More Time Lost

Where has time gone?

I do not know if anyone is still reading. I would not blame them if they stopped checking on my writing. I suppose my thought to be if I have nothing interesting to say then it makes no sense to write. In that case it is most true if I am not afforded time to write for pleasure.

I was very down after our visit to the home land. It gives me distress and brings up many bad memories that I would like to forget. DH says that remembering is good, even if it is painful, but I do not always agree. How else can we break free completely?

We must remember where we came from so we can always remember why we strive to be different. I feel we have achieved that difference in most ways. Our children do not do without and neither do we. They do not have to leave school because it means the difference between family survival or wasting good daylight on something that they will never have any hope of achieving. That was the lie, and it still makes me angry and hurt that so many of my loved ones were caught up in it. As a result, they live in that cycle still.

I do not wish to drone on about such things. I must let it go.

Sometimes I feel that DH’s stern application of his strap helps to alleviate this obsession. That is what he says it is. And he says it is not good for me.

Do I agree? I think I might.

In other news, I have just ordered new spring and summer clothing for the children. This includes several pairs of shoes. The man who claims I am obsessed sees no reason for the children to have more than one pair, once a year. That is what we had to grow up with. I think it ironic that he implements some of what we knew, while I worry about the children being subject to what we were. It can be a funny dichotomy. He is obsessed!! With too much shampoo, and too many clothes!

I hope everyone is doing well, if you still check my blog. Spring plantings are coming and now that the weather is warming up, we are starting to get ready for it. I hope I can stay out of trouble. I have a suspicion that when the clothing arrives, I will be in for a meeting with DH. 🙂

Yet, my children will look very nice for Easter!

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Lost Time

I can not believe it is a new year started already! Where does time go? Does anyone know?

I look back and see it has been a very long time since I posted on my blog. I am not a good blog mommy. If it were a child, it would be reported as neglected!

I can not imagine I am the only person who has been busy. Where do you find time to write during such hectic times as holidays? We have been very busy. All of the children were home. We also did travel to the homeland twice. That is more than I like to go back, but roots are deep and we have family who will not be with us forever. They do not often come to us, so we must go to them. it is such a burden, but such is love even though it is painful.

I do not have much to say in this moment. The house is finally quiet and I was browsing and remembered, oh yes I started a blog and it needs attention! I will have some stories to relay soon enough, I promise.

Right now, though, I must throw another log into the stove, for it is frigid here. This time of year is very depressing for me. I think I will need DH to help me through that in ways only he can.

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What is this thing called maintenance that I am reading about?

I think I may understand a little through reading other blogs. Is the spanking just because? Is it a reminder to be good? Does it convey a taste of what is to come if you should cross a line?

In a little ways it seems confusing and pointless. Then I read some say it helps to reset them when they start to feel they are slipping into a hole, and then I nod and think in my head, yes that makes sense too.

Do I have that right? I need to ponder more on it because I certainly feel myself falling more and more sometimes, like this time of year for instance.

I am worried and anxious because we are going to the homeland, as we call it, to see family. I get nervous about these visits and we do not go often. I do not like the reminder it brings of life before, and it makes my heart hurt to see people who I love to refuse themselves a better life, to be better selves. Then I feel guilty for my judgment. They should live how they choose. Yet, I see little choice in many ways, only stubbornness to release old ways and also ignorance to better ways.

So I feel anxiety, too. DH thinks it can be good for the children to see with their eyes what their lives could have been but I do not think they can understand the depths. It is one thing to see it on occasion, and another quite to live it everyday and not always know if you are going to eat, or if you will be warm in the cold night.

Perhaps this thing called maintenance can help alleviate the anxiety? Or do I have the use all wrong? I do admit I feel better after a spanking, more calm and more centered. Is that the goal?

Your thoughts are appreciated.

