UPDATE TO Mrs. Flinger October 16, 2015
Because the Universe has a wicked sense of humor, after this delcaration, my blog threw up all over my last upgrade.
So I'm starting over using Craft. Turning 40 and kid entering Jr High next year, sometimes it's just time for a change. These archives will still exist in the way the last child goes off to college and their room is the same for 20 years, but it's just time to move forward.
The 170 character tweet with a picture to make you feel better about clicking over here. Sorda. Nov 20, 2008
Today I woke up having not forgotten to email any clients, having not forgotten to finish anything and having slept all night long not up with a sick husband or kids or a the slideshow from hell.
Then I remembered sarcasm.
*My window today. Rain. Go figure.
Sometims Parenting Does Come With A Manual Nov 19, 2008
For a few weeks now The Little Man O screams in the car. We’re talking ear-piercing, high decibal, painfully loud, “taking others down with me” screaming.
I’m sure you can imagine.
It finally hit me last night. The car seat! Oh Mah GAWD, it’s the Car Seat.
I looked back at him pulling at the straps screaming. I went through my memories of him somehow managing to squirm out of those same straps, of him standing on the seat as I drove down the highway, and of him arching his back in defiance, which I thought was purely that, definace, when I placed him in the car.
Until I remembered the manual for the seat. Maybe it was page 12 or something but it said (and I paraphrase):
So today I pulled that little magic lever and VIOLA! Behold! The bucket seat transformed in to the properly adjusted forward facing seat it was intended to be.
And all was well.
Today’s Parenting Tip Filed Under “read the fucking manual.”
Brutally Honest Monday: The Return Of The Long Sweater (or is it?) Nov 17, 2008
I’m famous in my circle for loving 1998. Look, 1998? It was good. There was Dave Mathews Band. There was grunge. There was boots and hiking and being fresh out of college.
I love me some 1998.
So, today when I donned on my long sweater/robe the mister glanced up in his usually uninterested-in-my-wardrobe way, I was suprised to see him eyeing me. “Hot, aren’t I? Still got it!” I said as I slapped my ass.
“Uh, no, thkat’s not it. That sweater? Isn’t it a wee bit 1998?”
“No, it was more like 2000, thankyouverymuch. Jeeze.”
Tells you what he knows.
So, Internet? Brutally Honest: Is this the revival of a fantastic ass-loving trend? Or am I abusing 8 years of fashion forward?
*Sorry about the lighting, why YES, I did take the photo in the starbucks bathroom. And for the record I have jeans (boot cut, tsk tsk) with ballet flats. I know. I know.
<a href=“http://mrs.flinger.us”><img src=“http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3130/2394484739_8a1ed73b65_m.jpg” alt=“Brutally Honest Mondays” border=“0” /></a>
Seeking Simplicity Nov 12, 2008
My husband regularly tells me I am the most ADD person he knows. I tell him he doesn’t know a lot of people. He tells me he can’t know too many more people because I’m all the people he can handle.
Then he kisses me and slaps my ass in fun and turns on the TV.
Lately I’ve had this urge. I often get “urges” or “a bee in my bonnet” or “any sort of cliche you can think of here that is a nice way of saying totally lost my shit.” Sometimes I crave my favorite city Bellingham. Sometimes I need to fly home to Texas. Sometimes I ache to hike or camp or kayak. But not in the way you think of a normal person missing things she used to do before kids. No, it’s more like a lady with PMS being told chocolate is NOT AN OPTION and then watch the unleashed crazy in her eyes as she sits in front of Ghirardelli.
Lately, I’ve been craving a farm. Now, I am not a farm girl. In fact, I grew up in the suburbs of South Houston where every fifth house was the same and our grass was manicured to perfection with not so much a dog off leash. But as I drive to drop off my son at his daycare, I pass farms of cows and barns and sheep. We talk about the animals and the types of trees. We watch the horses. We say “Moooo” a lot.
My husband, on the other hand, grew up on 5 acres of land with a turquoise barn. He’s talked about that barn and its role in his childhood as he and his brother jumped from the loft in to a pile of hay and spent hours hiding and shooting each other with pretend guns as cops and robbers.
