Last year's summer spanking

I might not get any spankings till Christmas, but I still remember them. The memory about this one came up this morning, because the weather is so sticky today. Too warm, wet air, not all enjoyable but nicer than the cold, grey, dull weather we had before. It reminded me of last year.

Last year's summer had such days too, of course. And I thought I felt good, but had not recognized at all that I was strained. When hubby and I had arranged everything and wanted to leave, meeting family, he suddenly stopped me, right before I wanted to leave the house. "Wait, there is something we have to do before we can go." I was a little surprised and had no idea what this might be. Maybe I was a bit antsy, but I thought I did not show. I was wrong.

Let me just add one little detail. I was ready to leave the house, so this means clothes, hair and make-up were done and perfect. And I like that a lot, it helps me to feel good, and I don't like looking into a mirror when I look as if I had been chewed on and spit out.

So, hubby took my hand and led me back to the living-room. Meanwhile he informed me. He was caring, but in that moment it really sounded like being informed, which I found rather detached. I had found out afterwards that he had seen what I was like, but was not sure whether he should use the last chance before or the first one after our family visit. 

Well, I stood in the living-room before we started. And I was all spick and span. "I have seen that you are very tense and not yourself. I was not sure yesterday, but today it has become obvious. Before we go, you need to get rid of that." What does that mean? There were only two options that came to my mind. sex or spanking. We were in the living-room. Both things could happen here, but sex was more likely to happen in the bedroom or in the kitchen. So, I got a slightly hectic look and was scanning the room for any implements. I could not see any. Maybe spanking and sex? sounds neat, but I'd look so dissheveled afterwards and would have to start all over again. Oh, no, better afterwards? "Why now? We have to leave!" This was only half-hearted protest, more because the situation was so unexpected and I was so completely unprepared, that I was a little overwhelmed. "You need this now. Bend over." Oh, so this sounds like spanking now. He was too matter-of-fact. 

I was not even over his lap. Too bad, because I enjoy that. So, I bent over the sofa and felt my hair fall and dangle down. Actually no big deal, because I could fix that quickly. But it made me angry. I am not sure if it was the head down position or whatever, but in that position I could inwardly only agree, 'yes I am very tense and strained and can't get out of it at all.' But outwardly I wanted to protest and was angry. Hubby had brought the spatula, pulled my skirt up, knickers down and he started moderately, but at first, I could not let go. I was already crying lightly, and some of it made me angry again, because this would destroy my make-up completely. 

For me, applying some make-up without a hurry, is very relaxing. Usually this is a peaceful moment that I enjoy. But I did not enjoy knowing that this would be gone within seconds and I'd almost look like a drunk clown. Hubby went on, I felt the swats, my crying intensified and only after a while, I felt just how much I had to let go. And I did. I was bawling it all out. Hubby went on for a while, and I knew that the swats were not hard ones. He did not punish me at all. This was all for me, a real release and towards the end of it, I had understood that and felt better and better. When he stopped, he helped me up again and held me close. I was still crying,  sobbing, and when I looked at him, I could even smile again. I tried to say "Thank you" but this must have been incomprehensible. Hubby caressed me and only let me go after a good while, when he knew I was well. And I was. I felt fantastic. And looked into the mirror and was immediately frustrated again. My eyes were swollen from crying, make-up? Argh! So, after cooling my eyes I started my ritual all over again, still with red eyes. 

Hubby came in, he had called my parents, to explain our delay. And he had his devilish grin. "Yes, you know that she always needs ages in the bathroom. No, she still has to do her make-up, and then we'll start." What? Oh yes, thank you, now it is all my fault. I was shaking my head, waving my hands, signaling 'no!' but of course, it did not work. Hubby had the time of his life, watching my silent protest while he told my father that I had been so slow and wasn't done with the make-up yet.

Once I sat in the car, I felt every inch of my bottom. And I was smiling and felt great during the ride and throughout the day. I told hubby in the car, and he was happy that he had pushed the right button. 

Sunday morning hammock edition

So, we have this new hammock. Hubby has tested it and found it safe. What took him so long about it was that it was very comfortable and his pleasant wife brought him something to drink, the newspaper and even some icecream. Yes, testing a hammock for safety is hard work and takes a lot of time, doesn't it? But finally, early afternoon (Saturday), hubby had proclaimed it safe enough for me. And I couldn't wait to get into it. 

It definitely is safe. So, I do not fall out of it when I try to get in or out. No, the only problem that I had was when I was in it, I couldn't get out at all. It was too deep for me at first, and I felt almost as if I was immobilized. My attempt was good enough to make hubby laugh, because I was struggling like a beetle on the back. Since I was too deep down in it, the sides of the hammock came too high. Comfy, but a foolproof prison. I did not mind much at first, but after another ten minutes, I needed to get out, urgently. Hubby helped me, and once I was back, we put some cushions in and that was all it took. I could get out on my own, I could even sleep on the side, and I did.

