I spent the whole first day I was away from my family feeling both elated and like I was longing for my kids so much it ached. It was a funny feeling. I spent a lot of the plane rides thinking about baby names. Thinking about how my big kids are going to adapt. Thinking about how much I like the way Noah’s eyes look when he smiles.

I got up to Alaska and got settled in the house. I walked to the grocery store and bought a backpack full of food. If I had to walk to the store and I was shopping for a family… I’d need to go daily. It’s hard to carry enough food.

It’s really beautiful here. The woods are magnificent and the local flora and fauna are breathtaking. The colors are so vibrant and intense.

MY FRIEND’S HOUSE IS THE COOLEST HOUSE EVER. Ok, I like my house a lot. My house suits me and is perfect for how I’m living my life. I couldn’t live in this house. Too much is breakable. But every single thing in this house was selected for beauty. Even the fucking extension cords are neat and light up and fun. The furniture is gorgeous. There is art on every wall, window sill, cabinet, shelf, and hanging from the ceilings. The art is very different and yet it all goes together in a very magical-feeling way. This is a house full of pagans who take their witchery seriously and it feels magic.

My kids would break half of it in an hour. Maybe less time on a bad day. lol.

My kids asked me if it was ok for me to touch the art here since I’m not in a museum and I showed them around the art in the room I’m staying with and we talked about which pieces could be touched without destroying them (like the simple wood carving of a bear) vs the oil paintings or the delicate paper work or the fantastic wood/lacquer/veneer stuff…. Mostly… this isn’t stuff to touch. It’s stuff to see and enjoy and get the fuck away from.

My friend’s wife is a very neat lady. I will not disclose her profession, but I’ll say she’s a helper in the world and she takes it very seriously. She delivers facts and support with great force. I like that.

My friend that I’m visiting is such a good listener. He is good at that intense, deep listening where you are trying to hear the story and the story behind the story.  It’s nice to see him. The last time I saw him I was 6 months pregnant and running a bdsm convention. He definitely hasn’t met my kids.

I have interesting feelings about so many of my friends really not wanting to meet my kids. I know a lot of non-breeders. Some of my non-breeding friends like kids and some want to avoid children as if they might be contagious.

Thanks to the lovely grown ups who show up and treat my kids like people. I see you. I appreciate you. My kids appreciate you too.

Clearly these folks have a full life and don’t need children friends. They are full up on their friend-slots being full of grown ups.

It’s interesting being in a house of folks who do bdsm full time and professionally again. It took me multiple walk throughs of the house before I noticed how full of gear and equipment the house is. I looked right past the spanking bench and the piles of rope and the beautiful St Andrews Cross. I would have thought that I would be more paranoid about such things these days but… nope. The things in this house are selected with such an eye to beauty that even the bdsm equipment just seems lushly in the correct place.

Once upon a time I aspired to a life like this so much. But kids were more important to me. I think my Owner would have allowed me to have this kind of life. He would have always been a distant, non-supportive boyfriend. He didn’t want me to leave.

I wanted kids.

I’m so grateful for my kids. I don’t think I would have been physically capable of maintaining the interest in life it takes to stay alive if I had continued living for bdsm. It’s a great hobby. I like it. It’s fun.

It can’t be my life. I think it is awesome that it is my friend’s life. He is a fabulous teacher and he helps people connect with their bodies and their souls; I admire the work he is doing and I think it is truly spiritual work. I definitely don’t feel I am doing something more worthy with my life. He is a much bigger fish in a much bigger pond and he is changing the world.

I am learning how to feel loved.

It’s a different journey, is all. I’m really glad he is on the journey he’s on. I admire him. I learn so much from him.

I really appreciate that people allow me to learn from them. I am a better person because of the people in my life.

Random aside that may or may not make sense completely out of context and I don’t want to give context: It may not occur to you that I’m not worried about your ability to set boundaries. I know you can do that. You may not understand that if I asked for more and I hit more boundaries (because you appropriately and rightly need to have them) I will stop being able to ask for even what I ask for now. I will withdraw. Not to punish you. To punish myself. Because I asked for too much and I am bad. When I talk about relationships not being able to withstand the strain of more… I am often talking about myself. I ask for the absolute limit of “no” I can handle hearing. If I get more of it than I feel like I can carry… I have to pull back on the relationship hard and I have to convince myself to not be so involved. That’s me. I’m not saying that the blow ups would have to be about other people rejecting me.

I kind of pre-reject myself.

And now I’m crying. Luckily they sleep hella late.

I will take yet another detour into a different direction and say I’m pooping great. My body tends to be incredibly happy with how I eat when I’m traveling. It makes me wish I could duplicate this better at home.

At the grocery store I bought: 1/2 gallon of whole milk, 1/2 gallon of oj, a small piece of salami, cheese sticks, a small tub of potato salad, an individual caesar salad with chicken, bananas, pistachios, two packets of ramen, a tub of mixed pre-cut fruit, a tub of yogurt, and a baguette sandwich with brie and ham. I have not yet touched the pistachios, ramen, or salami. The caesar salad, a bunch of fruit and yogurt, the sandwich, the potato salad, and a lot of the liquid are gone.

I’ve also walked a lot in the past two days. I haven’t been hitting my 10,000 step goal very often lately and I’ve gone over the past two days.

But walking a lot by itself really doesn’t cure my poop issues. And I pooped great on the road trip when I was not exercising much at all.

I’m eating every 4-5 hours, which is counter to the medical advice I’ve been given lately that says I should REALLY be eating every 2 hours due to how low my sugar levels are.

But at least I have been eating protein constantly. That’s something. And outside the sugar in the oj, fruit, yogurt, and milk…. it’s not exactly a sugar tastic spree. I was offered cookies and dessert. It sounded horrible.

I mean… the cookies look good. But my belly is completely opposed to processed sugar right now.

I had some hfcs on the plane and that didn’t even bother me. I drank a soda bottle, two oj bottles, a powerade bottle, three water bottles, and cups of ginger ale on the flight. I’m amazed I only peed once per flight. That’s probably 120 oz of liquid… while I was in the air. Bodies are weird. But I’m not as dehydrated as I usually am when I fly!

And I totally had more to drink once I landed and went to the store. I even drank more water after I landed. I went through three more fill ups on my water bottle. So 72ish oz of water in the day. Yes, yes people “should only drink water” but I have a hellish time eating enough calories and I’m fucking pregnant. I’m going to keep drinking the sugar and salt so I don’t pass out.

I feel like today needs to be a lower energy day. I’m wiped.