Coming soon to a blog near you

Nearly 2008 and we are still here! I apologize to everyone who has looked for us in the last little forever. We are still together, still happily married, still here. And with plans to continue writing shortly. Thanks to everyone who asked after us!

It's been a long lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely time

It has been a long time since I have posted anything here! Poor blog, you must have been lonely.

I have been caught up in a veritable whirlwind of chaos the last few weeks, by way of explanation for my absense. I have been editing a script for my theatre company and workshopping it with several actors, and this has meant putting in a lot of extra hours both at the theatre and at home hammering away at the keyboard turning Irish slang into something comprehensible to the average person. (Good lord, I've lived here forEVER and I still can't understand Trainspotting.) In the end, spending all that time writing has taken the fire from my fingertips when it came to writing here.

However, at last I am at a point where I can take a break, and this means I have returned! (cue ticker tape parade)

There is some good news. Sitting on my rear end so much in the last few weeks has yielded some minor success in Operation Weight Gain. I am up two pounds since Daddy first told me I had to try to gain five, and that's up half a pound since my last weigh-in a week ago. So, there are some benefits to being overworked and too tired to exercise! Perhaps when I gain the other three my bra straps will stop slipping down my shoulders, haha.

In other news, I have managed to stay mostly out of trouble lately and have had no serious punishments since the last one I posted about. Serious, to me, is the kind of punishment where I end up bawling and having a sore bottom for a couple of days. Those kinds of punishments are for when I am disobedient, and a good thing about working so much is that I haven't had much time to find any real trouble.

Oh, I did get a small spanking a few days ago for leaving the back gate banging in the wind after promising to remember to shut it properly, but these kinds of punishments fall into the "mild" category and are more embarrassing than they are painful.

Strangely enough, managing to avoid severe punishments for a long time can have a negative effect on my little side. That is to say that my little side needs the security of regular discipline, even though I don't exactly want it. It leads to feeling a bit restless and irritable, longing for some time with Daddy as his little girl, even as I dread some of the things he does to get me to that place.

He knows this, of course. He knows the little girl inside me better than I do. And so it is time for another "Little Day" tomorrow. That means that when I wake up tomorrow I will be his baby all day until the next morning. I don't know what he has planned for the day but I have that feeling that comes from knowing what is likely to take place during the day.

There are so many parts of being his baby that are difficult for me. And yet, anticipating them leaves me tingly and filled with butterflies as if I was falling in love for the first time instead of contemplating spending a day with someone who I have known and been married to for years. Of course, being little means I won't be permitted to use my computer, but I will save details for the next time I post, with a promise to be back sooner next time.

PS: Note to self: why does that middle section refuse to change colours?

Sometimes my Daddy...

Sometimes my Daddy calls me "babygirl" in front of his brothers or in front of my friends.

Sometimes my Daddy cups my bottom in both his hands and whispers, "You belong to me."

Sometimes my Daddy makes me stand in line beside him at the store while he pays for new spanking implements.

Sometimes my Daddy gives me one swat on my bottom in public if he doesn't like my behaviour.

Sometimes my Daddy speaks to my friends on the phone when I've been sent to bed at 7:00pm and says matter-of-factly, "Anna is in bed right now. Shall I give her a message?"

Sometimes my Daddy tells me I have five minutes to finish my dinner or else I will be punished.

Sometimes my Daddy makes me stand in the corner while he decides whether to spank me or not.

Sometimes my Daddy holds my hand firmly in the shopping centre as if I am three and might dart away.

Sometimes my Daddy asks me, "Do you need a nap, young lady?"

Sometimes my Daddy takes my temperature in my bottom when he's worried I might be sick.

Sometimes my Daddy kisses me on the nose and sings me songs when he tucks me in at night.

Sometimes my Daddy asks me who is the most loved little girl in the world.

Always I answer in disbelief. Me.

Expounding on Whys and Wherefores

It's been fascinating to me to read Daddy's blog the last couple of days. Of course I am well acquainted with his own theories and beliefs about the lifestyle we have chosen because we talk about it all the time. But, what interested me especially was the comments and questions raised by other people who share some of the same interests.

Growing up, I worshipped my father. Honestly, in retrospect, I'm not entirely sure he deserved to be revered quite so much, but I do still have an enormous amount of respect for his intelligence and his patience and his calm demeanor. In fact, there are qualities that also drew me to my husband. However, there is one huge difference between my father and my husband and that is that my father was completely non-confrontational.

My mother was an extremely vocal and controlling parent. She micromanaged a lot of the behaviour of her kids and was very impatient and quick to anger. Discipline under my mother's hand was frightening and inconsistent and often unexpected. She often lashed out in anger both vocally and physically.

My father's response to this was to disappear quietly behind a newspaper and leave us to fight it out. As a child, I suppose, I adored him because he was the safe parent, predictable and calm and consistent. He never yelled and he never lost his temper. And yet, in his choice to keep a distance from the chaos, he also distanced himself from his children and in that way I never felt as close to him as I longed to be.

The need for a Daddy was strong in me, even as a child. I remember longing to be Daddied even back when I had my father - that is, not the sexual aspects of the type of submission I have with my husband, but I longed for a strong man to take care of me and make me safe.

As I grew older I became ashamed of this desire because it fit so poorly with everything I had been taught and believed about women's rights and equality and feminism and so forth. I hated the idea of being controlled by a man at the same time as I longed for it. I wrote off my own secret interests as something weird about me and didn't pursue them other than through imaginings.

By the time I left home (I was living between two homes, in Vancouver, Canada and Seattle, Washington) I was determined never to get married but instead to travel the world and be completely self-sufficient forever.

And then I met Daddy. I had never met a man like him. He acted like a father almost immediately, even without my invitation to do so. I learned later that he behaves this way with everyone. That is, being a Daddy isn't a role for him. He is simply built that way; he is charismatic and strong. People seem to turn to him for his opinion or decisions instinctually, even people who don't know him well, and people who don't know him in the context of Daddyhood. He chided me about smoking almost as soon as I met him, and not in a way I found irritating the way so many complainers did irritate me back in those (blissful) smoky days. Instead, he spoke to me like I had no choice but to obey him, as though I was already his girl. "Throw those away, honey, they aren't good for you. Here, give them to me." I was shocked by his bossiness and I was even more shocked at my own reaction, which was almost instantaneous obedience. It didn't take long for me to realise that who he is fits perfectly with the little-girl side of me.

At the same time, the adult side of me really rebelled at his assuming treatment of me. I really agonized over whether I wanted to keep seeing him after starting to realise what I was getting into. It's incredibly frightening to give control of oneself to another person, even temporarily, even just as an experiment, which is what I believed it was back then.

Instead, it grew deeper and before long I had abandoned all plans of ever leaving Ireland to continue my travels, and moved into his home with him. It took no time for him to lay down the rules of the house when I moved in. Though I always felt like an equal partner in adult respects (for example, he has never controlled me through money or home ownership or anything like that), there were other things in place to make it clear that if we were going to cohabitate, I would have to obey some of his rules. The rules had mostly to do with respecting myself, especially in the beginning, and he set about to break the smoking habit forever and also to change my flighty ways of skipping meals and paying bills at the last possible second and keeping my clothing in a pile on the floor beside my bed to roll into upon waking. Basically, his rules were focused at making my life, and therefore ME, more stable. He forced me to learn some organizational skills and to take better care of myself.

It was a real battle of the wills at first, and it's kind of a wonder to me that he didn't eventually toss me back out into the street when I was stubborn and rebelled against him so frequently. Instead, he stayed firm but also stayed calm, which is a true feat of patience, and guided me where he wanted me to go, with kindness but also with a firmness and resolution that was amazing. I could have left at any time, being as unconnected as I was at that time, but instead, I found that the feeling of knowing there was someone at home waiting for me who would demand to know what I ate that day and whether I remembered to make a dentist appointment was unbelievably comforting.

I got punished a lot in those days. I mean a LOT! Some weeks I got spankings every day, sometimes even two or three times a day. I was so stubborn and I simply didn't believe that he was going to be able to stay attentive enough to catch everything I did wrong. I couldn't have been more wrong. He never forgot a thing. In fact, in those days he kept a written record of what was happening to ensure nothing was overlooked. He would write down the things I was expected to do, what the consequence would be if I didn't, what punishments I had already received, how many times I had broken this rule in the past, etc., etc., etc.. It was impossible to get away with anything!

It still is, truthfully, though the recordkeeping is no longer necessary since I try a lot harder to obey him now. He has an astonishingly long memory. (I was shocked when he told me I had forgotten my phone twelve times. How on EARTH could he know that without writing it down?!)

Nowadays, things here are pretty peaceful. Like he said, I have those times when the scary childhood insecurities and doubts creep in, but having his constant reassurance and approval keeps it under control most of the time.

Reliving old scenarios that remind me of childhood can be frightening because it reminds me of how things used to be, where I would be screamed at and sworn at and beaten. But, when I get into trouble with my Daddy things are different. He never raises his voice to me, he never curses, and his spankings are always controlled and safe even when they hurt a lot. It's like taking a sad story and putting a new happier ending on it. It doesn't fix what happened before but it makes it easier to live with. I love you Daddy.