It’s hard to buck the years of habit in your life. It’s nearly impossible to change a city girl in to a country girl, although Ree makes a convincing argument. My husband laughs as I talk about wanting a farm house. A barn. A BARN!
Finally after much discussion we found out it comes down to this: Simplicity. A symbol. That barn? It’s real, but maybe it’s not a barn, per say, but a choice. A lifestyle. A decision.
The sub-urban lifestyle of running to swimming, day care, meetings? It’s not where we thought we’d be in our early thirties. It’s our life, and we love our life, our jobs, our kids, our schedule. We’re happy with extra-curricular activities and working out at the YMCA. We love our friends and our new towels and our fresh couch and granite counter tops. But there’s something missing… something .... space? time? a yard? Or perhaps, a barn.
We want that life, the simple life, of kids running and jumping and going outside. Of teaching chores and life lessons. Of opening our curtains to see grass instead of twelve other houses. Of hearing frogs in the summer and the rain in the winter.
For some reason, I think mine is in a barn.
A turquoise barn.
Tasstle Shoes, Plants, Dancing and how they all come together today Nov 10, 2008
I was 12 years old when my Mom gave me my first marriage advice. “Leslie,” she said looking down at my perm and blue eye-shadow, “When you get married, be sure you look for three things in your husband. One, be sure he wears tasseled shoes. Two, be sure he has plants in his apartment. And three, make sure he can’t dance.”
I looked up at her in complete bewilderment. So she went on to explain:
The shoes represent someone with a conscience style and sense of self. Someone who has drive and motivation. Of course, back in the mid-eighties, tasseled shoes were the height of trend among successful mid-thirties men.
The plants represent a man who cares for other living things aside from himself. He takes responsibility and cares for others.
And finally, the one I was most confused about, the lack of dance ability. My mom explained that a “fast tawlkin’ smooth dancin’” man wasn’t the type that would settle down and raise a family. I would want a man who could stay home on a Friday and watch movies while kids slept upstairs. That I’d want someone who would be there with me when I was sick and not chomping at the bit to get out and party.
In essence, the fast dancer wasn’t husband material.
I remember looking up at my mother and asking her if Dad met all three of those criteria. She thought carefully for a moment and said, “He doesn’t have tasseled shoes.”
I never forgot that conversation.
And so it was that a short year after these words were isssued, back in 1989, I met my husband. At the age of 13, I met the man I’d have babies with. The man who would take me to prom, twice, and then marry me in a dress that cost less than all our formal High School danced combined. A man who would break up with me, watch me grow, fall in love with me again and stay my best friend for 19 years.
It’s a long story, ours is, filled with boring details about teen-age angst, being driven to dates together and first kisses. It’s long and boring and complicated with other lovers and states of distance between us. It’s mushy, filled with long phone calls and notes and sloppy poems.
It’s our story, though. And we love our story.
Today we celebrate our seven year wedding anniversary. We joke, often, with other people about the 19 years that seal us together. The long sorted past of friends and lovers and time and growing up together. We laugh, nod, and shrug at seven years. “It’s a drop in the hat” we joke. “We have 68 more to go.”
And I love that we mean it.
Today I realize what my mother meant and I’m thankful that I listened to her warnings to my 12 year old self. I married a man who cares for other people and living things, our children, our plants, our home, our family and friends. Who cares for us all when we’re sick or tired. Who stands beside us when we don’t want to stand at all. I married a man who doesn’t go to clubs or bars to watch the eye candy. I married a man who paints the entry with me on a Saturday night and giggles as we sing grunge songs from “back in the day” together. I married a man who curls up on the couch and lets me lay my head on his lap as we watch Grey’s Anatomy, not because he loves the show but because I do. I married a man who comes home each night to his family, even as hard as that can be some days when the kids are screaming and the wife is crying.
The tasseled shoes? Well, I married a man who does not wear tasseled shoes but who has a drive to support his family and a goal that motivates him in his career and in his place in life. Those tasseled shoes represented something their own image would long outgrow. Luckily, the man I married grew as well. I guess we really do marry someone like our Dads.
