Bullet for my Valentine.

I feel the need to make an entry but I don’t really have any topic to blabber a lot about. This calls for a bullet list! I heart bullet lists. It’s like twitter only – not.

Though, to be honest, I don’t understand twitter. At all. Or facebook. Or myspace.

Speaking of myspace – is it just me or does anyone else think that any person over, say… 30-ish, who has a myspace is kind of lame? I mean, I dunno. Probably it’s just me. And probably I only think that because my ex has one, he’s 38, and I think everything he does is lame.

Ah well.

Let’s bullet, shall we? :D

First, I’ll bullet Jes.

I’m done. :D

Bubbye!

Edit: The bullets aren’t showing. *shrug* Use yer imagination!

Edit 2: Nevermind. There they are.

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Thanks. :-)

I wanted to thank everyone for the advice regarding Jes. So many of you are right (again) and can point out things that I’m just too emotionally close to “get”. This last time that I talked to her on the phone, I kept your words in mind and we had a much more pleasant, much more productive, conversation.

Also, the suggestions for gifts were awesome. Several of the ideas I’m going to use. Master and I are contemplating a couple of ideas so when we’ve (He’s) reached a final decision, I’ll let y’all know what we came up with.

The online schooling for her is a definite possibility I think. Originally, when Jes first dropped out, her idea then was that she wanted to do the online thing. Master and I were both opposed to it simply because we not only didn’t agree with her decision to quit but also because of the cost of it. She’d left a perfectly good, absolutely free school for reasons we didn’t support so we’d told her if she wanted to do the online thing she had to pay for it herself. That never happened for the obvious reason that she has no money, but she also made no effort to get a job either. And then she got preggers and yada yada yada…

But, now, circumstances are different. I do agree, and so does Master, that going to the high school right now is not in her best interest. The alternative school is (was) Master’s first choice, but in discussing the cost comparison of driving 60 miles round trip every day to the cost of online correspondence (I should say “probable cost” as I haven’t checked yet) He’s also now leaning toward online homeschool. Our concern, of course, is that she’d not keep herself on task and do it, but the consequence of that is to get a job. She has to do one or the other, school or job. I guess that’s her choice to make.

So. A little progress. I’m pleased with that.

There was also a little setback, too though. Nothing major, really, just me choking on the doorknob I’m trying to swallow regarding doing this His way. Knowing that He’s right doesn’t make it any easier. Knowing it’s for her own good doesn’t make it any easier either. I had a little moment of wanting to run away so I can just do what I want (didn’t say that, just thought it) and I had a little self-pitying cry, and then I sucked it up, buttercup.

I’m worried that I’m going to become bitter or resentful. I don’t want to be and I know He doesn’t want that either. I’m not sure how to make sure it doesn’t happen though. What I end up thinking feels too much like me trying to negotiate Him into lowering His guidelines. I mean, I was thinking that I just need a little bit of room to be the indulgent mom that I want to be and why can’t I do that without compromising how He wants it and this is really hard for me and I feel like I’m doing all the hard work and I’m giving everything and He just keeps pushing for more and more and and and boo-hoo.

Someone call me a waaahmbulance.

Anyway, I think it’s important, as a couple of commenters have pointed out, to remember that she’s got a lot of worry and a lot of pressure and a lot of fear and stress right now as it is. I don’t see the value in piling on more by detailing long lists of expectations, putting more pressure and more fear on her. I get that she’s brought this on herself, and I’m not saying that we ease it all completely, only that we don’t make it worse than it has to be merely because we have the power to do so. The whole point in wanting to keep her at home is because we KNOW that at 17 she’s not capable (probably) of doing this alone, and she needs our help. It’s not help if it’s coupled with a heavier burden.

Oy.

That, my friends, is how I talk myself into standing between Master’s expectations and mine.

*dramatic sigh*

And round and round we go.

Well. The next couple of days are going to be pretty busy so I may not be posting much. Today is my day to make lunch for Master’s work crew and they like the chicken enchiladas the bestest (which is fine. It’s an easy recipe, it’s just time consuming when made in such a large batch) so I’m already working on that. I want to get busy making Christmas goodies and get some in the mail to my mom. She’s not well enough to make any herself, in fact she’s postponing her own Christmas until she feels better, so maybe a little mail treat would be nice. And then, holy moly, it’ll be Christmas before I know it.

I still have no Christmas magic going on. I damn near burst into tears in the middle of Wal-mart yesterday. I think I’m depressed. Maybe I need drugs. Blah.

