to live with the funk it might throw me in to. Maybe He doesn’t want to live with that, so He chooses to stop.

Whatever His decision is, it’s His decision alone to make, based on the information I give Him.

All of this is intertwined in the “He loves me too much” and the notion of having levelled the playing field. This is one more theory of what may be going on here.

I suck at trying to hide what I feel. I don’t know how people carry on normally when there is an elephant sitting in the middle of the room. I cannot make polite conversation with someone I’m upset with. I can’t pretend there isn’t something that needs dealt with. Not face to face anyway.

But, on the opposite side of things, I also can’t hide being giddy-happy either. When Master tapped into the tightly-held well of my feelings, which I’ve talked about numerous times, it’s as if what He opened was a highway. Be it the Highway to Hell or the Freeway to Fun, what I feel comes tumbling out, not only in words but in my demeanor, my actions, my facial expressions, my body language. Everything.

At one time, this was A Good Thing. The melting of the ice princess. Master and my kids would all tell you that I used to be a cold-hearted bitch. Now? I’m a soggy dishrag.

He used to encourage this expression. Hiding what I felt or what I thought was bad, detriment to getting inside of me and figuring me out. He required, demanded, honesty. Immediate answers, immediate articulation. Do not hide the tears, or the sobs, or the laughter or joy. He wanted it all, good, bad and ugly.

What I lack is the groundwork for healthy expression. I don’t know how to categorize, or compartmentalize, my feelings. I feel it to the Nth degree and do not know how to continue on without having some sort of conclusion first. A big, dramatic, emotional “finish” that somehow works to set me upright.

He did open me up and He did get inside. Maybe it was fun for awhile, playing me like a fiddle. But now He’s tiptoeing around this ball of raw emotion, electing more often than not, not to set it off. He’s choosing not to deal with the fall out by not opening the door.

Always He and I have discussions, plans are made to ensure that we don’t fall victim to the “vanilla-zation” that seems to occur all too often to M/s couples. And always, it falls by the wayside as the amount of actual work involved rears it’s ugly head.

I want to make myself less work. The only way I know how to do that is to extract my emotions from the process. To censor my reactions. If I eliminate the consequences and become as “emotionless” as I appear on MSN or over the phone, He’ll be less hesitant.

I don’t know if, when He says He doesn’t want a robot or a doormat, He really means that. I think, in order for this to work, there HAS to be an emotional detachment. The same kind of detachment that exists online or over the phone. From both sides. I have to detach from Him, and He from me.

Sometimes I wish I had never discovered BDSM. You can’t miss what you’ve never had.

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike

No rest for the wicked.

I took two recipes from Mandy’s page and made:

Burger Heaven Casserole

16 oz. extra lean gr. beef (or turkey)
2 cups diced raw potatoes
1 & 1/2 cups sliced carrots (fresh or frozen)
1 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 cup frozen peas -thawed
1 cup frozen whole kernel corn – thawed
1 10 oz. can Tomato Soup
1/2 cup water
1 tsp. dried parsley flakes

In large skillet brown meat. In slow cooker container – sprayed with Pam combine meat mixture, potatoes, carrots, peas, and corn. stir in tomato soup, water, parsley flakes and salt and pepper to taste. Cover and cook on low 6 to 8 hours.

I adjust to what I have on hand but it’s surprisingly tasty. I make cheddar cheese biscuits to have with it and the taste combination is scrumptious. Then I have chunks of cucumber and zucchini (can you have zucchini poisoning/overdose?..lol) sauteed in butter with salt and pepper and it is SO YUMMY. I’ve never had cooked cucumbers before but they are good. I have Tulsa to thank for that. :)

And:

Caramel Apple Cobbler Cake

1 1/2 cup reduced fat bisquick -(i use regular bisquick)
1/3 cup splenda (baking kind) – (i use 2/3 cup white sugar)
1/2 cup fat free milk
2 medium apples
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1 cup boiling water
Cool Whip

Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Coat a 9X9X2 pan with Pam. Mix Bisquick, Splenda, and milk together. Spread into prepared pan. Top with apples. Mix brown sugar and cinnamon together and sprinkle over apple mixture. Pour boiling water over apple mixture. Bake for 45 minutes or until knife comes out clean. Top with cool whip while cake is warm.

