Relieved

Our T's surgery went well today. No unexpected complications, and we were able to bring her home this afternoon.

She's resting pretty comfortably -- medicated and tired, but on her way to healing and health again.

We're tired, but very relieved and just happy to have her home here with us tonight...

swan

Interesting Question

A little while ago, I asked What's the Answer? I was musing about the appropriate answers to make when He asks me whether I'm "getting anything" out of making love, and the truthful answer is that my sexual responses have "gone south" since my surgery. There are other things that I get out of our love making, but earth-shaking orgasms just aren't part of the equation at this point... That's the truth.

Well, so many of you continue to support and encourage and cheer from the sidelines, and I am so very, very grateful -- you can't know...

And then there was this "interesting question" from jo, that set me to thinking in a different direction -- Could it be (just something that crossed my mind reading you) a reaction about something else than the surgery? You wrote often how disturbed you were about Tom searching for another submissive... Could it be disturbing enough to take you away from the relationship... Like disinvesting yourself from it in advance, because of the pain you expect and looked at as being 'replaced'?

That's the sort of direct and blunt question that I was initially inclined to duck, because there's hard stuff there. But, I've tried, as long as I've done this, to tackle the hard stuff, so let me see if I can talk my way through some of the bits that are attached to that...

The "truth" that I think lies here exposed is that I've had a year that has challenged and "disturbed" me on many levels.

The hysterectomy certainly has been a very large and real part of that. I was not nearly prepared for the enormity of the physical or emotional challenges that I would face following what was presented as a pretty straightforward "fix" to what had been very difficult "girl" issues that had plagued me for many years. To say that my doctor soft-pedaled the potential impacts of that "fix" would be a huge understatement. You've all read it -- in full, miserable detail...

But my world was rcked before all of that, and jo has got a piece of what that is about -- but it is more more complicated than I think her question implies...

The connection late last summer and into the early fall with "jewels" taught me several tough lessons:

• I learned what should have been obvious to one who claims the label of slave: "that I am not in control in this relationship." It just didn't matter that all my instincts were that there were real questionable "undercurrents" from the start, but my instincts weren't going to change the course of events.
• I learned that He loves me, but that even that fact won't sway Him from His direction. It may pain Him that a chosen direction causes me emotional pain, but He will leave me to deal with that if I insist on taking that on.
• I learned (again) that I am a person who has control issues. I've elected to cede control to Him, and that is good for me, but it is not always easy... When I am frightened, that becomes even harder.

It really didn't make anything better, when it was all over and done with, that my instincts were proven correct. The foundations had been rocked. The neat, tidy, little world we'd built together as a family -- that I'd come to understand -- had been blown wide open, and I was left feeling as if I'd dropped into metaphorical interpersonal freefall...

So, jo has it partly right -- there has been some part of me that pulled in and pulled away. I did react, and try to "protect" myself emotionally from some pretty intense emotional responses and reactions. That's, I think, a simple reality. It isn't one that I'm especially proud of.

Maybe He saw it happening. Maybe He believed it would just work itself out. Maybe He felt some of it was justified. Maybe, in all the swirl of everything else, it was simply too difficult to figure out what was what with me...

Whatever, the impact of the stew has been to create storms and struggles and hard places. No one ever said this was going to be easy. We've elected, both of us, to stay with it. He has not let me go. He has, sometimes gently, and sometimes more forcefully, exerted His ownership and His control. He has asserted His right to choose to relate as He will and where He will. Through it all, He has loved me, guided me, supported me, cared for me, insisted that I stay present, open, and honest.

I've learned. I've grown. I've struggled. This is the life I chose. The life I choose.

swan

In a New Place

Master does not engage in Punishment casually. Correction that is intended to bring my service into closer alignment withHis wishes happens whenever He feels something needs to be adjusted, and is often gentle and nurturing, but punishment for serious infractions is another matter altogether. It is a rare event, and when it occurs, it is intended to make a major change and leave a lasting impression.

This time was no exception. The attitudinal change He evoked was immediate and definitive. The impression was certainly lasting. I am ALMOST healed. The bruising that was left disspated farily quickly. Whip marks cut deep... The whole event sent me deep, emotionally. Not into darkness, but into quiet and still places, where I drew close to Him in ways I have not done for a very long time. I've found myself pulled back into His orbit again, steadied in the force of His energy. I have found a sense, once again, of who I am... a sense that has felt very dilute for a very long time.

It is difficult to slave when you lose your center -- when you are consumed by an elemental and unexplainable fear that simply will not go away. For many, many months, I've done all the nominally "right" things, and withheld the essential core of my being. I've "submitted," but with reluctance and without any true joy. The sheer delight in being His has been gone; there's been no "lightness" to this for me. When two people know each other as we do, that cannot be hidden. He has accepted what I've given, and been disappointed and saddened.

I don't think that the punishment was, in itself, the turning point; although perhaps the storm that precipitated it might have been part of that. Perhaps I needed to simply come to the peak of my own personal crisis of faith and be willing to lay all that ugliness and self-doubt and anger and bitterness at His feet, and in His lap (even the parts of it that were aimed at Him -- rightly or wrongly), in order to let it go enough to move on. Whatever, I am quieter in my mind, and lighter in my heart. The "issues" that have plagued me are NOT resolved, although "The Wizard" is working on it. I am a little bit hopeful, maybe...