And so it is, our story. Seven years after our small marriage at the top of Mount Constitution, I know we’d do it again. We’d choose each other all over again.
In fact, we do. Daily.
*November 10th, 2001.
Live Blogging The Last Two Days Nov 03, 2008
Are you as giddy as I am? I’m completely unable to focus on nearly any of my other obligations. I’ve been trying to verbalize my emotions, to write with intelligence, to sit and really justify my logic and emotions and I can’t.
I think I’ve come down with an Adult case of ADHD.
(I’m currently typing this as I run in place.)
(I’m kidding. But only slightly.)
Join the ride. I’m just going to create my very own “open spewith of mah own brain” right here. And by my own brain, I mean lots of links and reactions to what’s going on. I hope you find it entertaining. If you don’t, I’m sure I’ll mis-spell and probably incorrectly use punctuation and exclamation points (!!!) so you can always giggle at that.
On your mark.
Oh! Wait, really quick, before I start (see? ADHD.. ohmygod.. shinnnyyyy thinnnggsss….) a picture from Halloween’s trick-or-treating. Fun? Hellzya.
Guess who had more fun on Friday night?
///////////////// Live Blogging Updates Below ////////////////////////
1. The Economy
One of my main issues I wanted to tackle was the Economy. Since the recent admittance of Obama to “spread the wealth” something else came up just this weekend:
I’ll take your input on this one. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that’s wrong. Please?
I’ve heard clips of people praising Obama because they will no longer have to think about how to fill their gas tank or pay their mortgage. Unfortunately, you will. You still have the same responsibilities, we all do, that come with being an adult. I expect the same with either candidate.
I agree. We need a change here. I’m completely unwilling to place my child in a system built on “No Child Left Behind.” But I want the choice of where to place my child in a system that best suits their own needs. “John McCain will place parents and children at the center of the education process, empowering parents by greatly expanding the ability of parents to choose among schools for their children. *” We don’t need more money in a failing school system but a complete transformation including choices, vouchers and charter schools. Competition drives the economy to better itself. Safeway lowers prices because Krogger is across the street outselling them. They best themselves for your business. Schools can and should be options to fit children’s needs. Some children won’t learn in a classroom setting while others will thrive with the peer competition and support. I’d like to make that choice myself, though. For my own child.
///////// November 4th /////////////
I voted. I voted and I want to finish posting my reasons why. Because in the end, we’re still going to sit and drink wine together. I just want to remember that I followed through with something today, something in the middle of every other thing. That I issued a challenge and I followed through, just like these fantastic people. Thank you for that.
Link Update: I’m following Dana’s Live Blog today. Quite possibly one of the very best vocal conservative women online.
Here’s a post about voting for McCain.
And, for those of you that don’t know this about me, I’m a complete Northern Exposure fan. So much so, that our little blog name, Flinger, comes from an episode of NX. (There’s a piece of Trivia for ya for another day.) So, with that bit of info, you’ll not be shocked when I do the aboslutely expected and include a bit from “Democracy In America” episode 15, Season 3:
Trick or Treet, Smell my Feet Oct 31, 2008
Consider this my virtual door. Picture a few cob-webs with jack-o-lanterns glowing on the front porch and a fun spooky CD piping through the window.
Now, picture being REALLY terrified when John McCain and Sarah Palin answer the door.
This year we’re more in to Halloween then ever before. We had a fantastic Halloween party thrown at Michelle’s house. We’re taking the kids trick or treating tonight with Laura. We’re all aglow with sugar rush.
It must be the age of my children, how they bring out the best frolicking of your inner youth. How they inspire you to eat a lollipop and run to chase them yelling ghost sounds. How they have the ability to make you laugh when they get in costume and act the part of their new persona.
So bring it on, Interweb!
Consider this my virtual door step and come knockin’. Bring me your links of your costume pictures. Let me oooh and aahhhh over your fun party atire and pass out some candy. I promise this candy is calorie free. But the oogling over your costume is totally genuine.
So show me what you got!