Hubby woke me up early in the evening after two hours of uninterrupted sleep, so this one is going to be the place I'll be in often, I think. I could have slept longer, all in all, but I really do need to visit the bathroom a lot.

I don't know how long I can really use the hammock on my own, but just this summer would be great. It would not work for a whole night, because I am squeezed into it from the sides, if the cushions are not in the right spots, but it is lovely, sleeping in it has been easier than it has been for most days last week.

Here it is outside, in the garden, just the right place for a catnap :-)
(Picture problem: it seems that I have made it a high quality picture, so it loads really slowly, but you can see my swollen toes in detail :-)   )

Bonus: this hammock works on  Sundays !

Only a short quicky!

Oh my I know, misleading title again. I have been thinking so much about my second 'I quit' part that I forgot everything up to now. There is no problem, though, because of that, since I have at least managed laundry and cleaning for the weekend. 

The hammock has arrived. hubby had no time yet, so it is still in a little box. I can't wait to try it. To sleep. I think not sleeping wears me down. Slowly, very slowly. So, therefore I am hoping this will help. I guess that's the main reason why I did not publish more this week. Actually, my Sue and Martin part III is long done, but I can't push the button. I don't know exactly why, not enough drama? I'll find a way out of the problem. 

After 'I quit' I couldn't stop thinking back to what else happened in these years. I have written down (not published) a lot about it, and I could split it into different parts, because at the moment it is awfully long. It is also pretty negative, which I don't like. But there went so much wrong that it could not be different. So, apart from being a little too sleepy for a fantastic day in the sun, I really needed time to think about my friend Amy.

When I started blogging last year I would never have thought that I'd write about her. I was not comfortable with that thought. I know, sounds strange. When it comes to whether she deserves being written about, yes, absolutely, an encyclopedia about being a fabulous friend. She is the best, but I thought my blog would serve the purpose of a diary, but I enjoy writing so much that I can barely stop ...when I am not tired, that is. Recently the blog changed into a more pregnancy related journal (pregnancy is the biggest label), now I have written about something I would never have thought I would have the courage to put here at all. Strange. I think I need this weekend with hubby. In our new hammock, if possible. :-) From the picture that I saw, this could be one where I sink into. I might never be able to get out of it on my own. So, if you cannot find me, I am still stuck in the deepest folds of the hammock, snoring I hope.

We are in week 23 , by the way. I never forgot that I wanted to write it down, but simply didn't. Slowly, very slowly, some of the minor inconveniences grow, too. Just like baby. :-) This is what I enjoy most during my nights and also at other times. She is dancing. When I calm down, I feel her. So, that makes her an insomniac, too.

Somehow I have the feeling I should better put up my feet more often now, too, e.g. in a hammock ! :-) Today they were really too big. Well, I also stood a lot today, therefore, what else do I expect? Definitely not too much water in my feet. They looked a little too much like Godzilla's feet today.

I hope you all have a fantastic weekend with your loved ones! 

I'll tell you next week, whether hubby let me in, whether he considered the hammock safe enough for me.

‘I quit’

… but not blogging! This is only about an episode of my life where I did exactly that, I quit. I never wrote it down so far, but this lousy night without sleep gave me enough time to mull over it and since this happened when I was 22, I thought it is time to ‘Let it go’. LoL, this means sticky Frozen lyrics for another two days.

Since I have grown older, but not much wiser, I still cultivate a little of my dislike of certain literary theories, although I do indeed know that they can (!) be helpful in understanding and analysing literature.  … But I also do believe that often enough applying literary theories is overdone and more like a big heap of …. hogwash, meant to impress. Accordingly, if you work in this field of studies, or even worse, you like literary theories :-), feel free to vent in the comment section, but I want you to know that I did not mean you, and I don’t want to spread negative attitudes nor make you feel bad from reading here. Therefore, please stay, if you feel like it. I appreciate that you are here.

And, believe me, please, I do apologize to those who feel criticized. Do not feel that way for something I felt thirteen years ago. For me, this episode is like something I could watch on tv now. It is long past and over and I do not want you to be angry because of the feelings I had once or because of something I wrote. Nevertheless, it is about what frustrated me a lot, then.

---

“Hand in your paper on Kafka’s The Trial till Monday. Not more than eight pages!” I hate Kafka, by the way. Another one. I didn’t mind writing papers. I didn’t mind learning about new books at all, but what they taught here was dead. Where was the experience of the reader in their teaching? Oh yeah, could be found hidden somewhere in the depths of fancy words, especially deconstructionalism, but any other –ism would do. Just give it a name. Make it sound academic. Let me learn it. Give me a degree. I want to enter your sweat-mill.  Well, do I really want that?