In the meantime, there is this -- I went to Him yesterday, for the first time in a very long time, and asked (in a tiny, scared, little, bitty voice) if He might have just a few minutes in His very busy schedule for a bit of spanking... DEEP BREATH... It is always a risk to ask this sort of thing of Him. There is no controlling the outcome from that moment on. No asking for a "nice" spanking. No backing out. No changing my mind.

He was, I think, thrilled to oblige me. At least, my ass, feels as if that must have been the case. He went after it all with great enthusiasm, and I was able to ask for the things that help me cope in the beginning of a session: my collar, some restraints, the "fluffy" throw that gives me something to hold on to... It seemed He worked a lot with the 5-fingered tawse. That can be intense, but at least it is leather and not wood or lexan. I managed, after a bit to breathe some, and catch the rhythm, and at some point, I think I slipped into a good space and flew for a bit -- to a place where I haven't been in an awfully long time.

After that, I'm not entirely sure... Clearly, from what I can see, today, there was more... Even more than that, I feel good about that knowledge...

swan

What's the Answer?

We've settled into a sort of pattern these days. It comes from agreeing, tacitly, to not look too closely at the "THING" that continues to lurk in the corner that we try not to acknowledge. Our pattern, therefore is that we "play" sort of, and then, because that always works to get Master turned on, we fuck.

And that is a good thing. Sometimes, it is even a playful sort of thing. I'll not embarass Him by sharing all the secrets about how exactly that occurs or the delightful and joyful ways that He expresses the pleasure that He finds in that. It does give me a good deal of happiness, though to know that I am able to make Him so happy.

So, I was surprised, the other day, when He asked me, "you really don't get anything out of this, do you?" The question just caught me off guard, and I honestly didn't know what to say...

It's got to be obvious that I'm not achieving orgasm. Can we not get into THAT discussion? Please.
It isn't terrible. Not painful. I'm not disliking the activity, itself.
I'm glad that it is good for Him.
I wish something else were happening.
I'm trying not to be too hung up on that, one way or the other. Trying not to let the "not" part of that be an issue in the equation here, because there's nothing He or I can do about it...
I'm sad and disappointed and wistful, but life goes on. Right?

Not sure any of that was the "right" answer. Truthful, but maybe not the right way to respond. Sigh. Damn!

We'll go to the Sex Doctor again next week. He'll have his blood work back, and I guess maybe there'll be suggestions about what we do next. What the steps are to take to begin moving forward here. I feel like Dorothy, having watched the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion all get their goodies from the Wizard of Oz... I'm pretty sure there's nothing in that bag of tricks for me... It's going to take way more than a hot air balloon to "get me back to Kansas..."

Meanwhile, I find myself with late night fantasies that I cling to for some small bit of release -- faint and fleeting. Generally, it is an indulgence that I find myself engaging in at 3AM when the world is dark and still. The story in my head is quite definitely D/s and SM; quite surely about He and I, but one that I am afraid to think about too clearly, to even share out loud, because I am so wimpy these days that I know I'd never make it through what He'd do with my dark longings...

So, we go on. He spanks as He will. I hurt and fuck whenever. Life continues to swirl us along.

We have this day together. More than we once imagined we would be given.

swan

Real?

When my children were small, one of the favorite bedtime stories was The Velveteen Rabbit. I can't even begin to guess how many hours I spent with little ones curled in my lap, and at my side reading the story of how the toy made the journey to becoming real...

Sometimes, as we tear through our days, scrambling to make all the pieces fit, and keep it all together, we lose track of how "real" our life together is. We get so caught up in the things we do to keep our life secure and safe and viable, that we sometimes come to believe that we are what the world would tell us -- "not real." Because that is the message that quite often comes to a family that is "alternative," and other than the norm that is thrust on us all. Especially in the environment that is so pervasive right now, it is easy to only hear the message that tells families that aren't "cookie cutter" styled to match up with what the conservative, fundamentalists would tell us is the "right way" to do it.

So, it was a real joy, this last weekend, to visit with friends who also live as a poly family. They came and visited and brought their whole clan. They arrived at our doorsteps -- grownups and kiddos; came right in, and settled right in, and were as right with us as could possibly be. The whole bunch of us all went back and forth just like we always do. Everyone found whoever they were comfortable to talk with as they were comfortable... Chatter and laughter was everywhere, as were people of all ages and sizes. And when the whole gang gathered at the great big dinner table, it was as natural as could be. What a gift! For all of us to be together and to know that we were each and all real and right.

No fairies came to visit. No special magic. Just people loving and caring for each other. And it was REAL.

swan

Happy Anniversary, you Habbis-Dabble!