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Soap and Leather

I can’t even begin to describe what it’s been like around our farm since I last posted.  I’d almost forgotten I had a blog! Well, not really.  It was in the back of my mind, especially on the few nights that I had received discipline from DH.  I know this isn’t very submissive of me as a wife, but during those moments I was writing posts in my head as a distraction. How will I relay this story?  Will readers think he is being mean and unfair, or will they understand?  Am I the only one who distracts herself?  Or attempts to do so?

After having read other HoH and domestic discipline blogs, I feel that perhaps there will be understanding.  No, I am certain of it.  I believe the women will relate to me and the dear husbands will see my husband’s view.

This is just another side blogging issue, but I saw that comments were coming through without needing my approval, and I thought perhaps I had inadvertently changed it, and was quite happy about that.  I logged in today, however, for the first time in a couple of weeks and found another comment needing approval.  I do not get why some are going through and others not?

I suppose it does not matter.

We have not done anything the last few weeks but worked in the fields and then fall into bed at night.  Most nights, I gather.  I left off with a cliffhanger in my last post.  DH naturally followed up with what he said was coming, and it involved some unpleasant reminders.  I know that he is correct in what he says.  You can take the girl out of the hills, but you cannot take the hills out of the girl!

Rather, DH believes that he can.  He comes from those same hills, though, and I remind him that what we do comes from there as well.  He is not very open to that comparison, stating very pointedly (and accurately) that what he does is very different.  I am not subjugated. I am not held down to a place of simply being.  He is not the most important in the household, he tells me, although he is the head.  His role is providing for us and making sure that I, and the children as well, have what is needed to be the best we can be.  He takes pride in that provision, he tells me.

Disciplining is part of that.  Yes, I admit, it does work wonders and we have a wonderful relationship.  I adore this man even after all of these years, and it is clear to anyone who knows us that he adores me.

The discipline, however, we must get to it.  That is what you read for?

I hate to admit it, but it did involve a bar of soap.  I do not know how many people grew up with this as a form of punishment as a child when you would say something foul.  It was called washing your mouth out, to make it clean, I suppose.  Symbolically, of course.  DH uses this on occasion to drive the point home, especially when I have been using more expletives than he has patience for.

Later that night after the children were in bed asleep, he approached me in our bedroom as I was changing into my nightshirt.  The first thing he did was give me this bear hug, which is signature of him in our house.  He is known for his engulfing hugs, even with the children.  There is something about them that make you feel protected and cared for and loved.  He held me for a moment and kissed my head.  He smelled of the fields, and of hay, and of tobacco all rolled together.  I relate that to maleness, the man smell I call it.

He took my hand and sat down on the edge of our bed, which left me standing in front of him.

He told me again how much he disliked the language I used oftentimes.  He expressed how very much he disliked it when I did such in front of the children.  He also firmly told me that such disrespect aimed at him, again in front of the children especially, was intolerable.  He loves me, he said.  He loves my independence and spirit, but there must also be a respect and harmony.  It was his job to make sure everything remained smooth.

I wasn’t too shocked when he pulled me over his knee, lifted up my nightshirt, and pulled down my underpants.  I had a brief thought of rebellion, yet that dissipated with the first swat of his hand.  At first I was concerned with the noise. We rarely use the bedroom for discipline involving spanking, but will on occasion.  The children’s rooms are not too close, and our house is well-built and insulated.  It was late, so it was a certainty that they were sleeping soundly.

My husband’s hand falls heavily and fast, so it did not take much time for me to start wishing I had made better choices earlier in that day.  He let me up, and planted me straight in the corner.

I heard him milling around in the bathroom, and soon he called to me to join him there.  We have used soap before, but it’s not common.  I did, thought, figure this is where we were headed next.  I was being disciplined for my unruly mouth after all.  Lo and behold, there my sweet man stood with a new bar of soap in his hand, waving it at me as he lectured about shameful language.  He stated how offensive he personally found it, particularly in his wife when she directed it at him.  No voices raised; my DH does not do that.  His tone is certain and unwavering.  That alone prompts me to listen, and obey.  Not fear.  Never fear.  I have been deeply upset by the prospect of punishment before, but I have never once feared my husband or for my safety.  That is, I think, what makes this so much different than what I saw growing up.  If I were to adamantly say “NO!” (and I have, yet that is an entirely different tale), then he would not force me, or beat me into submission.  Never that man, who loves me more than  his own life.