By then, I hated university life. The students  who went to classes, more or less successful, did as told, received a well-meant, tolerant look, a kind of virtual pat on the shoulder, verbally, not physically, of course. Never be too physical in these academic circles. No hugs, ok, in public and with all those you do not know, but this was almost an antiseptic atmosphere. This was plastic life at its best. Know what? I hate plastic even more than Kafka.

Where is life in their theories? It frustrated me. Seeing what they did to words, chapters, books, frustrated me. It hurt. At this point I was convinced that they could not see the beauty of what they read and talked about. Was there anybody ever who cried while reading Wuthering Heights? If so, they never admitted it. Well I did, but only received some contemptuous smirks and one or two half whispered dismissive comments.  By then I had given up reading more than what I was supposed to read. What for?! Their theories did not work for me.

There was no joy left in reading. The pleasure was gone from it, for the most part. What I wanted to know was what did you enjoy about a story. What did the story do to you? Yes, and what made it work for you, or maybe why didn’t it work. Well, of course, that’s not enough for a campus.

I’d accept all answers, there couldn’t be anybody wrong by stating what they liked or disliked about a book. This is opinion. Supporting your opinion by citing Auerbach or Punter doesn’t make it better. On the contrary, if you could not stand your ground without using their names, your own opinion was maybe weak or not your own, just one you read about. Boring and deceiving. 

I had learned something which I found peculiar. Most of the students wanted to be individuals. Ok, that’s great, I like that, it is exciting, because it adds so much colour to the world. But I found it odd, that most were rather streamlined, I found them dull, because they wouldn’t stand up for themselves. There were too few true birds of paradise. And the predominant colour of the campus was grey. With that I do mean people.

Is this what I am looking for? No, absolutely not. Stay in this? Bend until I break? No way.

---

A few days later, Amy and I sat in our favourite bar. It was early evening, summertime, we were relaxed, enjoyed the benefits of happy hour and had already had more Pina Colada than we should have. Than I should have. Alcohol and I have never been friends. One drink and I was done for. That night, I had my third. I rarely did that, because I knew my body well enough to foresee what would follow.

Amy had asked me more than once that week what was wrong, but I did not answer. I couldn’t and just told her that I needed a little time to think about my studies. She understood and knew I’d come and talk when I was ready for it. This could be any time, any place.

So, with the warm weather, cheap drinks, good vibrations and some light-headed chit chat, we sat there and were relaxed. Amy was just being funny, we enjoyed ourselves, and as I held my glass and tried to look through the murky-white liquid in it, I let the bomb explode.

“I quit!”

Amy looked at me. Naturally, she didn’t understand. She knew that I did not like literature any longer. I focused on the wrong things when I was on the campus, e.g. the artificial arrogance of people who went into the basement to allow themselves to laugh at all, lest someone see them. Some male professors were jerks only. Some were lecherous, but they didn’t mean anything to me, so I did not care. The worst experiences were a few women who, as professors, behaved as if the world belonged to them. Well, in the department of literature that might have been true. They looked down on us. I hate that. They never acknowledged students as human beings. Students were pets that you could teach tricks, not more.

One seriously discussed rape as a topic in class. Ok, so be it, I don’t mind, because it is a common topic in literature. But she never even once considered that this topic has a real, painful meaning and that there are human beings behind such events, too. For her, it was an academic exercise. It was the ivory tower at its best. Oh, hey, wait, she invited all women to share their experience of being abused… . She makes me sick to this day. Hereby I officially admit that I have never before or after found a more prejudiced woman in my life. I think in her world, the poor men were the modern Eves, guilty of being who they are. I never bothered to talk more than the minimum to her, though, because being in one room with her caused physical reactions in me. Guess what; I did not finish this course and those lessons were a real waste of time for me. Guess once more: she felt seriously peeved because I did not allow myself to give her any kind of acknowledgement at all.

Let me explain that. I have no idea why, but if there was any female student at that time she considered interesting, it was me. I never knew her any closer, I never signaled anything into her direction, never said anything about myself, I would never have allowed her in my life, and I would never in my life have allowed her to touch me. But she was somehow desperate to be seen by me. (and made me feel like a field experiment, at times). You know, if I had the playfulness of a Domme (a dominant woman) in me, I would have had a perfect toy to play with, because I always had the feeling that she would go to some length to have me. But I guess what she actually wanted was a new favourite pet or toy, maybe only to be replaced later, by a younger one.