Well, who would have thunk it? We have made it thru' another year. Was it just 5 years ago, last night, that you looked at me.... in the moonlight....and pruny from being in the pool too long. I had just ripped your swimming trunks off .... ONE MORE TIME!!! And you said, "Wanna get married on Saturday?" Now mind you, Saturday was less than 48 hours away. I laughed and brushed him off. We had been engaged for awhile and not in any huge rush to the alter in our 40's/50's. He explained that there was a judge who was marrying people for free at the UC Law Library that Saturday. All we had to do was show up with a license and she would do the deed. We laughed over it and continued to float under the stars.

The following day, I get to work and about 10am my co-worker/manager says "So, you going to get married tomorrow?" I about fell out of my chair! It is just the 2 of us in a small office. I KNOW she hasn't had time to talk to Tom, but where did she get this? And she says she heard the story on the news coming to work on the radio and thought of us. What a cool idea. And I told her about the previous night at the pool. And I got to thinking..... She handed me the phone and said..."Call Tom." So I did. I said, "So, wanna get married tomorrow?" It was dead silent on the phone. HE has been worried that I would be missing out on the "big" wedding, even though I kept saying I didn't want to blow the cash. So he started making the calls to see if this was even "do-able", and VERY long story-short, it was. He went to downtown to get a copy of his D-I-V-O-R-C-E and then as a wedding gift my co-worker let me leave early ..with pay... so we could get to the other end of our county to get our license before they closed. We had a camera and had the sheriff at the metal detector take our picture with our license, since he was the only one still around when we got there. Then we rushed home to get ourselves ready for a wedding. I made a bouquet with 2 dozen white roses from Costco and lots of white ribbon from Michaels and had a bout. made for Tom at the local Krogers. I bought a sugar-free cake, berries, and champagne at Krogers for after the ceremony. And I made a "bucket-o-bait".

You see, I was serious about that bit about not being in any rush. I always told Tom that some Saturday morning I would get a wild burr and wake up and say "grab a hat". He would say " can't I get a shower?" And I would reply, "Nope...we're getting married." And I would drag him down to the river to the local Justice-of-the-Peace/Bait Salesman who would drag out the "little woman", Erleen, in her pink foam rollers and mu-mu, singing "Can I get a Witnessss...". He would say "You do? You Do? Y'all Done!" Then he would have each of us spit in our palms, spin around twice and shake hands and we would be married. And as a parting wedding gift we would get a bucket-o-bait.

And I made a bucket-o-bait for Tom as a wedding gift. I took sugar-free chocolate cookies and made "dirt" and sugar-free gummy worms and put them in a white take-out bucket. VOILA!

Soooooo on an EXTREMELY hot, very humid day in June... the 16th, to be precise.... I became Mrs. Tom. The wedding was short. We were the first ones there. Which in itself was the miracle of the day, because our Tom will be late to his funeral. But one of the best things about the wedding was the people afterwards. You see, Tom and I were there alone. We took no one with us. But it was like everyone who was in the building was family. Everyone congratulated us. Strangers hugged us and shooked our hands. We heard stories about other people's weddings many years past. And then, there was the behemoth of a man standing outside with a cigarette in each hand, smoking like it was his last hour, who was simply thrilled that Tom looked happy because then it just COULDN'T be TOO horrible, could it?

So, my habbis-dabble, my bee-bee, my darling man. My savior, the love of my life, the keeper of my heart. Here's to another year. Since each is better that the last, I cannot imagine what our 50th is going to be like!

Mores & Mores!
T

A Long Year -- Past

In a comment on the post on "Punishment," kaya asked if the whole week long process leading up to the "explosion" had met the goals that both of us had for it. I admit, I was a little taken off guard by the question. Honestly, in terms of the relationship, I'm not sure that having goals falls into my realm. If pleasing Him is a goal, then yes, but if somehow moving and changing things is what is meant by "goals," then that isn't the way things work. The direction of things really isn't mine to determine.

The question has had me thinking though, because something is definitely different as a result of that week, and the dramatic and decisive ending to it. We are definitely in a better place together, and I am in a far better space than I've been in for a very long time. So, I'm trying to figure out what exactly happened, because I've been at this way too long to be seduced by the "spanking fixes everything" theory.

I do believe that, although submissives and slaves may not actually have relationship "goals," as such, we most certainly have relationship "needs." Something about the "fix" that was prescribed in this case answered to a need that, as I ponder, feels like it has been waiting for a long time...

It feels, to me like I've been "in a different space" with our relationship for at least a year. It's not anyone's fault really. That sense in me has come about as the convergence of circumstances have carried all of us along on currents we simply could not control:

Always, at this time of the year, as the school year comes to a close, I go through a distinctive series of transitions. There are very few careers like teaching. The work is unique in many, many ways. Surely, one of those is the dichotomy of the time that teaching brings to life -- for almost ten months of each year, I am consumed by the work I do. Seven days a week, I teach. For most of the week days, and for a good part of the weekends I am "at work," whatever my physical location, some part of my thinking and my energy is engaged in and dedicated to the work of BEING teacher. Too, in the doing of that work, I am significantly in control, in charge, and the dominant force in my world. Although it is my nature and style to be gentle, respectful, and somewhat seductive in my approach to gaining my students' cooperation in my classes, there is no question about who is the controller in my classroom. Unlike other work environments, inside the typical classroom, the teacher is the sole adult presence. It is (as far as adult company is concerned) largely solitary work.