He told me to open.  That is what he does.  He expects me to show my compliance and submission by obeying, not by him forcing onto me.  He would not shove the soap in my mouth; I would take it willingly.  This was very hard to do, and I hesitated.  He just stared at me with those piercing eyes, and I obeyed and opened and took that vile bar into my mouth.  For a few moments we just stood there, staring at one another.  It must have been a ridiculous looking scene.  I could feel the soap starting to react with my spit, and it began to burn my tongue while I concentrated on not swallowing.  I’m not certain how long he made me keep it in my mouth.  Perhaps five minutes?  Then he pulled it out gently and allowed me to spit once into the sink, but not rinse.  That was awful!

We went back into the bedroom, where he made me lie over pillows in the center of the bed.  I did so with that horrible taste still on my tongue.  I knew this routine.  The belt would come out again, and this time it would not be over my britches.

He lifted my nightshirt up gently.  He seemed to consider my underpants, yet finally pulled them down as well, to just below my bottom.  DH tries not to hit my thighs, although it is not unheard of for him to place a stroke or two there for an extra point made. He then took his belt out of the drawer and began to stripe my bottom with it.

It was too much, so I cried into the bed and tried to stay in place.  Soon he was finished and on the bed with me, soothing me, and rubbing my hair, my back, and my bottom.  It didn’t take long for me to finish, and he helped me up to go rinse out my mouth with water.  The taste doesn’t fully go away regardless of how many rinses, so I brushed my teeth as well.  That helped.  When I came back to the room, he was undressing for his shower.  I curled up under the blankets while he took his shower, and considered that he was of course correct in that I needed to try so much harder to curb the language.  Who wants their kids walking around saying the F-bomb as if it is perfectly okay?  Cursing is not such a big deal to me, and it wasn’t where I come from.  However, DH is correct in how it can make you look if you use it as part of your vocabulary.  He is correct in that I have tried so hard to have the life of education, and that such words can make you appear less educated.  Crude.  I don’t want that for me or my children.

After his shower, DH came and snuggled with me under the blankets.  He kissed my ear, caressed my belly, and told me that he wanted only for us to be our best selves, and to teach our kids to be their best selves.

So, I agree that I save those words for the plants and dead chickens that can’t hear me.


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Barn Discipline

I first want to thank everyone for commenting and showing support for a first time blogger. I really am simply overwhelmed with the response. I was not expecting it at all. I really thought who cares what I write!

I am still trying to figure out some things about wordpress. It is really amusing because I am adept at certain things on the computer, but not others. I cannot figure out how to keep the comments from needing my approval before posting! I am not able to log in regularly, so it bothers me that people comment and are not able to see their comments for awhile. I gather if it doesn’t worry anyone else, then it shouldn’t bother me, right? Just a side whine there. I am also figuring out how to add links to other blogs that I’ve found and like. As well as adding pictures. I am working on it as I find the time to investigate!

I am appreciative the sun is out today, finally.

The last several days have been pretty wet and wretched. The one thing I hate about farm work is that it doesn’t matter what the weather is, we still have things that need to be done outside. It can’t wait.

The other bad thing about dreary weather is its effect on mood.  Specifically, its effect on my mood.  This does not make for a enjoyable time for my husband when I get all grouchy and irritable, which in turn means that my unpleasantness becomes even more unpleasant in many forms.

I find it humorous how one person’s mood can ruin the whole house.  In particular, Mommy’s mood can ruin the atmosphere of the whole household. I uphold so many aspects of what we do daily that any kink thrown in due to illness or crabbiness can throw everyone else off-kilter.