So, the absurd situation I found myself in, was, that I was disgusted by the one and only woman who coveted me so much that she tried to impress me, to draw me to her inner circle. TMI: I am not bisexual, but did not have any reservations either; besides, this was not about physical sex. From my side it was only about avoiding contact. Think about what you have as a hard limit. Multiply it by ten and imagine what it must be like to be with this. What would you feel? See my point? But she was only one among many reasons that had piled up.

“What do you mean? You don’t even have a boyfriend, or .. .do you?” She looked a bit glass-eyed and thoroughly disappointed as she considered whether I would have hidden any kind of important information from her. “Don’t be silly. You would be the first to know.” With a slurry voice I managed to add “You do know such things before I do.” I cheered to her with my cocktail but forgot to drink. Instead, I put down the glass again and gave Amy a kiss. “I love you”. Then I emptied my glass and suddenly realized that I had had too many Pina Coladas. “Gotta…” I said while I already went to the bathroom. Amy followed after a while, but only to see if I am well. “What do you mean, ‘you quit’?’ She stood behind me, as I inspected the toilet bowl closer than I had wanted to. She waited, and would do so until I answered. After I had cleaned myself we went out and were on our way home, through the streets. Amy gave me all the time I wanted, as I tried to find better words than ‘I quit’. But it was just that. “I won’t go on with this. I don’t like what they teach and how they teach.” 

Amy was close to a heart attack, because that would maybe mean the end of us living together, and we were the closest friends ever. “Do you seriously mean what you say?” I nodded. I am not as diplomatic as Amy is. In addition, she does not judge me. She might tell me off, when I pulled one of my stupid stunts, but judging? Never. “What made you come to this conclusion?” I listened and heard her unsaid question. ‘Do you quit because of your professor?’ She hugged me from the side, almost laughing. I grinned, which made me look like a complete lunatic, I think, because I was more than drunk. The two of us went through the streets arm in arm, because we needed each other’s support. Well, Amy less so. “Nope, she is not important to me. She is awful, but she is not in my life. I’d not let her in. No, it’s the studies. I don’t like the studies any longer. They feel wrong to me. I want to love what I do and I have lost it.” I managed another smile. “I don’t quit living with you, it’s only my studies.” Amy thought about it. She was only tipsy, compared to me. So, she saved me from crashing into a bike, held me upright and close, before she decided “You have to sleep now. You are as drunk as a skunk. Tomorrow I’ll wake you up and we’ll talk things through. We’ll find a way.” I nodded and rested my head on her shoulder and Amy led us home. There is one sentence in my life that somehow sounds innocent, but I really feel strongly about it. I hugged and caressed Amy before we entered the house “I owe you.” I think she has heard it again and again, in different situations, up to the present. It does not mean that I want to come even with her. Impossible; it means that I am fully aware of how much she did and does for me and I love her so much for that and hope to be there for her, too.  We have been through so much together (small and big catastrophes). She knows how I feel about her, and I know that I am so blessed because she is in my life.

The following morning I felt smashed to pieces… and deserved no better. “Owww” I howled half-silently into my blanket. My head almost shattered to pieces. I straightened up and regretted my bold movement bitterly. CRASH! “Wake up, sweety, breakfast is served!” Amy had opened the door noisily as she came in and served breakfast in bed. This was a quick breakfast, I only got Aspirin and water for the moment. She sat down on my bed, made herself comfy and fished for a roll which she conveniently dipped into apricot jam. “Honey, do you remember any of what happened last night?” I almost threw up. I thought I did, but now I was not sure. Was there anything wrong? “What do you mean? We went home?!” By now, my cheeks were bright red. She laughed at me. “Oh, no, don’t you worry now. We did go home and you spent all night here. No, do you remember what you said last night?” I let out most air, relieved. “Oh, yes, I want to quit!” I looked at her and Amy looked as fresh and well-rested as possible. I felt the opposite, and waited for a long while. Amy did not bother. She knows how I tick and that sometimes my thoughts take the slowest train. She ate and enjoyed her breakfast. Even so, she studied my face closely. As the Aspirin kicked in, I could finally talk comprehensibly and she let me talk. But the major point was that I had lost my love for the subject itself. The reasons that led to it were many smaller ones, but they added up. I could have solved some of the problems, but not all and did not want to. What for?!

Amy nodded. She had stopped eating a while ago and had listened closely. She is awesome and I could see her thinking. Of course, she knew that I would not have an alternative plan at hand. “Have you ever thought about going back to your original plans?” I had no idea what she might talk about, so I shrugged my shoulders. “What was your first idea when you had to decide about your career?” I really thought hard. But I had the feeling that she was not talking about being a mom. “What do you mean? You said it yourself last night, I do not even have a boyfriend. And it would have to be the right one, too.” Amy let herself fall completely onto my bed and couldn’t stop laughing. “Not that, silly. Think again. What was your other idea?” I thought hard and finally understood what she meant.