Anyway, if you wanna try some simple yet yummy chicken enchiladas, here’s the recipe I use:

One bag of chicken – (for our family of 5 I usually buy one bag (like the kind they sell at wal-mart) of chicken thighs. I’ve also used drumsticks. I find that dark meat works better in this recipe cuz it seems tastier. Or something. But white meat would work too.)

a couple of cans of enchilada sauce (2 or 3 small ones, 1 or 2 big ones. Depends how saucy you like them)

Lots of shredded cheddar cheese

Burrito sized tortillas.

Optional: Black olives, onions, sour cream.

Spray a baking dish. Heat oven to 375.

I boil the chicken until it’s cooked all the way, cool, debone and shred it. Pour the enchilada sauce in a large bowl and dip tortillas in to coat both sides. Or use a pastry brush to brush both sides with sauce. (Dipping is easier but messier)

Layer in chicken, cheese, olives, onions – but not too much or the shell will split. Roll up and lay in baking dish. Depending on how dry the rolled up shells look in the pan, I’ll pour some of the enchilada sauce over the rolled up shells. You want them wet everywhere with sauce or the shells dry and crack in the oven – but not soupy. Sprinkle with lots of cheese, and more olives or onions if desired.

Cover with foil and bake about 30 min. or until hot (time varies depending on dish and amount so watch it closely). Take foil off and bake another 5 min., until top cheese is melted and bubbly.

Serve with sour cream.

Because no one at Master’s work likes the same thing, the only thing I put in the enchiladas is chicken and cheese. I’ll make up a couple of bowls of chopped tomatoes, onions, olives, sour cream, refried beans, or whatever other topping sounds yummy, and send them along. Personally, I like it better with the onions and olives baked in though.

The end.

:-)

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Speaking of clouds –

Storm clouds that is.

Things with Jes aren’t improving much at all. She’s really not liking the tough love approach one little bit and she’s a very persistent girl. She’s actually been at my mom’s house for the last little while, which has been a welcoming break I’m sad to say. She’s not going to be living there or anything – she went there mostly because my mom has been sick and we thought that Jes could go there and help out (seeing as how she’s not in school or working or doing anything else), plus it would give us time to work out the recent mess without her in the middle of it.

So anyway, her and I have done nothing but argue on the phone as she continues to try and negotiate her way into getting what she wants. I’m sticking to my (Master’s) guns though. If she wants to come here, it has to be under our rules.

I can understand and sympathize with her views on school right now. It is a very small school, she doesn’t have a lot of friends or a support system there (by her own choice because she quit school before making any friends here) and now, having to go back pregnant? Plus she’s missed half the year, she’d be way behind and there is no way to recover this last semester. I’m not real keen on forcing her to attend a school where she’d literally be snubbed. That all ties into her anxiety/paranoia issues which was why she dropped out in the first place. Now it would be worse and I just don’t think this school is the best thing for her right now.

There is an alternative school where she’d be less ostracized because everyone going there goes there because of one problem or another, but it’s just about 30 miles away. I’m not saying making that drive isn’t worth it, but knowing that she’d likely not finish it makes investing that kind of time and money into it seem like a complete waste of resources.

Which kind of puts me in a bind, I think. The rules are school or work yet both are difficult for her right now. Finding a job, at her age and in her condition, is going to be very hard. We live in a college town, there is a plethora of mature, responsible young adults to compete with for all of the jobs that teenagers usually have. It’s difficult even for non-pregnant, high school students to get hired around here.

I really feel stuck. Though she did suggest, on her own, that she’d go back to this high school next school year and repeat the year. That seemed like a semi-positive, semi-cooperative statment – from her.

She knows that she can’t do this on her own. And she’s accepted, albeit grudgingly and unhappily, that we’re not going to support her outside of this house. So her latest plea has been wanting the b/f to be a part of the pregnancy and birth. First she wants to know if she can do the doctor visits, etc. where he is so he can go along. That’s about 4 hours from here. So, yanno, let’s get an obgyn that’s 4 hours away because that makes sense. It’s not like your doctor needs to be anywhere near you or anything.

I put a kebosh on that. If she wants him to be a part of the doctor visits then she needs to live there.

Why do you have to go there, Jes? Why can’t he move here if y’all want to be together so badly?

Well cuz, mom, all of his family is there! He can’t leave his family!

But. You’re quite ready to leave all of your family to be with him, aren’t you Jes?

So then she wants him to at least be there for the birth. Can’t he come and stay with her (aka, stay with US) when it gets close to that time? I tell her, you know that due date is just an estimate, right? You can go into labor at any time around that date. Or, at any time period! So, what? He’s gong to come and LIVE with us for that last month or two? Um, no. I don’t think so.