Then, the school year ends, suddenly one day each June, and I am plunged back into my "not teaching" life for a couple of months. The transition is always "interesting." It was interesting before I came to call myself "slave," and it is sometimes even more notable now.

I carry in memory a time when my son, talking with his then high school age buddies who were commenting on how cool it must be to have parents who were teachers, told them, "OH YEAH! They get three months off, and the other nine months, they have NO life!" I work really hard to make sure that my teaching doesn't take so much of me that I have "no life," but I also know that in order to do that work, I must give a very great deal of my "life" to it, and I know that I am given great latitude during the school year in support of that work. It is precisely because Master and T support me and value the work I do that it is possible for me to continue in doing the work that I love so.

However, at some level, it takes me out of "slave space" to a degree, as the year progresses. It is very difficult to maintain the level of control that is required to manage a busy and active classroom environment for so many hours each day, month after month -- and then remember to relinquish all the control at the threshold of the household each evening and every weekend. When so many lives and hearts and minds lie in one's hands each day, to put that aside is a tricky balance that I do not always successfully maintain as the year progresses and the limits are loosened...

So, school ends, and summer begins. A transition to different routines, different patterns, different time, and different boundaries and expectations. It always creates for me a bit of personal, emotional whiplash. It is both a time of joyful anticipation, but also a time of struggle as I give up the freedom and breadth of my "professional world, and settle into a much more narrowly focused, much more intimate, closely bound and "other" directed life for the summer.

Last summer, however, that shift did not happen in quite the usual way. Almost immediately, as the school year ended, we were gearing up for Master's impending knee replacement surgery. The preparations for that, in terms of our home, our hearts, and our entire intellectual, emotional, and spiritual lives, consumed all of the energy and attention from just about the last minute of the school year until the instant they wheeled Him into the operating room.

There simply was no time to give myself over into His care and protection as would normally have happened in the summertime most years. So I stayed "in charge" to a degree.

Then, He came home from the hospital, and I assumed the role of nurse, and chief physical therapist, and pharmacy technician, and all around step-and-fetch-it. Still, it was me "in charge." I kept track of how often the ice packs were changed, when the medications were administered, how many repetitions of each exercise we needed to get through (and how many times), when the pressure socks were put on and taken off, when the dressings were changed, when the nurses, PT's, etc. were supposed to come... I was seriously "in control" and on top of all the many details.

About halfway through all of that, I got the phone call from my principal telling me that there had been allegations from parents that I'd been "inappropriate" and not teaching effectively. So, began one of the most difficult and challenging years of my almost 15 years of teaching. I spent a good part of my summer contemplating my choices regarding my career, and trying to get my head around what to do when/if I returned to my classroom in the fall. It was painful and agonizing, and frightening.

And still, Master was in the midst of His own very intense and difficult and challenging and time consuming recovery process.

The fall came, school started, the knee continued to heal, we went on as we had been -- watchful and careful and serious... There were more issues: work and family, mostly.

Then my own health issues began to become increasingly more serious. Then His. Then T's.

Then the word came down that the school would close at the end of the year.

We went on. Day by day. The bills. The laundry. The family. The cars. The meals. The work. Life.

Sometimes we spanked. As often as we were able, we made love.

He kept me as close as He was able. I am sure of this. M/s takes work, just as any other kind of relationship dynamic does. When one takes on the care of another person, and this is the committment that a Master makes to a slave, it is a trememdous responsibility. It requires great energy, and great attention, and great effort. Even the most committed of Master's has only so much energy to give. There are limits to what a single human can do. The edges have been within sight for us in the last year.

As long as I've been part of the lifestyle, I've "listened in" on conversations among submissives about what they would do if their Dominants/Masters were not able to physically "do it" anymore. We haven't really been in that position in this passage, but we've struggled. It has been uphill a lot of the way. Not always easy or smooth. We've done it together. It has meant we've had to be patient with each other, and with ourselves. In ways we might never have anticipated in the beginning.

I have tried to be good. I have tried to be strong and brave and patient and calm. Sometimes I have actually been all those things. At other times, I have been terrified.

So, when I think about what feels different to me, having come through this last week, I feel that the summer has finally comel; that the sense of being pulled in close and held tight that I have been missing through all this last year -- has been fulfilled. I am no longer "in charge," and not "in control" of anything. When I lay down at night, and curl into His embrace, it is with the certain sure knowledge that He has me securely and surely anchored in a place where I can relax and settle. I breathe, and feel the muscles that have held so rigid for so long, begin to soften.

Perhaps, that is what He means when He says I feel like His swan when He holds me.

swan

A thing of beauty is a joy forever...

Alright. I'm not that much of a tennis fan.

And this has nothing at all to do with BDSM or any of the rest of what this Blog is about normally.

And, I'm old enough to have given birth to this youngster when I was almost too old to have given birth to this youngster.

And, I know I'm being treated for sexual dysfunction, up to and INCLUDING occasional issues with desire.