This cake is the BOMB. So easy and so good. The water mixes with the brown sugar to make a caramel like sauce and..just.. yum.

I also fixed the dishwasher (thank God for google how-to searches), mowed the lawn yesterday…

I feel so dang productive! I think I deserve a reward. Like… ohhh.. I dunno… a trip to Six Flags maybe?

Please Master? Do You wanna huh?

I’ll suck Your dick if’n You take us. ;-)

~cunt

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike

Life is what happens when you are busy making plans.

Life happened last night, in spite of His plans for needles and what-have-you.

That whole “He loves me too much!” thang? Not last night. Last night we argued.

It was one of those things where I said something completely innocent and He said something completely innocent, and somehow, suddenly, we’re hissing at each other across the room. It was nothing big, nothing important, just enough of a damper to make us both need some space for a minute. I went off to the dishes, He plopped into bed to watch TV and when I came back, He was sound asleep.

So I probably could have poked Him awake and reminded Him that He promised me needle play, but even I’m not that much of a bitch. ;) Instead I crawled into bed without waking Him at all, no collar or nothing, and this morning we both apologized and hugged and all that good stuff.

He’s said He’s going to make up for it tonight, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it gets postponed again. There is a lot of potential plans being talked about for the weekend and that’s okay. Time with Jes here is winding down and weekends tend to center around family things anyway. Needles and other hoopla can wait. (aren’t I so generous?)

We can’t decide if we want to do Six Flags again this year or not. Though it’s not as expensive as I had expected, we can get all 5 tickets for about 160 bucks when the normal admission price is 55 bucks a person. But by the time we travel there, camp if we decide to do that, eat (the food there is outrageously priced), and do whatever else, it’s still going to be a pretty pricey weekend.

Of course the kids want to go. Master isn’t all that enthused with it because He doesn’t much care for thrill rides. I like it, but I’m ‘meh’ over it this year. And there are alot of other, littler things we could do with that money. Shopping and movies and stuff like that, to kind of spread the fun out over more time than just a weekend.

Now it’s Friday already and we’re all like “are we going or not?? what are we doing?? someone decide something!!!”

So yippee skippy. That’s my update. :)

~cunt

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike

Points to Ponder

“I think he’s just as much of a sadist as ever, but your emotional pain has become equally as delicious as your physical pain.”

That’s given me pause. Because could it be that what was once an “edge” to me has become… commonplace?

Is it not Him that’s changed at all, but me?

It happens all the time, this levelling of the playing field. What felt extreme becomes standard and routine. Rules become mundane, tasks are boring, play is repetitive.

Is it possible that emotionally, He and I have equalled?

That’s even scarier than my original worry.

It brings up another commonly asked question. Where does it stop? If it’s a constant quest to “top” what has become normal, is there ever an end?

Things to wonder about.

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike

Great Expectations

Remember yesterday when I said “If I don’t know what the plan is, I can’t build up any expectations. If I don’t have any expectations, I can’t be disappointed”? Well, I wish it worked that smoothly all the time. But it doesn’t.

I have a lot of expectations. Hopes and wishes and wants. Big ones. Maybe impossible ones even. That never seems to work out well when you aren’t in charge of your own destiny. I can’t steer the ship in the direction *I* want it to go in so not only do I feel the regular disappointment of not getting something I want, on top of that lies a film of anger at the person behind the wheel.

I’m talking about normal human emotions here. I’m not getting into the bullshit of being a slave so I shouldn’t think/feel/say these things. I get to talk about them, identify them, examine them.. and still understand and accept that at the end of the day, He’s still steering.