Favourite rock song edition

I don't know where to put it, this is another by-product of a sleepless night (but last night I slept well!) and everybody who is a real fan of rock music will probably just use the facepalm on me for this. I tried to come up with a list of my favourite rock songs, to make amends to the rock music community in Smacking Bottom. :-)

1. We are the Champions (Queen) We keep singing this song every week. And once baby has turned eighteen we will give her a tape with us parents singing it for her. Among all her friends. Maybe this is too embarrassing at that age. We'll better wait till her wedding, before we do that. :-)

2. Nothing else matters (Metallica) The perfect kitchen song.

3. You'll never walk alone (Liverpool fans) Odd, I know. I have only watched Liverpool play once (and they lost), but when all fans sing it, this song is marvelous. So, the atmosphere this creates is the actual reason why I enjoy this one and I do not even know if this song qualifies at all. But some of the Liverpool fans look very much like heavy metal fans. :-)

Besides, I am not a soccer fan at all, but teasing hubby by supporting Liverpool is great fun for me. He supports any London Club, if Arsenal does not play, but he never supports those who sing best. :-(

4. Stairway to Heaven (Led Zeppelin) I love the slow build-up. Reminds me of sex.

5. Belfast Child (Simple Minds) I do not know if they qualify as a rock band, but I thought they are not really doing pop music either.

6. Easy (Faith no more) Actually too good  to be number six. But since I do have trouble to fill the list up to ten, being on my list means this song has to be special.

7. Paint it black (Rolling Stones) Apart from Satisfaction, this is the only song of them that I like listening to. But Mick Jagger has a fascinating mouth, so, without sound, I could watch him for hours. And this was no cheap joke, I have done exactly that in the past. With a bag of popcorn in my hand. It beats some films I know :-)

8. Smells like Teen Spirit (Nirvana)  I like this one, but can't listen to it as often as to other songs.

9. Like a Rolling Stone (Bob Dylan) Neat, though I do actually like some cover versions better, because they are easier to understand. He always leaves the impression of having drunk too much.

10. Eleanor Rigby (Beatles) Are they rock? No idea, and surely not the leather and chains type, but I like some of their songs.

There might be more, but I can't think of any specific titles and won't ask hubby, because then he'd probably suggest that I expand the list by 200. 

Pregnant women=Hobbits

Monday morning, the beginning of a bright and fantastic day, after an absolutely awful night. Well, wait a moment, maybe not as awful as I thought. It was the usual sleepnessness. I stuck to the bed, only got up twice for hot milk and tea. Oh, and three more  times because I had had milk and tea. Well, but I did not sleep.

Of, course, I could go on rambling or whining about my little problems. I surely will, but not now. As I waited in the dark, I finally realized something new and it really struck me: pregnant women are the real hobbits! And I can prove it, Ha!

Yeah, you see, I really had much time last night, to think it through :-)

1. Shape

If you have some knowledge about hobbits, you know that the typical shape of hobbits is that of a buoy. You know them from the sea. So, go and have  a look at your pregnant wife, have a look at any pregnant woman. Once you can see that she is pregnant, you can see that around her belly area, she is getting bigger. Like a hobbit! Their belly area is always well-developed. Forget the Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit actors for a moment. Bilbo and Frodo are atypical examples for their species. They are more on the lean side in the movies. Maybe the movies would have been more authentic, if some pregnant women had played the Hobbit-heroes?

2. Food

Connected to the belly/bump question is the question of food. Hobbits have several meals every day. I think about seven was the rule. This is the ideal number of meals for pregnant women. The experts say seven smaller meals are the best. And they help avoiding some of the morning sickness that you might have, no matter whether it is morning, noon, evening or night.

The second fact concerning food is of course that Hobbits and pregnant women are virtually always hungry. And hobbits as well as pregnant women behave similarly when it comes to food, too. Both eat as if there is no tomorrow. If alone, they might just stuff the good things in. Food is not eaten then, it is devoured. If in company, both make sure that they get their fair share, which is about three times of what a non-pregnant  human being could possibly take.

3. Cuddle factor

The very visible point is, of course, that hobbits and pregnant women are considered cute. The hobbits described in the books have this quality, nice, round beings. Pregnant women have that quality so much, that virtually everybody feels attracted to them. As long as you are pregnant it is almost impossible to annoy anybody. You can be moody, have a fit, whatever you do, you will always receive benevolent and tolerant reactions. And you can see it in the eyes of the non-hobbits. You can read that line “She’s pregnant”. This, naturally, could be correctly translated into “She is a cute hobbit”. The worst that you might experience is that someone pats on your shoulder with so much tolerance that it hurts. Some might think that you have lost your marbles, the way you behave. But they will still be nice to you.