I'll grant you all of that.

BUT, as we gathered around our (admittedly late) Sunday morning breakfast table, and watched the last bit of the men's final match at the French Open Tennis Tournament, yesterday, I've got to tell you that the temperature rose significantly. It was surely not Himself who was causing the heat wave...

Is this not the most delightful man-cub? As my dear sister-heart puts it, this one is just dirty enough to play with. Indeed, indeed. I'm pretty sure, If he followed me home, I'd be begging to keep him.

There. For all of you who were wishing for something to replace the spider picture. Hope that does it for you.

swan

Punished

The week of prescribed paddlings ended, explosively. All the paddlings delivered as promised. When the time came for the last one, I was bitter, resentful, enraged, hurt. My anger boiled over and I exploded. Broke all the rules. Raged and stormed and flailed.

He simply held me and let the storm expend itself. When I was done and exhausted, the penalty was extracted in full. That there were antecedents for the outburst is not important. That the penalty has been paid is.

The marks and bruises will fade in time. The week is finished. I am calmer. We will go on.

swan

Eeeeeek!

Some people are afraid of monsters under the bed, or of terrorists, or of kidnappers. Some people are afraid of fire or heights or... T is afraid of snakes. For me, it is spiders. I am simply terrified of the critters. I know part of it is that my mother, as a strategy to protect us all from the black widow spiders that are common in Colorado, where I grew up, worked hard to instill a deep fear of all spiders in us as children. With me, it took.

I've come to a place, as an adult, where I can usually cope with the normal, run of the mill spider in the house. The sort of little, bitty spider that comes in, and is pretty clearly harmless. I know that there are those who believe that a house spider is maybe even sort of helpful, but the little ones have come to seem to me mostly a pest -- definately not a welcome guest.

To be sure, any spider that is the size of SPENDING CHANGE, and walking around in places (like the bathroom) where I am likely to be mostly naked, barefoot, and sleepy, is not going to be welcome. I am figuring such a beastie has just volunteered to be dead, not to put too fine a point on it.

So, this morning, when my half awake self was attacked in the bathroom by the spider from hell, I reacted calmly and reasonably like any other sane, sensible, mature adult person would. I screamed like was about to be murdered, and climbed up on the bathroom counter. Of course, I did. Master, still mostly asleep in the bedroom, attempted to come to my rescue, but the now terrified spider had already beat a hasty retreat under the shelf that holds the hand towels. He moved the shelf, but no spider appeared. Shrugging, Master trudged back to the bedroom. What did I expect?

Not at all reassured, I proceeded to try and get on with my morning preparations, while keeping a wary eye on the vicinity of the shelf, where I just KNEW the evil spider was lying in wait... Sure enough, it didn't take long for the monster to make its move. As soon as my pulse had sort of returned to something sort of normal, the spider came scampering out to terrorize me even further. I shrieked again and leapt up onto the edge of the tub.

This time, Master was more awake, and the spider was more bold. Spidey just stood there in the middle of the bathroom snarling at me as I danced back and forth on the edge of the tub, fussing and pleading for Master to come kill it. Which He did this time, mashing the little devil into a crumpled heap of arachnid arms and legs. The carcass was duly scooped up and flushed away, and my shaking, teary, mature, sensible, self was settled and soothed so that I could go on preparing for the day...

Eeeeeeek!

swan

Meter Stick

When you close a school, there is just a whole lot of stuff -- the kind of equipment and mess that accumulates in the business of teaching children to DO things. I've taught mathematics and science and social studies for years now, and so, sitting in the corner of my classroom, there was this prodigious collection of meter sticks and yard sticks. Most of them will travel all neatly bundled to my new school to continue life in another classroom, where other students will use them to measure assorted bits and pieces of their world (and more than likely conduct unauthorized mock battles whenever they believe they can get away with it).

However, one night a few weeks ago, as I was agitating away about all that needed doing to make this all occur, and ticking away my fussy little lists of things to do, I happened to mention the meter sticks... Instantly, Master latched onto the notion, like a dog with a bone, and insisted that He needed to have some meter sticks. I knew in that instant that I'd made a tactical error, but the die was cast. So, yesterday, as I packed and sorted and bundled and cleaned, I selected two suitable and sturdy meter sticks, and brought them home to Him.

He was thrilled, and immediately and enthusiastically applied the beastly things to my backside. Somewhere between a cane and a paddle is the realm of the meter stick. They have the whippiness of a cane with more heft and EDGES! I was sure it was cutting me with every stroke (it wasn't -- didn't). It just made me want to shriek, and was even worse because in my head was the knowledge that I'd brought it home myself. Nevermind that I had no real choice; the fact that I'd carried it home with my own hands made me furious.

And the meter stick is humiliating. Not a smoothly crafted, professionally made implement meant for spanking, but a simple measuring stick, dragged from my classroom hours before, and now sitting rudely in the corner of the bedroom for the sole purpose of inflicting pain on me. What was I thinking? Not thinking. Just obeying. Doing as I was told. Because I was told.