Obviously I didn’t go into the cupboard last night. And the thing is, by the time bedtime rolled around, I didn’t even want to. I’m (still) afraid of the dark and I know that once He locks that door behind me, I’m stuck in there, in pitch black, for the next 8 hours. The spider had creeped me out more than I want to admit. I was getting more and more apprehensive about it as the clock ticked nearer to bedtime. My plan, one of those carefully constructed slave plans, was to beg for all I was worth to not be in there as soon as He pointed me to it. I did not want to go.

So why, when He pointed me to the bed instead, did I crash with heavy disappointment? I know why.

Because I want Him to want it. I need Him to want it.

As I lay in bed last night, I started to head off into Master’s gone vanilla/hates me/doesn’t want me anymore/thinks I’m a fat cow/ territory. But you know what all that is? That’s nothing more than a smoke screen for what I’m really afraid of. I can focus on any one of those things and avoid having to face the real issue.

He loves me. Too much. And there’s been a deep shift in the foundation of “us” because of that.

It sounds… ungrateful?… to admit that my greatest fear is the love that He feels for me. I think about the people I know who are alone and searching for love or mourning a lost love. I think about my own loveless past, the loneliness and depression, despair at a bleak future, the wonder of “what is wrong with me that nobody can love me?”

I remember those feelings and I look at this gift, this incredible wonderful gift of love that’s sitting in my lap, and I feel so guilty at ever, ever daring to even think that this love is causing me fear and unhappiness.

He loves me in a way that I have never experienced before. Never knew existed. He proves it to me time and time again. In return, I love Him with equal ferocity. I am not ungrateful for His love, or for His time and attention, the gifts and opportunities that He’s created for me and my children. I’m well aware of what that means, of the sacrifices He makes every single day for us. I worship, openly, the ground He walks on with every fiber of my being. I am deeply in love with Him.

It’s my love for Him that fuels my desire to please. To make Him smile when He tastes the food I cook. To watch Him sit comfortably on a couch free of pet hair that smells like febreeze(yum). To always have toilet paper on the roll and a soft towel after His shower. A clean cup for the coffee I make Him and clean clothes to wear, sex and blow jobs at His fancy. The list of *things* that I do isn’t the point though… what’s important is *why* I do it. It’s not just that I’m His slave and I’m supposed to. I *want* to, because I love Him. I give Him what He wants because I love Him. I’m nice to Him because I love Him. I acquiesce to His desires because I love Him. I’m tender and gentle and affectionate because I love Him.

And it should be that way! I don’t know how it works without love. At least, from the bottom to the Top. I couldn’t serve or perform the way I do to someone whom I didn’t have this endless amount of love and affection for. But when the roles are switched, when the love is coming from the Top to the bottom, it’s a hindrance.

His love for me gentles Him. He looks at me with tenderness and affection. His desire to spoil me, to shower me with niceties, to make me smile on the outside… is killing me on the inside.

There is no greater evidence than this journal right here to prove that what I need is harshness. What calms and centers me is sadism, firmness, strictness. Callousness.

Most of the time I wrap His love around me like a soft, warm blanket. I enjoy the spoiling, the adoration. I’m a girl, a human girl, and I giggle and squirm and bask in the shower of His emotions. But the core of me, the very basic root of who I am, does not thrive under such ardor. It dies.

Romance is fine in small doses. Too much and it’s toxic.

He used to be exactly perfect in His blend of romantic sadism. I never doubted His love and commitment to me, but I also never questioned His intent in regards to us as an M/s couple. I never doubted the depth of His sadism. Now, I have more days of uncertainty and worry.

Something happened that’s changed Him. At least, I think so. Just about 14 months ago, He almost lost me. I don’t mean ‘lost me’ in the sense that we were breaking up or that I was being uncollared. I mean ‘lost me’ in that I skidded pretty close to death’s door. And in that moment, and in the weeks following, with recovery and reconnection and the “China Doll Syndrome”… it’s never been the same.

It scared Him (scared me too!) and He’s never gotten back to the same reincarnation of Satan that He used to be. He’ll tell you how badly it shook Him and He’ll admit that it changed Him. But I don’t know if He sees the same changes I do.