And, I had to ask, by the time you are close to being due, Jes, he’ll already have one baby, with you almost ready to have his other kid, he’ll be just turned 18 and, gee, don’t you think he should have a fucking JOB by then? Two kids, 18 years old – is a job factoring in his plans any where at any time?

Well no, mom, because he wont have a car and he can’t take the bus and he’s still in school and gee, we can’t expect so much from him. He just wants to be there and I want him to be there and why can’t you understand that!? Why don’t you want him there! How can you keep him away from our babeeeeeeeeeeee?

Gah.

Why should I even give two fucks about this kid? How is that he is even okay with encouraging her, in any way shape or form, to leave her entire support system and do this on her own? I’d like to have me a sit down with this boy.

I explained to her that couples who want that kind of family unit and shared parental involvement don’t get knocked up by a kid who lives in another state when they are 17 and cannot, by themselves, make SURE they can have that. But that’s not how they did it and, I’m sorry, but these are the consequences for doing it the way they did. You have to make sacrifices to have it done right.

So she’s literally sobbing hysterically on the phone. I, me, evil-est person alive, am going out of my way to make it difficult. As if being pregnant isn’t hard enough, I have to make it worse for her. I’m not letting them be a famileeeeeeeeee!

She makes me want to beat my head against the wall.

After trying to reason with her (2 hours on the phone last night) I’d just had enough. I mean for real. She has NO idea what she’s heading in to and NO idea what she’s asking for. She really thinks that there are agencies and places that will make sure she has everything she needs. That all she’s asking me for is a little bit of extra money to pay for gas. She is so wrong.

So I told her about about this news story, about how this little baby almost died because those agencies that she’s relying on? Don’t fucking take care of everything. Yes they *help*, they’ll give her SOME, but not ALL. And who’s going to make sure her baby has the rest of what it needs? Her? Her unemployed boyfriend? These agencies? Welfare?

No. Nope.

Me. Master. That’s who.

So I don’t give a FUCK about whether or not the boyfriend can be here for your doctor visits. I don’t give a FUCK if y’all can’t make the arrangements so he can hold your hand while you give birth. I don’t care if he can’t see the baby as often as you would like. What I care about is that the baby doesn’t starve to death, that it wants for *nothing* that it may NEED, which is apparently far more than daddy’s concerned about. I’m not the one who got myself knocked up yet I’ll be the one making sure it’s taken care of so save your boo-hooing for someone else.

And then I told her I loved her and I was going to bed.

Tough love. I has it.

But it hurts. God almighty.

:-(

Speaking of Jes, I need some suggestions for Christmas. I’m completely at a loss for what to get her.

I’m reluctant to do a bunch of baby stuff right now. I just think that any number of things could happen – miscarriage, maybe she’ll go the adoption route or whatever – and I really don’t want a load of baby stuff sitting around here should it end up that way. And if she is considering adoption, the last thing I want to do is discourage that by setting up a crib in her bedroom, you know?

Money is completely out. I will not give her money. She’ll blow it all on stupid shit, like buying her stupid lazy boyfriend something, and it’ll piss me off.

I can’t do clothes. I figure the size 5 Hollister jeans and size x-small tees that she likes are likely a thing of the past.

I don’t know. There is no “thing” that she wants/needs. I’m still not convinced she’s going to stay here because I know if there is any possible way that she can work it out to stay down there with her man, she’ll go for it. So I’m not getting her anything she can sell either.

I’m considering just getting a couple of gift cards and telling her that I’m going to hang on to them until after the pregnancy. Maybe one from wal-mart and she can go shopping for baby stuff (should she keep it) after it’s born. Maybe one for clothes because I’m sure she’ll need a different size than what she has currently.

But that seems like a craptastic Christmas for her. B-man is getting his wish (xbox 360 elite) and Am is getting her laptop, plus we got them the rock band game that they’ve been lusting over for forever. But Jes gets a couple of gift cards that she can’t even use for another 6 months? I don’t like it.

Maybe it is what she deserves but I still don’t like it.

Bah humbug.

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“No object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly.”

It seems like people still want to believe that we’re a normal family, playing at submission and dominance. That, you know, sure, it’s cute and fun to spank and order me around for a bit, but when things get serious he’s obligated somehow to treat me as an equal. That underneath it all we don’t really do this whole Boss/cunt thang, except to get our rocks off.

Someone commented awhile back, asking why it has to be all or nothing.

Because it does.