I mentioned that we have five living children. Two of my children are older because I had them quite young.  The other three I had later in life. It’s a bit odd and as if we had two different families. My oldest is twenty-two, and she is off at a New York University and an advanced  senior. It was so hard to let her go. She was my first, and her twin brother was stillborn.  I always maintained that she would be a strong, autonomous woman without the same chains holding her down as her mother had. Yet you can imagine sending her off, a long way from home when she never had been away from home in her life. It was so hard on me and her, too. Both of us almost had breakdowns that first year!! She is already thinking of a graduate program. I am so proud of my  girl!!

My third child (or second living child, depending on how you view it), just started a community college nearby, and is still at home living. He is not as academically ambitious as his older sister. He’s more like his father such that he loves the outdoors, and the labor of farming. The boy has been riding tractors all his life. Can you blame him?

I waited to have my other three children. This means I still have young kids in the house. Ages 13, 9 and 6 to be exact.

DG always wanted a large family, and we haven’t closed the door on more.

We have a lot going on as you can tell. So when Mom decides that she is going to take a melt-down day, it doesn’t set well for everyone else.  This happened this past weekend.

It was raining and muddy and the two youngest were inside, getting on my last nerve. I decided on chicken and dumplings for dinner, and had caught and prepared a chicken earlier in the morning. This was not very fun to do on such a yuck day, because chickens can be a pain in the ass to catch. Our station for preparing chicken is in the barn where I can at least stay somewhat dry, however.( I remember my own grandmother doing it all outside and plucking feathers by hand while sitting on a stump.) We have an old sink with a hose run through it that we use. DH rigged it some with PVC piping, and it really makes for a good outdoor cleaning/butchering station much better than anything we ever had when I was young. I can usually complete the whole process in 20 minutes or less.

So anyway, I was out completing this task to have what I needed for dinner when one of the kids knocked over a barrel containing fermenting apple cider, and the mess spilled all over.

I was on a short fuse already. Although I had slept the night before, I didn’t feel like I slept at all. Momma Bear was not pleasant, and DH walked in during my rampage, calm as he could be.

What happened next can only be explained by temporary insanity.

“What’s all this?” he asked, looking at me and looking at the frightened, guilty child at his feet.

I don’t know what made me say it. Perhaps chicken innards on my hands?

“What the hell does it look like? What a stupid question! Can’t you see there is a mess of cider all over the goddamn floor?”

He stood there in stunned silence as I turned back to finishing my chicken. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I was possessed. “As if I don’t have enough to fucking do.”

It was just a second or so, but my arm was grabbed rather roughly and I was spun around to face flaming eyes. “What was that, Sammi? You realize the child is here?”

I glanced at my 6-year-old staring up at me, her hair a tangled mess because I hadn’t bothered to brush it yet that morning. Her eyes were a mix of emotion I couldn’t discern. Mostly bewildered. DH would never discipline me in front of the children ever, but it’s usually clear to them  Daddy takes charge. That he will and does do in front of them with me. Never in an abusive way, nothing like what I saw growing up but he does step up in front of them, and with them, too.

What was the big deal, we spilled cider all the time, among many things spilled in the process of what we do everyday.  As much as I also hated to admit it, the cursing was not really a shock to her. It’s one part of my roots that I have trouble shaking, especially when agitated. DH does not like the swearing and barely tolerates it. Although I push hard to make things better for our children so they don’t have to know what we knew growing up, I am also quite flippant about some things, and cursing in front of them is one. I am ashamed to admit it, but it’s honest.

DH in this regard is not nearly as flippant as I am. He reserves his swearing for the tractors that refuse to run when plantings come in spring. Something as silly as spilt milk, or in this case, cider, he takes in stride.

He also does not like being spoken to in a way such as I had spoken to him at that moment.

He turned to our daughter and said one word, “Shoo.” And she scampered off towards the house, as I was watching from the barn window. Then he turned back to me. “You need to wash your hands.”

Still defiant, I said, “But I am not finished, You want dinner tonight, don’t you?”

In his quiet way, he nodded, and simply said, “I’ll wait. Looks like you’re almost done anyway. Finish up and come find me. I will be out checking the pumpkins that the kids planted so I will be nearby.”

It was a quiet command, and then he turned and left.