He’s far too concerned with me and my reactions and my feelings to be the person He was. He worries too much about how pleased I am or am not, or if I enjoy it. Not wanting to push too hard or too fast. And I’ve gotten used to it, I play into it. I can no longer express any sort of reluctance about a task or a rule because as soon as I do, He backs off. Usually. Not every single time, but usually I know I can get out of it if I try hard enough. I’m left confused and trying to control my reactions. He wants honesty, and sometimes I honestly don’t want to do something or take another stroke, but my honest reactions will make Him stop. And stopping because of *me* is NEVER, ever what I want.

I see glimpses of the old Master sometimes and I hold out hope that He’ll make a complete return to that ol’ meanie someday. But the longer it goes on, the less hope I have.

The “edge” is gone. It doesn’t matter that we still do this and that and that the goals are the same. The edge that I knew in Him is not there.

But, as is always the way of these things, whatever direction He takes us in is where I go. And if being nicer is His “new” plan, then so be it.

I’ve asked myself a thousand times, if this is how life ends up being for me, being with this Man who loves me unconditionally, who beats me sufficiently, who prefers to have me in His warm bed instead of locked in a cold, dark closet, who gets genuine pleasure out of spoiling me rotten.. if this is what I get, is that so bad? So terribly bad?

Of course not. If He’s changed and lightened and is feeling a new and gentler direction, then I’ll follow as willingly as I had been following before. I look forward to the future He’s carving for us, no matter how painful, or painLESS, it may be.

And on the other hand, if what I really desire is callousness for my feelings, I can think of no greater torture, no better evidence of not caring what I want, than for Him to romance me to the grave. ;-)

Here’s another terminology war that I’m going to engage in. The word “sadist” and what it means to me.

From wikipedia again: “Sadism” in absolute terms refers to someone whose pleasure in causing pain does not depend on the consent of the “victim.” Indeed, a lack of consent may be a requisite part of the experience for a true sadist.”

By that definition, a “true” sadist is one who snatches someone off the street and tortures them. Clearly without consent or limitations of any kind. And a “true” masochist would be the stranger in question actually enjoying it. Except, the strangers enjoyment would then cancel out the sadist’s pleasure. Quite a conundrum there I suppose.

But in trying to keep things legal and within the boundaries of human capabilities, we do sadism and masochism as closely as we can. Within the confines of our relationship, what we strive for (or used to) is for Him to do all manner of mean things to me that I don’t like, but that He does. That scratched His sadistic itch. Of course I consented, one time deal, but in the moment I’d give my eye teeth to make Him quit.

It scratched my masochistic itch in a roundabout way. A day or two later, I’d get the residual pleasure of having been “forced” through painful and degrading processes. The moment of pleasure didn’t match His.

On top of being a sadist and a masochist, we are also a top and a bottom. We do also find pleasure in “scenes” that are of a much lighter nature, that cater to both of us being pleased throughout the process. The kind where I would get to say “Hey, that clamp is falling off and taking a layer of skin with it. Could you fix it please?” and He would actually fix it. Or any other number of “negotiations” that facilitated a good time for us both.

I don’t see them as being the same thing. A sadist and a top, or a bottom and a masochist. Two different words with two different meanings. And what I see happening here is Master leaning more toward His top side, while I’m still a masochist at heart.

A top can’t fill a masochist any more than a bottom can wholly please a sadist. At best, it provides licks and nibbles when what’s being craved is a whole meal.

I remember a debate somewhere, perhaps on Section12? a long time ago, about hate. How it seemed like there had to be some amount of hatred felt for the “subject” in order for a sadist to be so evil. I remember chiming in at the time with my own feeling that I did think that what I saw in His eyes or heard in His voice, in brief flashes, *was* hatred. It didn’t seem possible to be THAT mean and that callous to a person if there wasn’t something at least very close to hatred behind it.

I haven’t felt that in a long, long time. I’ve felt pain, and He’s made me cry and He’s pushed limits. He’s broken me down in lots of ways. But that particular blend of antagonism/malevolence has been absent. That’s the edge that I miss. The actions are there, but the intent and feeling behind them has changed.