If it isn’t – it’s not good enough. Not for me and not for him. That’s not a value judgment against how anyone else does it, I only know how it works for us. It is, always has been and always will be, a matter of He says, I do. Or I leave. I either submit or I don’t, that choice is mine, of course, but to not submit means to end the relationship because our relationship is not one based on equals or on negotiation or partnership. It’s one based on dominance and submission.

But he’s not only going to be asking me to submit to a beating or to suck his dick or to shovel the driveway.

It’s not always pretty. Slavery isn’t pretty, submission isn’t pretty, and if it always has to be, if that’s the only way it sits comfortable for someone – well, I’m probably not the person to be reading.

I know that I’ve hinted around to the Big Limit that I smacked against having something to do with the kids. I know I presented it as me standing up for the noble cause of motherhood.

I’m, perhaps, not nearly as noble as I tried to be. But neither is he an ogre.

It was interesting, I thought, that when I was detailing having hit a limit, people were quick to reassure me that finding a limit where I previously thought I had none was a-okay, normal and expected. But when it came time to say that perhaps it wasn’t MY limit so much as HIM finding a limit, people were pretty quick to judge that that is not allowed on his part. I heard how he knew what he was getting into when it started and he can’t back out now and that’s not right and blah blah blah –

But why don’t those same sentiments apply to me? I knew what I was getting into with as much possible forethought as he did.

It’s common, I’ve noticed, to extend sympathy and understanding to the submissive party of a relationship in crisis, yet people condemn, without trial or even knowledge of the issues, the dominant party. Even though those same people will say that doms aren’t Gods, doms are human, doms make mistakes. Apparently those mistake only extend as far as a stray whip strike?

Could he not have realized, some 5 years later, that taking on a woman and her 3 kids was a lot more involved than he thought? Can he not then say, look, I’m in this for the long haul with you but there have to be some limitations because I’m not an endless well of money? I’m not a brick wall of support? I’m human and tired and I need to have some sort of end in sight?

Our kids can live here until they are 30 for all he cares, as long as they are making an effort to improve themselves. Go to work or go to school and the door is open for as long as it’s needed. But he’s not a free ride for anyone. That’s not a dominant stance, it’s a reasonable and healthy parental stance.

Jes quit school and has made no effort to find even a part-time job at McDonalds. And now she’s pregnant.

She can stay here and we’ll happily help her with anything she needs *as long as* she makes some effort to improve her situation.

What she wants is to have us rent her an apartment in another state where the baby’s daddy lives, give her the car and help her pay for the baby, so she can play house with her boyfriend; who, btw, has another baby on the way with a different girl.

He’s 17 and has no job with two kids on the way. Jes’ll be 17 soon, has no job and no education.

We argued and things were said that were taken out of context. I didn’t give him the chance to explain himself because I complicated the issue by reacting so quickly (taking off my collar and saying I was leaving), and once that was out there, the focus of Jes and what to do about her was lost.

I had a knee-jerk reaction to Master’s refusal to go along with Jes’s plan. I resented that because he controls the purse strings, I couldn’t decide on my own to go along with Jes’s plan. I immediately, and probably correctly, assumed that if I don’t give her what she wants, I’ll never see that baby. Jes is a good manipulator and I’m an easy target. I also thought there was no way in hell I’d not adopt that baby if Jes wants to go that route.

What Master is saying isn’t unreasonable. If she wants to stay here, we’ll support her 100%. He’ll support her child. But she has to either go back to school or look for a job (within reasonable expectations for her health and abilities). She’s going to be a mother, she’s no longer got the luxury of just being a confused teenager. Time to step up and pay the piper.

But if she wants to go, if she wants to play grown-up, then she’s on her own. I will “abandon” her to the bed she made. And I (probably) cannot adopt it. I am struggling, still, with knowing that. Even though I know there are a hundred factors that could change it, accepting that no matter what, it’s not a decision I’ll get to make is hard.

~sigh~

It’s far more complicated and detailed than this, but you’d all have to come live here to get the whole of it. You’d have to know Jes to even come close to understanding most of it.

……

I’m getting off track.

If I am allowed, with open-arm acceptance, to have my limits, then so is he. If I’m cheered when I draw a line in the sand, let’s not boo him when he does the same.

It’s just not nice. It’s not fair.

Well. I keep thinking I should say more, try some other way of wording it to pretty it up or something, but this is it. These are the curveballs that life throws you and you do the best you can with them. Not beautiful, not always.

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For Trade –

One 16 year old who knows everything.