I was almost complete, so I took my time removing the viscera with my hands, scraping and squeezing to relieve tension.

Here is another side thought: Although I was pretty pissed off knowing I was in for it, as I had my hand inside the chicken I had a brief visual of fisting. Isn’t that cracked, as it is something I would never do! I guess I’d seen too many untamed images while looking for blogs about discipline and checking out interactive site links.

I quietly finished up the chicken and bagged it, then decided for the moment to ignore the gut bucket. I usually take the gut bucket out into the woods on the 4-wheeler and toss them for the wild animals to feast on.

I washed my hands well and then slowly made my way out to the small pumpkin patch the kids had created, where I saw him crouching and inspecting a particularly deformed pumpkin.

“I’m here.” I announced.

He didn’t even look up, and said, “I don’t think we can save some of these pumpkins. I knew that delaying the planting would do this. It’s just been too wet, besides, the fungus…..”

He then looked up, and then stood up. “You know what we need to do. Come to the large barn with me.”

We walked quietly up the lane to our other barn, which is further into the field. Sometimes we will go there to “have a talk” if the kids are home. The kids rarely come down to that barn unless they are helping with the tobacco. It’s harvest for tobacco now, by the way. So when we entered the barn, there was a large flat bed trailer from the day before when DH and some workers had hauled in tobacco to hang for drying. It smelled wonderful. I have always loved the smell of freshly cut tobacco.

DH simply pointed to the trailer bed, and I bent. No overalls today. Could you believe this man actually had a belt on today?? How did he know he’d need it? Well, it came off and he gave me ten very hard licks across the seat of my pants.

It wasn’t enough to make me truly cry out like I do with some spankings. It was a warning spanking, a reminder spanking. However, it was enough to make me feel contrite.

“Now,” he started while putting his belt back on. “I expect you to watch the language around the kids. You want to curse under your breath when no one is around, go right ahead. But you know my feeling on the matter with the kids, and it doesn’t seem like you care much about it.”

I shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Really?” he said. “Sammi, you are an example for these kids. You want them refined, so act like it. You can’t act in an unrefined manner and expect better for your children.”

He was right. He pulled me in for a hug.

“Later,” he whispered in my ear as he grabbed my still-tender bottom. “I will drive the point home some more. Now, go cook some chicken, woman!” and as I scampered off, he gave me a sharp smack on the rear with his large, meaty hand.

I love this man.

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Busy Time

I started the blog then was unable to come back to it again for awhile. Harvest is here, and that means we are busy getting ready to harvest our fall crops. Baling hay has one more time left and hopefully we will have enough to feed the cows and horses throughout the winter.

My husband is a hard worker, and I appreciate him so much. He is a simple man. In my opinion, simple men are the best. They work so hard and need only the basics. Me, though. I have come from very simple and meager means, but I have developed a desire for some of the nicer things in life. This doesn’t always mesh well between me and DH. He doesn’t understand why the kids need more than one pair of shoes, more than a few shirts and pants and socks and underwear. I find that I like variety, which is something we never had in our Appalachian roots. I had one dress. One. And it was handed down to me through two cousins and an older sister. Often we had one pair of shoes for the year and if we grew out of them, we had to squeeze our feet into them until the next school year. Shoes were the big thing come school time. And only the lucky ones got them. I knew many kids who did not have shoes. Eventually, a church from the city who brought clothing up to our area would provide many of us with coats and shoes, if we did not have them. I remember, it was like Christmas! They would show up with their big van and we would congregate around it. I remember hiding my shoes once, hoping to get another pair. A pair that did not have a hole in the side, and had not already been worn by several other people. My Daddy whipped me good for that, told me I was selfish. How dare I take a pair of shoes that someone else may desperately need, when I had a pair?

Momma was only able to do the wash once a week, if that. We had a well for water, and washing was done by hand. Most of my items of clothing had to be worn two or three times before it was due to be washed. We took baths on Sundays. I remember being ecstatic when it would rain, because it would mean that I could go outside and wash my hair an extra time. It was always so soft afterward when I did that.