What can I say? I’m not normal. My complaint is being over-loved. This is my main (my ONLY) motivation for considering poly. Master needs a girlfriend..lol He needs someone to take the excess of mush so I can get the ugly stuff.

Treat me like dirt and find someone else to romance and be nice to. Is that too much to ask??? (kidding. sort of. maybe.)

;-)

~cunt

ps. I’ve been sitting here avoiding the post button for several minutes now. I’m afraid that what this sounds like is a myriad of complaints and it’s not. It’s merely an observation of something that I see a difference in. I am very, very happy in my relationship. How can I find fault in being someone’s treasured possession?

Well. I’m posting because I always post what I’m feeling. And as flighty and insane as I am, I’ll probably be feeling something different tomorrow. Tomorrow I will probably be on cloud 9 because I got spoiled with something. :D

ps again. Master mentioned something about needles into star-shapes and strings and weights and pulling something UP for Titty Torture Thursday. At my look of abject terror He then instructed me to wait until tonight so He can do it Himself. So see! He’s got that sadist lurking in there somewhere!

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike

I had to do it. It’s cats!

Your Score: Serious Cat

57 % Affectionate, 40 % Excitable , 44 % Hungry

Hungry for knowledge in any internet forum, you demand decorum. Any off-topic remarks, absurd statements, or tomfoolery on the interweb is deeply frowned upon by you. Truth has no room for drollery.

Tee Hee!

I have two loaves of zuke bread in the oven and enough grated zuke in the freezer for 4 more loaves. Plus another fresh picked zuke in the fridge. And I made zuke slices with this recipe here:

cup seasoned dry bread crumbs
teaspoon ground black pepper
grated Parmesan cheese
egg whites

Preheat the oven to 475 degrees F (245 degrees C).
In one small bowl, stir together the bread crumbs, pepper and Parmesan cheese. Place the egg whites in a separate bowl. Dip zucchini slices into the egg whites, then coat the breadcrumb mixture. Place on a greased baking sheet.
Bake for 5 minutes in the preheated oven, then turn over and bake for another 5 to 10 minutes, until browned and crispy.

They were so yummy that they were gone before they’d even cooled so I might make more tonight so Master gets at least one. Yesterday we had fresh green beans and lettuce salad with fresh picked cucumbers and cherry tomatoes. I’m about to be bombed with tomatoes, there are a billion green ones out there. Anyone know how to do fried green tomatoes??

This has been a good day. I’m busy, keeping things going and still having fun. :)

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike

Creepy Crawlies.

Of course the very first thing I see when I open the door is this:

Well. It was much scarier looking in person. Bigger too. And it’s right where my head goes! *shudder*

So, anyway, it’s been fumigated and vacuumed and all that jazz. Master got me the perfect mattress (two couch cushions from a couch we got rid of) so I’m expecting it to be more comfortable. Though the cushions suck up a LOT of the precious little room in there, I’m willing to trade headspace for bone comfort.

Read more »

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike

Kids and Stuff

I found this over at Bondage Blog.

Your Kids Might Have Inherited Your Kink If:

You ask your son to walk the dog, and later notice
the dog’s still home, but the leash and your
daughter aren’t.

What’s funny about this list to me is that I can see Am in it. I tell you, she’s a little Domme in the making. And if my kids do lean toward kink, it somehow comforts me to think they’ll lean toward the power end of it. But that’s only because I think slavery is hard and being the Boss is easy. It at least has more perks!

From the time Am could manipulate her fingers, she’s been a knot-tying freak. One of the birthday presents that I remember buying her when she was about two was a string and spool set because that’s all she did, tie up strings. No shoe lace was safe, from the moment she could crawl. She’d knot them all up.