And there it sits. In broad daylight today. And there will undoubtably be meter sticks in my classrooms. Will they ever again look the same to me?

swan

Passages

While sue is processing the passage of her wolf cubs to high shcool, (described in the post which follows this) she will awaken in the morning to June 6, 2006. This is the day that commemorates 4 years of our being together. June 6 2002 she followed my directive and uprooted her life in Colorado, left her career there teaching in the school she'd attended as a girl, traveled to Ohio and became ours. T gained a sister heart. I gained a love that has filled my life with such huge joy.

What a four years it's been. We've experienced love, joy, travel, professional accomplishment, cutting, SM, BDSM conferences, freinds, losses, a knee replcaement, lasik surgery, cataract surgery, an an appendectomy, hysterectomy, two hernia repairs, (well one's to occur before the end of the month) new condo's, a fire in the new condo's, and on and on and on. Oh yes should I mention a Blog:) It has never been dull. It has been glorious, tedious, wonderful, challenging, and I could not imagine my/our life any other way. Nor would I want to.

I love you my spice:)

Mores & mores:)

Mine Always and All Ways:)

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

Special days

Today and tomorrow are overlayed not only with some professinally busy calendars, but with a number of important passages.

Tonight is swan's final graduation of her beloved wolf cubs.....her pack of eighth graders who came to her first in the fifth grade when she and took them to our state's capital and empowered them to testify before the House of Representatives Finance Committe regarding the state's budget for people with disabilities (Now that was a social studies project:)!! Then they became "hers" for the last three years. They arrived with a reputation. They were unteachable, incorridgeable: a whole class of "bad boys" and "bad girls." She would not hear of it. Childern are not in control in her world, and not learning and not growing and becoming well is simply forbidden. She began her magic where she always does. She taught them "Basic German Sheppard." Once they mastered, "come, go, sit, stay, stop, listen, be quiet, etc." the basics of life with her, she began to weave her web. Not only did everyone else seem to "know" these were bad kids, they too had internalizwed this "knowledge." Much of their first year together was spent unlearning that. She told them they were good, they were valuable, that she knew it and she would prove it to them. She told them they were good to each other........and insisted it would be true. She told them they could be civilized and they were. They were feral children. Children who had been failed by the adults in their lives. Children who had not had adults who would make them secure. Adults who let them be in control. There is nothing more frightening for a child than to not have adults in their life who control them and lead them to growth. Sue, for the last three years, has given them this gift. They are children who behave. They are children who have replaced horrible behavior with appropriate fun and learning. They are a class that has come to include some students who are going onto prestigious private high schools on full ride scholarships, having blown the top off of admissions tests. They are children who have become normal eighth graders. Thus, they are not children who are gushingly demonstrative of their affection for their adults. But they are graduating and they are so remarkably unlike what everyone expected of them four years ago. Everyone except my swan. They were anticipated to be a disaster. They are one of the most accomplished classes ever to leave that school.....the final graduating class to ever leave that school.

You, my beautiful swan, have given them back their youth. You are, for most of them, the only adult who has not failed them. When you tear up, as I know you will when they graduate tonight, feel the pride you so richly deserve for the gift you've given them, and know how wildly proud t and I are of you and of your huge gift for creating growth and health in children.

I love you so much:)

Mine always and all ways:)

Tom

Go confidently n the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

The swirling has had at me again. I know I need to settle down and simply trust that it will all be fine in time. I know I need to trust that Master has found us a really good doctor, and that the doctor will, with enough time, show me the path out of the darkness. I know.

And still I feel so uncertain; so frightened; so lost; and so terribly angry. That swirl of emotions makes for a wicked stew that boils over at the drop of a hat. It is particularly difficult for me to hang on and keep the lid on things when in session. I go into it with the resolve that I will keep my mouth shut, and simply be good, but the anger (especially the anger) is so close to the surface all the time, that a little pain pushes me right over the edge to rage, and then the monsters come banging out of the closet with a roar. Not good. Except that it gets the NEWS out where He can hear it I suppose.

Yesterday was a day where I just simmered from the earliest moment that my eyes opened through a day that seemed to be a series of frustrations strung together in a string. I just did not seem to be able to accomplish any of the things that I set out to do. I knew that I was feeling prickly, and tried to avoid contact as much as possible, seeking to minimize the potential for conflict. It was as if every square inch of me was covered in raw nerve endings... I wanted, but did not want -- I was purely a mess. Withdrawn and needy all at once.

Eventually, in the late afternoon, He pulled me into the bedroom for a spanking. I could feel the anger rising, but said nothing. Simply went along. But, He knows me really well. We've been together awhile. So, there were restraints. Probably a good thing. Even as He began with His hand, I could feel myself beginning to spin into the darkness; could tell that the tides were rising that would carry me into deep waters. I begged for Him to go slow, but He was impatient, wanting to know what we were waiting for. I couldn't tell Him. I didn't have any answer to give Him.

When the first cracks of the strap landed the anger exploded. I was immediately furious. I struggled against Him, against the restraints, against the strap. I shrieked, I swore, I declared that I hated Him, hated this, wanted to leave, wanted to simply go away, didn't want to do this... None of that had any effect at all, except to harden His determination to take me where He would.