Be careful, though, since some are out to touch your bump. It is like touching cute little hobbits in general. Not every kind of touch is welcomed. In that case, call for help, scold them and leave.

Conclusion

Therefore, dear audience, I come to the only plausible conclusion, and repeat my initial statement: pregnant women are the real hobbits. So, what Tolkien wanted to write, was not an ordinary adventure story. His true, although admittedly hidden intention was to write an allegory on the long journey of women towards motherhood. Depending on the level of hormones, perception changes for pregnant women, too. Therefore, the more the level of hormones rises, the more women suffer. Accordingly, pregnancy might be conceived as extremely straining for those who suffer a real lot. While in labour, some might perceive pregnancy as negative.

Allegorically spoken, this negativity takes the form of wizards, e.g. Saruman, and of course, Sauron. My idea was that this is just another hidden clue to the role men play in impregnating women. They are wizards, and in some cases it seems like pure magic that a woman becomes pregnant at all. It is the men’s fault, and at times we might feel like ripping their heads of, but basically we are endlessly attracted to them. The magic spell is too strong to resist, which we could also see happening to Frodo, a hobbit, of course.

Case closed. Now give me food.

Disclaimer (my  first one)

If anybody feels offended by my reasoning, you have two options. When you are pregnant, blame your partner. When you are not pregnant but a woman, blame my insomnia. When you are a man and have read up to this line I apologize for comparing you to something negative, but according to my experience, chances might be higher that you just went and took some peanuts and enjoy yourself. … Unless you are a fantasy fiction fan. Then I am in trouble and apologize a second time, and come up with my favourite all time excuses: I am pregnant and suffer from sleepness nights and it is hubby’s fault. :-) Hope you are not really miffed, though.

Lawn mower madness

Warning! Venting ahead! 

What's wrong with mowing the lawn?! I just don't get it. No, not true, I get it. I was out this morning, doing some gardening. Real innocent gardening, in fantastic early summer weather. All was good.  I even put a hat on, got my bottle of water and had prepared the racing track to the loo. So, all was perfect. I went into our shed and saw the mower. It's one of those you  have to push. And this was awfully attractive. I saw it, I wanted it. ... And the lawn needed to be cut. Perfect. So, I got it out and started it without problems and cut the lawn. I was content. NO, I was happy. I do not know why, but I love that. Maybe because it is the loudest machine that I am allowed to use. Maybe there is some streak in me that wants to show that women can do work with machines other than Hank and the dishwasher? I have no idea, but I love mowing and I do not always get the chance.

We are not in the mountains, there are no hills and ups and downs in our garden. So, this was not really hard work. Getting up in the morning after a short night is harder to do than mowing, I think. So, I pushed this red monster of noise and was happy, and suddenly hubby was behind me, looking at me disapprovingly, stopping me, switching the poor mower off. I was really surprised. I had no idea that he'd be here this morning, and was definitely not prepared for being scolded by him.

Basically, it was the preggo+physical strain=forbidden scolding. I got that a  few times in the past, e.g. when I wanted to carry filled shopping bags into the house. Imagine, all pregnant singles would starve, if this really was such a hard work. Sorry. I apologize for being too ironic. I tried to 'discuss' things in this style, because the whole situation had really hit me by surprise. My point of view is that I can mow the lawn. It is not difficult. Hubby says this is not what I am allowed to. I think he was mad at me, because you have to start our mower with this cord that you have to pull. So this could be hard work. But it wasn't!

Well, my reaction was admittedly inappropriate. I was really pouting and backtalking and felt as if  a favourite toy was taken away. And I thought this was unfair. Maybe I still do, a little bit. 

We have come that far with baby. Hubby does not want to see me doing a.n.y.t.h.i.n.g. which could pose any risk to baby. He is right. And I did not take his fears into account. Maybe it looked like hard work, when I pushed the mower? All I know is that the machine was what I wanted to use this morning.

Did I think? Well, no. Hubby reminded me that we had talked more than once about these things and he does not want me to carry, push, drag or use anything heavy and especially not, if it could be a dangerous machine in itself (e.g. chainsaw + old tree + me). He is right, and this restriction doesn't exist without reason. Nevertheless, I am pretty frustrated at the moment. I am angry because I finally understood that, at least, I should have asked first. The thought never turned up. I am not joking when I say I had no thought about any safety regulation and rule that we follow here. 

I am also frustrated because I still feel as if something was taken away which I can handle. What vexes me most about it, is that at the same time, I can see clearly why hubby stopped me. He is definitely the last one who wants me to suffer and he is no spoilsport. He did it for baby and for me. 