Every toy she had, dolls and barbies and stuffed animals, had a string knotted around it’s neck and was tied to something. Chair legs, bed posts, closet rods. One year for Halloween (age 4), she dressed up as a bride. Every bride needs a groom, right? So she dressed her Ken doll in his nice little tuxedo, clipped him to the dog’s leash, and pulled him around town behind her, trick-or-treating.

And that was way before I’d discovered my own kink so I can’t even say she picked it up from me!

She seems to exude that persona. Strong personality, firm in her beliefs. She even dresses the part, highlighting her “assets” and then literally swatting away a hand that wants to touch. She’ll quite firmly announce that “this is MY body and you will not touch it unless I say you can”. (not that I don’t applaud such announcements because I DO)

It’s not just her propensity for high heeled boots and mini skirts that has me wondering, but the way she watches us, and the comments she makes sometimes to me. Things like “ain’t no man going to snap his fingers at me like I’m some sort of dog. I’m going to be the boss in my relationship and he’ll worship ME.” She even adds in the whole neck swivel and hand on the hips (“bitch wings” I believe that’s called?) And let’s not forget some of her writings. Holy moly, I’ve seen milder stuff on Literotica.

Jes on the other hand? Much much more submissive in nature. Especially now that I’ve seen and heard her interactions with her boyfriend. She’s always been a follower, a people pleaser, and she certainly strives to please him.

And this is where my hackles come up. It’s such a fine, thin line between BDSM and abuse, you know? I know I’m probably reading into things that aren’t there but that’s my child. I worry about these things. It’s not that there is any sign of abuse between Jes and her b/f, there is nothing at all. I’m totally looking into future possibilities. I catch myself all the time telling her to stand up for herself, to demand the treatment she deserves, to not let anyone boss her around, things that I don’t think I have ever, ever had to say to Am. In fact, if anything I’m telling Am that she kinda needs to not be so bossy and to allow other people to have an opinion..lol.

It’s weird though, to have these kinds of thoughts about my children. But I have to face the fact that they are growing up and they will be out there soon enough. Just the other day I took Jes shopping for school supplies and clothes. It was a wistful walk through the aisles going past the crayolas and the Elmer’s glue.

When did they stop needing that? When did it become “just spirals and pens, Mom”? I don’t want to just buy notebooks and blue pens! I want to buy pink plastic pencil boxes and Harry Potter folders. And don’t even get me started on how sad it is to walk by the ‘Days-of-the-Week’ Hanes purple flowered underwear. Thongs?? Thongs and matching push-up bras.

*sniffle* I want my baby girls back.

It’s impossible to help shop for those things (and by ‘help’ I mean watch in open mouthed shock as they flip through lacy barely-there underwear like they’re reading a menu. I mean, I couldn’t do that NOW in front of my mother!) and have Jes turn to me holding up a pair of red lacy nothings with a sliver glittery guitar plastered over the crotch and remark that her band-member boyfriend would “just love these!” and not start thinking of them and their future adult life.

It squicks me… but it’s there. They’re becoming women, with womanly ideas. It all makes me feel incredibly old. My baby is going to be 16. Sixteen!! How can that be when I barely feel a day over 16 myself? Well.. mentally anyway. Physically, I’m about 62 I guess.

It makes you question if you’ve given them the tools they need. The window of opportunity is closing and I don’t know how much good it will do to start cramming stuff in the crack now. Always, when they were little, the days seemed so endless and the teaching of important stuff could wait until tomorrow. But those endless days? FLY. Before you know it, that baby that gave you a first toothless smile is buying red lace thongs to wear for her boyfriend while you wonder where the time went.

*sigh*

Well this post took a turn of it’s own. Funny how that happens, when you sit down with a topic in mind and end up somewhere else. Oh well. I tend to go with it.

I definitely feel a shift in myself today. Whether it was last night’s activities or what (of course it was. anytime things start to go wonky, the best cure is some pain and some orgasms and some hard words from the Man.) I’m a little more centered today. I have to clean out the cupboard, no more excuses, and I think He’s going to start making me sleep in there. That’s a shivery-scary thought.

So, on that note, I’m off to do exactly that.

~cunt

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike