and I've done almost eleven hours of school work.
I know Eric is proud and doing his best to keep me motivated.
I drove in the darkness, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed.
I ran upstairs and was shocked to see, the bed was not made. I flash backed....
Kids, work, school, volunteering, exercise; this girl always has her hands full
and things seemed extra busy for whatever reason. I came home from a late night
meeting and Eric met me at the top of the stairs.
"The bed is unmade, young lady," he said as he followed me into our room.
There, in the middle of the mattress, was a mound of sheets and blankets all wrapped up in each other. On the floor, lay a million pillows that usually rest in a neat little line along the headboard.
I could barely remember the previous two hours, let alone what had, or rather hadn't taken place that morning. I turned to acknowledge his observation just in time to see his hands undo his belt buckle and then pull, one loop after the other, the thick leather woven belt from his pants.
"What are you doing?!" I asked, stepping back against the door for protection.
Eric gestured toward the hope chest at the end of our bed; a place I've found myself kneeling before.
"For not making the bed?!" I exclaimed. "Are you kidding me?! Since when was that a punishable offense? We never talked about that. I just make the bed because I like it that way!"
Eric stood solid for a moment and then asked, "Are you done, Miss Mouthy? If so, I'd like to see your ass over the back of the bed please."
I was floored, and furious, and freaked out and ... five strokes in, feeling much more relaxed and in control.
We talked after a truly sound whipping and Eric enlightened me on a simple fact.
"You always make the bed, honey," he explained. "So anytime it's left a mess, I know you're overwhelmed and need a reset."
He's right. And here I lie, in an unmade bed, typing on a blog when what I really need, is a round with his belt.