(And for fun, a picture of the same kiddos last year. It’s comforting how some things never change)
A few to get the part started that I’ve seen so far
33 flavors and then some Oct 29, 2008
Today I turn thirty-three. Thirty. Three. I’m boggled. I’m blinded.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
Most average days I just get by. I email, I make lunches, I make dinner, I do the dishes, I tuck covers in over tiny people. I try to remember a life before this and I can’t.
Maybe that’s ok.
So today I’m reflecting on 33 things. Thirty-three. A number that means nothing and so much at the same time.
1. I’m more like my mom than I ever thought I would become.
2. That’s not all that bad.
3. My daughter is more like me than I ever thought possible.
4. My son is the snuggler.
5. My husband is my best friend and that’s all I ever asked for in a marriage.
6. Even if we don’t always agree.
7. Or communicate well.
8. Birthdays are more than cakes and parties.
9. Birthdays are about reflecting and remembering.
10. About appreciating.
11. I don’t do that nearly enough.
12. I have wonderful friends.
13. An amazing family.
14. A great job.
16. A future.
17. A past specked with friends and stories I’ll repeat to my daughter and son
18. I’m happy where I’m at now.
19. I would change very few things in the past 33 years.
20. And those things I’d change, I will start doing so now.
23. Love openly.
25. Slow down.
26. Remember that kids are kids. Not tiny adults.
27. And maybe it’s ok to be more like them.
28. Eat well, live well, breathe.
29. Call my mother more often.
30. Kiss the kids with lipstick on.
31. Paint, Puzzle, Dance with them.
32. Have sex more often.
33. And don’t blog about it.
Thank you for everyone that makes my each year so special. To my mom who endured days (DAYS) of labor to birth me. To my daughter who reminds me I’m human. To my husband who loves me anyway. To my son who taught me the meaning of snuggle. To my sister who reminds me to be sane. To my friends here who help me get there. And to all of you who listen year after year.
I love you all. Here’s to 33. And then some.
The Challenge: Election 2008 Oct 22, 2008
Mr. Flinger and I have challenged each other to a duel. With the upcoming elections upon us (yes, yes, I know, we’re all very very tired of the talk) we decided to take the bull by the horn, so to speak. To grab the ass by the donkeysack, as it where.
Basically, we’re giving ourselves a college assignment and I hope you’ll join us.
The assignment is thus: (Always throw in “thus” when giving out assignments making yourself look smarter and more intelligent in the process.)
1. Pick five topics from both candidates that you feel strongly about. These MUST be able to be researched on the main ticket site and can be supported elsewhere. But basically, you’ll want to scour the McCain and Obama sites for topics and ideals.
2. Figure out where each candidate stands on those five topics.
3. Find supporting information.
4. Intelligently form a paragraph (or two) stating why you are choosing to vote the way you are.
1. There is to be no name calling, no pushing in line, no grafiti of the parking lot.
2. Intelligent conversation only. Therefore, if you type in myspace language “U r a bitch because you r voting 4 McCain” we will point, laugh, and know you’re an idiot.
3. There are no winners. There are no losers.
4. I promise not to make us all sit together and sing “Kumbya Mylord” when this is over. But I do want to say that regardless of belief or personal preference, we can still drink beer together.
5. I don’t shoot moose.
No, wait, that’s not a rule. It’s just a fact.
So? You in? I’ll keep this entry as a sticky for two weeks. I’ll add my own discussion in the comments section as I get information. Feel free to post on your own site (Sign the linky!) or post in the comments here. My goal: I’m challenging myself to have an intelligent conversation with my husband and also you, my friends, (Yes, yes, I heard it.) that doesn’t end up in cussing and saying things like, “Um. BECAUSE.” Because.
<a href="http://mrs.flinger.us"><img src="http://mrs.flinger.us/images/challenge.gif"
Put the link to your discussion here, not just to your main site so we can follow along with your arguments. Or post in the comments. Whatever you want. Ready! Set! GO!
My Entry for My Friend Aimee’s Totally Awesome Totally Amazing Photo Contest Oct 21, 2008
Michelle entered this photo (I know, she’s freaking amazing, too)
If you decide to enter, let me know so I can drool over your photo, Mmk?