Now I am really absolutely frustrated. Hubby had sent me in and stopped my gardening for the day. I am grounded for today. Not, because I have used the mower. He asked me, how I came up with that idea, in the first place. Last night we had talked about today's schedule and I wanted to be out in the garden. No talk about the mower then. That brilliant idea of mine only came when I saw the little red cutie in the shed. No, the real reason why I am grounded is my backtalk. And it is not because I tried to stand my ground, after all I thought I did something good. It was because I did not listen to what hubby was about and started backtalking as my way of defending, because the situation was out of hand for me. Hubby did not accuse me of anything, so there was no reason to defend, apart from my ego. :-(

Well, suddenly I have plenty of time inside, while outside is the best weather this week. Hubby will be back again in about two hours and I'll make amends. By now, after calming down  and venting here, I feel like a complete blockhead. You know, if I could get a spanking, this would be solved and peace would return immediately. Stress relief. Another possibility would of course be, to hold my thoughts together, but currently ....

We are going to discuss this again and this time I'll be more reasonable. And I'll apologize from the heart, because the only one who escalated everything was I and hubby has to know that I never wanted to cause him trouble, although I did and feel very sorry now for my childish reactions.

God and St. Francis Discussing Lawns

GOD: St. Francis, you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there in the USA? What happened to the dandelions, violets, thistle and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect, no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honeybees and flocks of songbirds.
I expected to see a vast garden of colors by now. But all I see are these green rectangles.
ST. FRANCIS: It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites.  They started calling your flowers weeds and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.
GOD: Grass? But it's so boring.  It's not colorful. It doesn't attract butterflies, birds and bees, only grubs and sod worms. It's temperamental with temperatures.  Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?
ST. FRANCIS: Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.
GOD: The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.
ST. FRANCIS: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it, sometimes twice a week.
GOD: They cut it? Do they then bale it like hay?
ST. FRANCIS: Not exactly Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.
GOD: They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?
ST. FRANCIS: No, sir -- just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.
GOD: Now, let me get this straight. They fertilize grass so it will grow. And when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?
ST. FRANCIS: Yes, sir.
GOD: These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.
ST. FRANCIS: You aren't going to believe this, Lord. When the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.
GOD: What nonsense. At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stoke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. Plus, as they rot, the leaves form compost to enhance the soil. It's a natural circle of life.
ST. FRANCIS: You'd better sit down, Lord. The Suburbanites have drawn a new circle. As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.
GOD: No. What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter and to keep the soil moist and loose?

 ♪

ST. FRANCIS: After throwing away the leaves, they go out and buy something which they call mulch. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.
GOD: And where do they get this mulch?
ST. FRANCIS: They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch.
GOD: Enough! I don't want to think about this anymore. St. Catherine, you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?
ST. CATHERINE: Dumb and Dumber, Lord. It's a real stupid movie about ...
GOD: Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story from St. Francis

(source:  http://www.guy-sports.com/humor/jokes/jokes_lawn.htm)

Metallica and cookies

So, this early morning (4.30am) yes, you guessed it, I couldn't sleep. I was awake, staring at the ceiling, hubby sleeping quietly next to me. At night baby had danced. I love that, and when I am in bed, I wait for that all the time to happen. So I did at 4.30, but I think baby was asleep. But I felt like I had had a bucket of coffee. Ha, if only! Well, it was no use, I had to get up and the decision was more about Oreos or no Oreos. I. do. not. like. them. But give me some, please. I had only one this morning. I think one of the reasons why I can't stand them (can I have another one, please?) is, that they are a bunch of chemicals and nothing else. They are like Lego. Pure plastic. (Could you give me one more, please?)

So, those Oreos go against anything that I connect with a real cookie. As a result, I looked at this edible Lego, disgusted, and stuffed it in. Wonderful. Hate you! My decision was clear. I made four baking trays full of vanilla crescent cookies. The smell! I think I never enjoyed this smell more than this morning. Usually I want those in winter, but at the moment I could keep bathing in them.

Hubby woke up earlier than I had anticipated, but that was my fault, because the smell of fresh cookies, real cookies, sweet, vanillaesque, soft and crunchy, was everywhere in the house. We had an excessive breakfast, with freshly baked cookies, cereals, fruit, bacon and ham. ... Hubby had coffee. I could only smell it, though. I think for Christmas I want a good girl spanking and my own package of coffee. 

Anyway. After breakfast and cleaning the kitchen, I went online and read a little. Roz had slightly objected, because in my last blog entry I had written that I want soft and calm songs for baby, and I contrasted that with rock music. And Roz is a fan of rock music, so she is definitely right to object. 