Eventually, I broke, sobbing: "Why did you let them do this to me? Why did you let them do this to me? Why? Why? Why?

And: "You promised me it would be alright, and now it isn't ever going to be alright, and now you are looking for someone else, and I AM SO MAD AT YOU!"

Exhausted, shaken to my soul, terrified, horrified at the revelation of the secret I'd carried all these weeks, I lay weeping and gasping, unable to muster anymore energy. I was sure I'd ended my life in that moment.

He drew me to Him, held me tightly, rocked me until the sobs quieted, and then began to talk me through the sense of untangling the emotional knot that I'd gotten myself into these last weeks. He told me things I knew: that He'd believed what medical professionals had told us both -- that the outcome would be much better than what we've experienced with all of this; that He wished He'd understood sooner that my surgeon didn't understand the complexities of this or He'd have moved sooner to get me to another doctor; that He was convinced that this specialist WOULD find the answers -- given time; That we would get through this together, and be fine.

Then He backed up and reiterated things that I needed desperately to hear from Him: I am His; He's not looking for someone else; I'm not leaving Him; He won't hear that from me. His diagnosis: I am feeling disconnected and uncertain of our connection. I am not sure of Him. I am having trouble "sensing" His presence with me; His love for me; His place in my life; I need more regular reminding of our bond.

So... Out came the hairbrush paddle. For anyone who doesn't know this particular beast, the hairbrush paddle is a creation from The Toybag. It is solid oak, heavy, smooth, and absolutely unforgiving. It is, as its name implies, exactly like a hairbrush without any bristles. I hate it with a passion. The prescription for now is that I'll be paddled daily for a week along with corner time, and that this routine will keep me more clearly mindful of who I am and to whom I belong. He seems convinced that keeping me continually with a sore and bruised butt, and in constant anticipation of daily paddlings will limit the tendency to crank up into emotional hurricanes.

He knows me well, and I have no option but to bend to His will. I'm sure He is most likely right. Whatever, I think about it, He will take me through it, and it will take me a week closer to what comes next. At least I am no longer angry about a secret I cannot share.

swan

The Ending

Two more days.

There are only two more days with children, and then the school where I have taught for the last four years will close its doors forever. The last eighth grade class will graduate Monday night, and all the others will be gone on Tuesday afternoon. And... if you walked through our hallways, and you didn't know that -- you most likely would not be able to tell that this was our reality. The walls are still covered with the most vibrant displays of student art; science projects are on display here and there; computer generated reports on a wide variety of topics are posted in every nook and cranny; we've done programs and concerts and the usual end of the year field day and picnics and what not -- all just as if there were no FINAL END looming...

Final school days are always difficult for me. I find it hard to navigate the swirl of emotions that the ending of a school year brings: the exhaustion mingles with the relief and the exhileration and the sense of accomplishment and celebration to spin me into an emotional tumble that leaves me frequently teary-eyed and shaken. I am simply a feeler. It is how I do what I do. This year, all of that is magnified by the enormous realization that when I let these children go for the last time, there will be no coming back... because, as a teacher, that coming back is one of the big payoffs for the work that is done so much of the time on sheer faith...

Teaching is a work of heart. We plant and nurture, weed and water, and tend in metaphoric gardens where we hardly ever get to see the harvest. The growing happens for only tiny spaces of time where we actually get to see any of it. Almost all of the actual fruit of our labor occurs outside of our vision. Oh, it is true that I may get to see whether or not a student can perform some task well enough to "give it back" to me on an exam. They may achieve the expected levels of competency in terms of the content and curriculum. This is expected, and I'm darn good at delivering the content and achieving the outcomes. But I teach children, not just subjects. The "product" is a fully fledged, working, breathing, decent, healthy human person -- not a "widget." That takes lots of time; lots of hands; lots of hearts...

Every now and then, when I can stay in place for a bit, and they can grow for awhile, I get to see just a bit of what might come to pass--

This last week, at field day, I had the opportunity to spend a few minutes talking with J. She was an eighth grade student of mine last year. I've known her, and taught her since she was in the 5th grade. She's has diagnosed learning differences, an Individual Education Plan (IEP), and as long as I knew her, school was hard. She worked with a kind of diligence and dedication that is rare in one so young. Mathematics was something that was her strength, but when we got to the higher levels, and the topics became more abstract and "squirmier," she began to get a little angry with me by times. It was as if even her trusted and reliable math had suddenly turned on her. Still, she would hold me to the fire day after day; chasing me down with continual questions and the demand that I explain over and over and differently and better until she would get it somehow. She and I worked each other to a frazzle on more than one day. She never quit and neither did I. We kept on believing in each other, and on the night she graduated from the eighth grade, I was proud to give her the Math Achievement award. When she started high school, the counselors there placed her in what they termed "College Option" courses. This is a track for students that might go to college, but also may not. There is no real expectation that that will occur. She stayed in College Option math classes for her first semester, and was earning such high marks that she insisted that they move her up to "College Prep" level courses. With her parents backing, she won the day, and finished the year in College Prep mathematics. Not only did she move up a to the higher level classes, but she did so well there that she was able to be exempted from her end of the year exams due to her overall grades for the year. She was so proud when she told me... but not nearly as proud as I was of her -- for her learning, but even more for her confidence and ferocity and joy.