Is it any wonder since we have more small conveniences that I didn’t have growing up, that I want my children to have it better? My kids take a bath every night. And we have a lot of kids! DH gets grumpy about the water bill, and the cost of shampoo. He mostly gets over it, though.

This area of convenience has been a slight source of contention between DH and me. He doesn’t see so much of a need for much change from how we grew up. I do. I’ve been to university, I have taught in schools, and I see that the way we lived before is not needed. We have more than we did then, and there is nothing wrong with using what is available to make our lives easier.

A convenience I have been spanked over –

Ebay. I love Ebay. Where we live, shopping malls and stores are not readily available. So I shop on Ebay. For everything. I buy many of the kids’ clothing online, and sometimes I admit, too much. I have been spanked for spending too much money on Ebay.

Christmas. He feels I spend too much at Christmas on the children. I am just joyful we are able. When I was a kid, we got toys from the same church that provided us clothing at school time. Often they were used, but in good shape. And we almost always got only one toy.

DH wants the kids to have something better than we did, on some level. But he is grumpy. He is a man. He works in the field all day, getting sweaty and grimy. Often he will wear the same pair of overalls 5 days in a row. When one of the children has 4 dresses, 3 pair of shoes, tons of shirts and bottoms, then he has a hard time understanding why all of that is needed. He does try, and accept that it’s important. He just doesn’t always like the bill when it comes, and often, well, yes, I could have spent a little less!!

But I think it’s worth a spanking for clothes!


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Hello world!

Hello all, I don’t know why I decided to start a blog but I did. Bear with me, as I am new to this. Thankfully I can be a quick learner, with patience!

It’s not like my life isn’t busy enough, with 5 kids and a farm that needs constant attention! And then there is my husband too who is a wonderful, gentle man who is a great provider for our family. He is a hard worker and has high expectations of himself, and his family. It has allowed us a closeness as a team like I had never known could exist.

Twenty five years ago, I said, “I do.” to this man, and vowed to submit, willingly. I was sixteen, and knew nothing about how to make a marriage work. He was twenty one and knew just as much as I. Coming from Appalachia, much of what I witnessed growing up was poverty, lack of education and the bottle as a coping mechanism. A high school drop-out, I was on a fast track to the same life. This was something that hit me like a ton of bricks upside my head one morning at age 19 after I had given birth to my twins, one who was stillborn. The grief and depression just hit me, along with a realization of “this is our life”. I didn’t want it to be. I knew there was more, and wanted more.

At 21, when I had my 3rd baby, I decided that this would not be “it” for me. I sat down with my husband, who is so sweet and gentle and strives to give me what I want and need. I told him I wanted to finish school. He nodded. I told him I endeavored to go even further than that, and go to university. He hesitated, and nodded again. I told him I wanted to move, from our home, our family, from all we had known. Even in my ignorance of so much, I knew we could not get out of that cycle without removing ourselves completely.

It was heartbreaking to leave and never look back. It has been a very, very hard road to rise above what has been ingrained in us from  childhood. I studied hard, finished high school, and enrolled in a university. I was scared to death, feeling my roots forever stigmatized me as unable to reach the level I wanted to aspire to. But I did.

And my husband, my sweet, sweet husband made it all possible with his loving support, his unending encouragement, and guidance with a firm hand at times when I was ready to give up. He worked hard and built us a life on a farm. I worked hard and achieved my dream of being a teacher.

The one thing we did take away from Appalachia with us was the man-in-charge concept. However, unlike the alcohol induced hitting that goes on in what we knew, we adhere to something more protective and more loving, focused on guidance. I find I need his strength and his leadership, and oftentimes a trip over his knee. I only now realized there is a name for it: domestic discipline.

In his humility, my husband has sometimes said I should be leading him. He takes this from his lack of formal education, meaning I have had it and he hasn’t. Yet he is so wise in spite of it. Higher education is not what makes one a leader, or capable, or intelligent. I would not have my life any other way.

Thank you for reading. I hope to contribute more and network with others.


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