I must admit that my favourite rock songs are only few. But those I really enjoy listening to. And when I read Roz' comment, I still had cookies on my mind. So, I went back into the kitchen and started two more trays of cookies while listening to Nothing else matters (on repeat), as loud as possible. I am not a Metallica fan, otherwise, but this song is great. Play it loud!

It did not take long before hubby appeared again and he had watched me dancing and preparing my cookies for some time, before I even noticed that he was standing in the door. He enjoyed my show and did not stop me. Yes, he is lenient at the moment, but then again, he understands my Oreo problem, and he has known his little weirdo for so many years by now, that he had to learn a lot of serenity, just because he is with me. I love him. 

By now the second round of cookies is almost done, the music is still loud and I feel like I am stone deaf. Baby will love the song later on, She has heard it about twenty and more times this morning, and there is no escape. Hubby has left the house, maybe listening to the same song twenty times is too demanding? Don't know, but working in the kitchen with loud music feels good. 

I cannot throw away the Lego cookies, just in case, but my craving has left me this one choice, Oreos or vanilla crescents. I am saved, I have real cookies now. I'll make up for the noise I created throughout the house and will try really hard to serve hubby well, so that he feels cherished and loved.

And I hope you all have a lovely day

Week 22 – the reunion -Oreo-baby can hear me - post

We have made it to week 22 :-)

Let’s feast ! … On Oreos.  I did not like them before, but out of a sudden I do understand that there are some who create almost religion-like rituals about devouring them. And the worst, I somehow still don’t like them, but I want to eat them. Well, maybe I should go and eat the ash of cigarettes, like some others have the urge to do…. And there are no calories in that either. :-) Nah, I’ll just be good and eat one Oreo, and another, and one more. Suddenly there are none. I have never understood that before, until now. I hate them, but gimme more! (They are not even real cookies, are they?)

Baby hears you (so watch what you say!)

I snatched that line out of an email I got last night. And the suggestion behind this is, that it is good when I sing to her. So far baby has learned all the lyrics from Frozen, ‘Let it go' most of the time, because I had to sing it for days in the kitchen and elsewhere. It is sticky. Our baby is due in October, so ‘Do you want to build a snowman’ is almost appropriate, too. Let’s see. She knows some classical music, but I also spoiled her with Ellie Golding and some other pop. Of course, I played Alice Cooper and AC/DC …. Ha, gotcha. :-) I know that babies react to music once they can hear, and you can guess what I am waiting for now. I want her to dance, of course, and later, after birth, it is said that songs babies heard in utero have a more soothing effect on them than others. So, I’ll try more of the traditional children’s songs and soft and calming music. ... And definitely not Hardrock!

Reunion ... and an early bedtime

To have hubby back is awesome. When he came back, we celebrated our reunion. But I also knew that he was dead tired from a week where he had worked a lot and surely had not slept much. And I could see that. Hey, I was not selfish, hubby couldn’t sleep at first and he needed a few hours to adjust a little. There’s nothing wrong in doing the adjustment in bed, is it? As I have mentioned in my last post, he was definitely not out to punish me. Maybe he’d have fallen asleep half way through a possible lecture? I will never find out, but I am glad that we had it his way, because of his trust in me.

 Anyway. Our Monday evening idea was to go to a restaurant. After all, this will not happen too often when baby is there. Yes, the plan was a really good one and I couldn't wait for the evening to come. But first we had a very pleasant morning and after lunch more pleasant moments, though in the evening our plan evaporated. Hubby had fallen asleep on the sofa and I think it was best that way. As much as I would have loved to be out with hubby, he obviously needed a good night’s sleep. I could barely wake him up and tried successfully to bring him to bed. Usually it would be more like the other way round, but not this time. I loved to undress him and tug him in and Tuesday morning he got a late breakfast served in bed with all service possible. :-)

We had thought about trying the restaurant yesterday instead, but hubby still looked too tired, more so than Monday morning, after a long journey. Still, I think we used the time we had well, for talking and reconnecting. 

Now about the more unusual part: In the evening I asked(begged) hubby if I could decide his bedtime only once, because I cannot sleep early at the moment, since I am still a part-time insomniac, whereas he, on the other hand, looked as if he needed additional sleep and did not want to, because I had made it pretty obvious that I was so happy to have him back. 

Hubby agreed  and so I could send him to bed a little later than nine pm. I admittedly loved that. Usually I'd be the one whose bedtime is set by hubby. And sending him to bed early was nice because often enough I know that he does so much for me and I do not always have the means to do the same for him. OmG, this sounds weird now. What I mean is, I do all for hubby. But sometimes this is not enough and doing this little bit extra, a little more, is what I want to do.