No Sweeter Punishment

Last night when Daddy and I were snuggling he suddenly asked me if I was losing weight. I was startled because I certainly hadn't been trying to lose weight. As it is, I have a figure that resembles a twelve year old boy more than an woman in her thirties, so losing weight isn't on my list of things to do. (Trust me, I have enough other imperfections!)

Anyway, I have a very physically active job (acting) and I also like to jog so I do have to make sure I eat well. Fortunately for me, I also enjoy eating. :) I told Daddy I didn't know if I'd lost weight, and told him the truth, that I wasn't trying to.

He made me come with him to the washroom and he took off all my clothes and made me stand on the scale. Well, it turned out he was right (as usual) and I had lost seven pounds since the last time he weighed me which was in January. He wasn't really very happy about me losing weight because he doesn't want me to get run down.

So, I got a punishment. The best kind of punishment ever. Daddy said I wasn't allowed to go jogging last night and instead, after dinner, we went to a Thai restaurant and had coffee and an incredible ice cream desert that was served inside a lemon rind. I had to eat it all. Poor me! :)

It was a fun night and we had a nice time talking and laughing. The only bad part was that Daddy said he's going to weigh me more often and that I am supposed to try and gain back at least five pounds in the next few months. The bad part is that if I don't do it on my own he said he make me drink Carnation Instant Breakfast as an extra meal until I do. Yuck. I HATE those things. Fortunately, trying to eat more isn't much of a hardship so I will do my best to get back to fighting weight as fast as I can.

The Next Step

Yesterday was a "Little Day", a special kind of day that my Daddy invented for when I get too grownuppish to help me get back to being his little girl. Little Days are emotionally intense for me, and are a strange mix of frustration and humiliation combined with absolute joy.

The day began with being diapered, one of the first and most difficult aspects of enforced little time. The last diapers he bought for me have a patchwork quilt pattern around the waistband of pink bunnies on a yellow and blue background. Somehow the cuteness of these makes it harder, almost, than the regular white ones he often uses.

Then it was breakfast time and time for another huge frustration. I am not, when I am little, permitted to eat adult food or drink adult drinks. That means no coffee. Missing my morning coffee makes me want to pack and suitcase and leave him when he sits beside me at the kitchen table drinking his and spoonfeeding me scrambled eggs.

He made scrambled eggs for me, also not a big favourite, and tied the bib round my neck and spoonfed me slowly but steadily, something I also have a hard time with. It really is frustrating to have no control over how fast you are eating and what you are eating. But it is, in his philosophy, which we have discussed at length, an important aspect to the psychology of Little Days because it does so much to strip me of my independance to lose my control over what goes in my body. Much like diapering reduces me to feeling like a toddler with no control over that most basic aspect of my independance.

After the breakfast, he wiped my face with a cloth - this is another touch that I find difficult to bear but I did hold still for it. It's no wonder babies scream when their parents do this to them.

Oops, I have to go. I will finish this recollection in another entry shortly.

Blame it on the rain

The very next day after I last posted about how I'd managed to avoid being spanked lately was the day I last got myself into trouble. It was Friday afternoon and I had the afternoon off work and had promised Daddy to do a few round-the-house tasks that have needed doing for awhile and been neglected in our busy-ness. The first was to pull the Christmas lights down from around the front door, a job we are embarrassingly late attending to. I was also supposed to go and get some groceries for dinner that night as the fridge had become Hubbard's Cupboard bare. The last thing was that I was supposed to put the towels and sheets in the washing machine and start it running. All told, these jobs would have taken me less than two hours to complete, but I just didn't do it. When I first thought about going to the food store it was raining outside and I thought to myself that I would wait an hour and go after the rain let up. That's when I started playing around on the computer.

Usually the computer is not much of a distraction for me. Because of the time difference between me and most of my online friends, it is not usually possible for me to participate in live chat, so I communicate mostly through email. However, on Friday afternoon, I found Daddy's Baby online, a girl I have often spoken with through email but have never been able to talk with live. I was so excited to chat with her having often shared our thoughts and stories via email that I completely lost track of time and didn't get one thing started that I was supposed to have done. I didn't even realise how much time had passed until I heard Daddy's key in the door.

He came inside looking cheerful and asked me what I'd decided upon for dinner. (Usually Daddy does most of the cooking because he's better at it.) I was crestfallen, and I knew I was going to get it. I hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear that I'd not been shopping. He was concerned at first and asked me if I was feeling alright. I felt tempted to fib and grab onto that excuse, but honesty won out (as well as the dread of the thermometer he always brings out when I am sick) and I haltingly confessed what had happened. When he heard the whole story he wasn't very happy with me and told me to go and shut down my computer immediately and then go to the bedroom. I typed out a shamefaced goodbye to my friend and did as I was told.