Thursday as we dismissed for the day and the eighth grade walked out the door waving goodbye for the last time. I felt the tears come. This is the group that has made me just crazy for the last few weeks. It is always true of 8th graders at the end of the school year. They get done before it is over with; become totally self-absorbed, nasty, ugly, ornery. By the time they leave, long before, we are ready to have them go. And yet, and yet, when they go, I weep. This group especially -- are my wolves. This group when they came into my care were so feral. So badly parented, mostly. So wild and so needy. I told them, day after day after day, that they were special, good, kind, better than anyone suspected. I told them that people had underestimated them, and that they were destined to do good things. I told them that I knew that they were not the worst class, but the best. I believed in them fiercely, until they finally, reluctantly, began to believe in themselves. When they leave us, it will be to head off to some of our city's finest schools with a whole passle of impressive scholaships and awards. They have made us proud. They are still a pretty feral bunch, but they are far from the worst. They are my wolves, but they are a beautiful bunch of young animals.

In two days, I will let go of M. He's another one that I've invested an awful lot of heart into. I first "met" M when he wasn't even really mine yet. At the time, he was a brand new 5th grader in our school, and I was the 7th grade homeroom teacher, with the room across the hall and just down a bit from his classroom. M has Asperger's, a disability that impacts the ability to interpret other people's body language and facial responses and emotions. Asperger's folks are not able to interact socially the way most of the rest of us do. They are often very bright, but can seem very odd to the rest of the world. But I raised my own Asperger's kid, so I had a bit of an inside track with M. Every afternoon, at dismissal time, as M would hang outside the door of the 5th grade room, I'd play a silly game with him about his being in charge of getting his teacher organized and ready to go (it's a long story -- you would have to have been there). The whole thing appealed to his weird sense of humor, and didn't really require much from him in terms of connecting to me. It became a way for me to engage him, gently. When M came to me as a student the following year, I already had a basis for continuing the relationship with him. He continued to rely on me for cues about how to interpret the increasingly complex social world of junior high. I'm really not sure how much math I've taught M -- he performs erratically depending on how he feels about connecting to the rest of us on any given day. This is the nature of his disability. I do know that when things get intense emotionally or socially, I can almost always be sure that I will see M's eyes searching for mine from across the room -- looking for affirmation and some kind of guidance. For a student who nearly always avoids direct eye contact, that single act of seeking contact is enormously intimate, and telling. He knows that I will give him a nod or a smile or a shake of the head that will let him know if he has got the situation figured out correctly -- if he is "doing the right thing." He always checks with me. For M, I worry. Who will be there for him in his new school? Who will he look to when he needs to check? Will he have enough of me in his head to be able to match up the situations and get the affirmations he needs? I want to believe he's ready to go on and do it by himself. I want to believe that the universe will send him someone who will know just exactly what he needs next... I need to trust that will happen... Because, ready or not, I have to let him go.

I have to let them all go, and I am so not ready.

I'd spend this weekend telling all their stories. If I could. I'd write to each and all and tell them how wonderfully and powerfully made they are. But that is selfish. I've left my mark. I've sown and tended. The work is done in this field. Time to move on.

swan

No Fairy

All my life, I've listened to stories of fairies and sometimes good witches, who would come into the lives of humans and wave their wands, or weave their spells, and bestow some gift or magic fix. I remember, as a child, an old illustrated anthology of fairy tales that I read and reread. I studied the gently colored illustrations, searching out the details that would somehow reveal the secrets of the elusive magic...

Sleeping Beauty had her fairy-bestowed blessings on the day of her birth. Cinderella had her fairy godmother to assure her entree to the ball. Even Dorothy in the land of Oz had Glinda the Good Witch to ease her way in the face of the forces of evil.

I've gotta tell you, I'd give plenty for just one halfway competent fairy on the job just now. Just one little winged sprite with a wand who could wave some magic spell into being and make the fix happen that would ease the path that lies ahead of me and us. Because, frankly, I am frustrated and terribly impatient with the progress (or more accurately lack of progress) being made on the sexual function/dysfunction front.

I know that there is great hope and great promise in working with this urologist/women's sexual health specialist. I know that I should be excited and thrilled with Master's having found him for me. I know that I need to simply calm down and be patient with the process for all of this. I know that it is going to take some very delicate and complex balancing and adjusting and probably intense "science."

But I'm not feeling patient.

Last weekend was difficult. At the outset especially. I wanted our new "stuff" to work miracles, and of course, it didn't. That frustrated me and made me angry. I want this fixed, and at some deep, wordless, illogical, totally needy level, I want Master to fix it.

That He does not have the magic, fairy wand that will make that happen "bends" me in ways that I know are completely unreasonable. And knowing that I am being unreasonable is not helping me to feel anymore reasonable.

I have to wait this out. I will.

But still....

swan