Except:
How to cook.
How to clean.
How to manage money.
How to wipe up spilled water.
How to drive.
How to write a check.
How to answer a phone.
How to do math.
How to treat people.
How to be nice.
How to be polite.
How gas is paid for.
How cell phone bills are paid.
How to work the can opener.
How to take medication.
How to sweep, dust or vacuum.
How to make a bed.
How to do laundry.
How dictatorships work.
How to shut up.
How to get a job.
How important it is to finish high school.
How the world goes round.

She can text. And she can argue. What else does she *possibly* need to know in life??

I’d like to trade her in. For a puppy.

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Give credit where credit is due.

My case of Vanilla Pox continues to run rampant. (Maybe I need some calakinky lotion? kinkymine lotion? *snicker*) So, with no tales of debauchery to tell, I’ll continue to babble about stuff.

 I did, however, have a flash of something while working on crafts yesterday so perhaps there is an end in sight. I sure hope so because, I have to say, being vanilla while married to a horny sadist SUCKS ASS. Although he shows the utmost patience and support while I wallow in this mire, it’s in his nature to reach out and pinch, grab, smack, poke, pull, tug and flick which, quite frankly, pisses me off.

 My station in life or not, I don’t wannaaaaaaaaa!

(I’m still selling crafts, btw. I need to update the link but Im waiting until I finish the Christmas line.)

 Anyway, last night was parent-teacher conferences at the high school. Am openly admits that the reason she likes going to conferences is because the teachers stroke her ego. And they do! They lavish her with praise. It’s not only that she gets good grades because she does struggle in certain classes, but she’s just a good kid, nice, polite, pleasant. The teachers love her.

Unfortunately she inherited my math gene. The one that says that anything above grade level 4 is incomprehensible jibberish. Good thing math isn’t important in life, right? ;-) Oy.

Her speech teacher told me that he’s recruiting her for the Forensics Speech Team this year. He said that she’s a natural at public speaking and assured both of us that she’ll “win lots of trophies and medals” at the competitions. I wouldn’t doubt that this speech she’s preparing now on same-sex marriage will be one that she presents at Forensics. (and thank you all so much for the info. It’s been a HUGE help.)

It doesn’t hurt, either, that I also get lavished with praise for having reared such a wonderful child. Though I wish I could take the praise, I don’t. Not really.

I do for some things. Whenever it’s hinted that I’m a less-than desirable parent, I can’t help but reassure myself that the fact that my kids are as great as they are means I’m doing *something* right. But I’m also a pretty firm believer in nature over nurture.

Take Jes and Am for instance. They’re spawned from the same gene pool, only one year apart, raised by the same person, with identical rules, in identical environments, and up until the last year and a half, interacted with the same peer group, same teachers, same communities. Yet, they are polar opposites in personality, temperament, interests, goals, intelligence, moods.. you name it. Two strangers from opposite sides of the world couldn’t be more different than my two daughters.

How could that be attributed to anything other than nature? I believe that people are born with pre-set traits, and nurturing does nothing more than build on them.

Same with myself. If I was kinky because of nurturing, or because of my environment, why do I dip into these incredibly UN-kinky times? If my propensity to kink *isn’t* based upon a chemical or hormone that my body produces, then I would never experience these “lows”. If it were a result of my environment, I’d be steady because my desire for it wouldn’t be dependent upon whatever chemical it is that’s currently at a low dosage point.

There is a lot of speculation on how having an abusive childhood or an abusive past forces a person into kink. The theory is that it’s a continuation of abuse, a continuation of a “familiar comfort”. That one knows no other way to interact.

I don’t agree with that. Not entirely. If that were the case then ALL people into kink would be abuse victims, which is not true. All abuse victims would be drawn to kink, which is also not true. There are a certain amount of abuse victims in kink, just as there are a certain amount of abuse victims in ALL walks of life.

I used to work primarily with women, and occasionally we’d sit and gab and get on the subject of childhoods and pasts. A vast number of us had been abused in our pasts. A VAST number. I remember thinking to myself “wow. a huge number of abuse victims are drawn to healthcare careers!” But the truth is, there is simply a huge number of abuse victims, period. Everywhere.

The fact that I was abused in my past is no more consequential to who I am now, than is the fact that I’m a brunette with blue eyes. Or that I’m shorter than average. Or that I was a smoker. Or that I used to have a crush on Michael Jackson (way before he got really weird, mind you.) Point is, all of those things about me have shaped me in some ways, yes, but my hardwiring was determined at birth. I believe anyway.

Just as was my daughters’. I don’t know how much credit I can take for that.

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