Downstairs, I heard Daddy rummaging, trying to find something in the cupboards to create some semblance of a meal. I longed to go downstairs to him and help and try to make amends, but I know better than to leave when I've been sent to the room. After awhile he appeared in the doorway and told me that it was time to eat and that we would have a little talk after supper. I followed him to the kitchen and let him spoon dinner onto my plate. I bit my tongue and said nothing about the canned yellow beans (horrid!), knowing full well that we wouldn't be eating them if I had done what I was supposed to. I ate them wordlessly, and the rest of the meal, even though I wanted to not eat a bite.

After we'd finished a very quiet, tense meal, Daddy said, "Go upstairs please and wait for me." I went, and left him to clear the dishes. Again, I wanted desperately to try and win his favour by doing this job for him, but you don't argue or disobey at a time like that.

I sat on the bed nibbling my fingernails until he finally came into the room and sat down beside me. He brushed my hair back from my face and told me to look at him, please, and I did. He smiled at me and said, "Sweetie, I'm happy you got to talk to your friend. I'm just sorry you didn't remember to do the things you promised to do." I nodded. "Well, honey," he said, "You're not in terrible trouble here, it's a minor mistake, and you just need a little something to help you remember, don't you?" I blushed and nodded again, and looked down at his hands. He wasn't holding an implement, always a relief to see. It looked as though this spanking was going to be a handspanking, and in light of that fact there was no way I was going to ask to trade it for his two-stroke-cane offer.

"You're going to have a spanking tonight, Anna," he confirmed, and though I already knew this I felt the blush burn hotter on my face. "And you're going to leave that computer off for a week to help you remember it is a privilege." I nodded again and said, yes sir. I don't know where that yes sir comes from when I'm in trouble. He's never asked me to say it, and I've never called anyone else in my life "sir", but every time he speaks to me in that tone of voice, it just happens.

"Let's go then," he said, "Come here please."

I stood up and he moved over to the chair that sits in the corner of the room. I followed him there and stood in front of him. He undid my buttons and pulled my jeans down. "Here please." As directed, I leaned over his lap and gave him my hands. My face was burning. No matter how many times we go through this old ritual, it never fails to fill me with the embarrassment of being turned over his knee for a spanking.

He rested a hand on my bottom while he spoke. "Anna, what do you think I want you to learn today?"

"You want me to learn to keep my promises and not forget things because of the computer." I whispered this into his leg. It's so humiliating having a discussion in this position. There's only one thing that makes it worse, and that's what he did next, slowly lowering my knickers to mid-thigh.

"Daddy needs to be able to trust you, Anna," he said to my bottom.
"Yes sir."
"And what do I expect when you tell me you're going to do something?"
"You expect me to do it."
"That's right, darling. You make Daddy so proud of you most of the time. I need you to remember to keep your promises so I can trust you."
"Yes sir."
"So Daddy's going to have to do what, now, Anna?"
The blush deepened. "Give me a spanking."
"That's right honey, you're going to get spanking on your bare bottom. You acted like a little girl, forgetting your responsibilities, and now Daddy's going to treat you like one. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir."

With that, the spanking started. He doesn't give those mysterious "warm ups" I read about on spanking websites. When I am being punished, it hurts, and it hurts from the first spank to the last spank. My Daddy may have the hardest and the largest hands in the entire world - at least it feels that way when he's using them to spank me with them.

In between rounds of spanks, he stopped and touched my bottom and kept telling me that he loved me and wanted not to be disappointed in me. After the fourth round I started to cry, which is inevitable. I have never made it through one of Daddy's spankings without crying, and it usually has more to do with what he says than what he does. He talks to me throughout a spanking and reminds me constantly that at this time I am not a grown up who is free to do as I wish, but his little girl, accountable for my mistakes and bad decisions. By the end of the spanking I was bawling all over his pant legs and my bottom was sore and hot. He lifted me onto his lap and I cried against his chest while he comforted me.

After the tears had stopped and I rested, snuggled up on Daddy's lap, he asked me if I thought I could remember not to let the computer distract me from my chores in the future, and I assured him that I could. He put a hand under my chin and lifted my face to meet his eyes. "Good girl," he said. "There are other ways I may employ to help you remember in the future if this should happen again."

I blushed again, knowing this was likely a reference to some other sorts of painfully embarrassing reminders that he likes to use and shook my head. "No, I promise I'll remember."

"Good girl," he said again.

After a snuggle in front of the tele for a hour, Daddy gave me my bath and then tucked me into bed. It was only nine o'clock but I was exhausted. Spankings work on me just like warm milk! I was fast asleep in minutes.