My Take on a Submissive Wife

OK I guess I have to throw my hat into the ring on this one. I read an article yesterday that said Candice Cameron Bure is “controverial” because she chooses to be a submissive wife. Why this is controversial, I really don’t know. But I thought some of the comments on the article were the most interesting. She was called a Stepford Wife by one woman. And I know that I have heard other women say things like: “doormat”, “abused”, “weak”. And I guess that although no one has really ever said that to me, I feel attacked when others who live a similar lifestyle are attacked. So here is my take on being submissive.

I used to joke that Hubby wore the pants in the family, but I picked them out. People would laugh and we would go on. But at home, we were struggling. I was going to school full time, we had Big Girl, and the money wasn’t there. We fought constantly, although we played it down that they were just minor. I really can’t say when I started being submissive, and honestly, I am not sure it was a concious decision. But once I let go of the power struggle, things got easier. Our circumstances had changed, I was out of school and Baby Girl was here, but we were still broke. But we didn’t argue, we would discuss.

Honestly, this is the best analogy I can find for what being submissive means. I have two beautiful, independant daughters. They are both very my way or the highway. Because of this, I have let them pick out their own clothes from a young age. I realized that when I picked out their clothes (when I was in charge, in control) we would have meltdowns, tantrums, etc. and I would end up mad and frustrated. So, they get to pick out their own clothes. However, I do give them input on what they wear. “It is too hot to wear long sleeves today”, “It is too cold to wear shorts”, “That skirt is too short for you to wear to school”. They take what I say and think about it. Do I always win, no. Baby girl wore a long sleeve shirt to school a couple days ago and it was near 100*, but other times she will change her mind. Hubby and I are no different. When there is a decision to be made, like getting Big Girl tested for ADHD, I give him my perspective and input, but the decision is his to make. I support him therefore I support his decision, even if I don’t always fully agree with his decision.

I am not a door mat. I am in no way abused. I am treated like an equal half. I am most certainly not weak.  


The Problem with Drought…

The area of Texas that I live in has been plagued with drought for, I swear, as long as I have been here. Hubby jokes that I brought the drought with me. We are so desparate for water (Stage 5 restrictions will go into effect very soon!) that the closest major city, the one where our water is bought from, is in the process of recycling water. Which means some time soon we will be drinking “clean” toilet water. Which in my mind is beyond disgusting and as terrible as it is for the enviornment, we will be buying bottled water. But I digress.

See the problem is, when you go through such a drought, your soil begins to compact as the water inside it drys out. We have clay soil here which makes it that much worse. What this means is that we are prone to flooding when it does rain, because the water cannot be soaked in as fast as it is coming down. But if you get a good rain, like the one we got a couple weeks ago, the soil will expand causing broken pipes.

Friday afternoon we went to talk to our neighbor to the South, Moon Man (names have been changed, obviously) at the shared fence. Hubby noticed that the ground was exceptionally spoungy and wet. UH OH! So we decided to check it out the next morning. This pipe is a T connection. We have a water line that runs all the way down the side of our property so we can water in case of fire. But it also goes into our house. Well Hubby had plans first thing Saturday morning, so he went into town and had birthday breakfast with his brother and then gathered supplies (Count first trip to town). He came home and we started to dig. We were not really sure where the pipe was but we had a good gerneral idea, so we would dig a little and stop to look for running water then dig a little more. We finally found it after what seemed like an hour of digging. We turned off the water and Hubby started cutting PVC. As we are working, we realize that the PVC cement we have is bad so I go to town (Count my first trip, but second for the job). I come home and the hole was filled with water. So we have to drain it with a bucket and a cup. The water is off at the meter, but it is still running, which is going to make fixing it even harder.

Hubby makes the first attempt at fixing the leak. I don’t know if he made a bad cut or if it is just being stubborn, because it will not fit back together. We have no more connections because Hubby thought it would be an easy fix. So he leaves to go to town (Count: trip # 3) to get more supplies. He has decided that he is just going to cap off this pipe so it will only run into our house instead of down th rest of the fenceline. So we attempt to cap it, TWICE. Both times the water pressure blows the connection off. Then we try an elbow connection we found, but it was to short. We make another trip (4 Trips into Town!). We buy extra fittings this time. We manage to FINALLY get it all together in the T, but it was still leaking. Not as bad as before, but still a decent drip.

Sunday morning Hubby went into town one last time, and he brought his buddy JMac (another name change) along with more parts back. After a couple more hours, they had it fixed. And it appears that it is not leaking. Thank goodness!

We sacrificed a day and a half, a finger (Hubby cut his finger really bad on the last attempted repair on Saturday), and a sunburn for me to get this job done. We are both very tired and very sore. But I am glad we did it. Hubby gave me the best compliment ever Saturday evening. He texted my dad. “You raised a d*mn good daughter. She is not afraid to get dirty. We spent all day trying to fix a busted pipe, and she was out there the whole time.” It is one thing to compliment me on not being afraid to get dirty, which he did, but it is something else entirely to compliment my dad about me. It made my day!