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.
It’s not so funny now, is it? Jan 11, 2006
I used to exclaim “Oh! My Uterus hurts!” when I’d see adorable babies. Obviously, it was my proverbial uterus as I wasn’t experiencing cramping, firey, seering pain. No, I did not understand what those words actually meant. To me it was the ol’ biological clock ticking and it was funny because “ohhh, looky! A baby! He’s so cute my uterus hurts!”
Poetic Procrastination Jan 09, 2006
Twas the night before work
and all through the house
every creature was stirring
and keeping mommy from working
There were assignments to post
and blogs to be read
As you can surely imagine
She worked with much dread
Mommy with her handkerchief
From her brand new cold
Wanted to sleep
For she was feeling too old
But what to her blood shot eyes should appear?
A cup of hot java made by her dear.
It steamed with delight
a right jolly ol? cup
and she knew in a moment it would keep her right up
She plodded along
Trying hard to think
And as she worked she sipped
Her most luscious drink
But still in the end
She had trouble, you see
If it?s not bloggy distractions
It?s the fifteen trips to go pee
My pants are so tight I’m about to pop an ovary Jan 08, 2006
I was so proud of myself. I bought a size ten jeans at the Gap a few weeks back and :: sucking it in :: they fit! THEY FIT!! Well, mostly. Anyway, I wore them four days in a row because they’re the only semi-hip thing I’ve bought in months and they sordda make my ass look smaller. PLUS, they’re a size ten, remember? I used to BE a size ten. Oh, I used to be a size six, but let’s got get depressed or anything.
Anyway, I wore my jeans, And wore them. And they got dirty, because I kept wearing them and I have a 14 month old. I washed said jeans and do you know what? They’re a size 2 now. Holy shit they shrunk. I put them on yesterday thinking how lovely it is that I can gain forty pounds, apparently, in a matter of the sixty minutes it takes my laundry to dry. I. Can’t. Breathe.
But I wore them anyway. All day. ‘Cept by 6 pm or so my right overy started to have a party in my uterus. All sorts of bangin’ and hurtin’ and crampin’. I could crumple up into a pile of estrogen on the floor at borders but I refrain. I try to look comfortable. I mean, they’re jeans, right? JEANS, people. The epitome of comfort. Right? RIGHT?
I think I just popped my ovary loose.
My ass is smarter than your ass Jan 06, 2006
Hey, it may be dimply, but it can make phone calls. Can yours?
BTW: Who else did I call that day? Kerry said she got a call from my cell (not me talking, btw) and now Anne did, too. Oy. If I happen to call the President and he hears my ass scuffle, I hope he doesn’t think we’ve been bombed or something equally horrid. My ass CAN sound a bit like a bomb. Just ask Mr. Flinger.
Hot Mamma (or not) Jan 06, 2006
I’ve been pondering this topic lately: Is motherhood hot? See, I’m not the hottest chick out there. I’m not fugly or nuttin’, but I’m not Angalina Jolie with kids. I’m not even Britney Spears looking rather large. No, I’m more like your typical mom with wrinkles, some gray “highlights,” fat jeans and yes, saggy boobs. I have it all, baby.
So when I asked Mr. Flinger, “Is motherhood hot?” He was a little too quick to say “it can be.”
“What do you mean it can be?”
“You know, when you’re not complaining it is.”
Thirteen Distractions Jan 05, 2006
Don’t forget: All of ‘em are here! and open to the public.
Maybe I should just start wearing lycra and get it over with Jan 04, 2006
So, um, I’m not very good in public. No, really, I know you think I’m this amazingly hip, glorious goddess with a great, tight ass and small boobies and the wit of a thousand Kramers . :: snort :: So, well, don’t be too disappointed when I tell you, I am special needs in public relations. I ride the short bus to “out there.” Seriously. It’s not pretty.
Two days ago I decided to take LB to “the big city” alone. We met up with our good friends and then broke off for some quality mommy, baby time. My poor daughter is already mordified to be with me in public and she still craps her pants in the line at the supermarket while making grunting noises and smiling at the cashier. (well, she does!) It started out innocently enough, I accidentally bumped our very expensive, all organic salad and spilt 3/4 of it on the floor. Thinking out loud, “Shit! That’s six bucks of salad I threw out!” I scooped up what I could and proceeded to feed it to my 14 month old. We left the insanely expensive hippy market and headed for Bed Bath and Beyond for, Yup!, more totes! ‘Cept that when I pulled into the parking lot, I somehow misread the position of the curb and rammed my car up on the sidewalk. In front of a family of six. No. I really did this.
I gather my pride off the cement, take LB into the store and start shopping. Let’s not talk about the pile of bins I knocked over, the child that started screaming (mine) or the old lady I nearly knocked off her feet. Let’s just say it wasn’t one of my more graceful outings.
Heading home I decided to pee at Starbucks, feed the kiddo, and pray to God she naps in the car. I got into the back of the subaru to get her blanket out of the stroller and went about my merry business. Getting back into the car, I noticed the dome light was on. Odd! Oh well, I thought, let’s go, kiddo! About two blocks from Starbucks my back door opens and the umbrella stroller roles out in traffic, I shit you not, and I had to pull over while cars veered and honked and cussed wildly at me.
This is only one day, people, of things that I do. This is only a mere sample of what my life is like. It’s every day. It’s every minute. It’s a gawdaham slap stick comedy routine only I’m the stick. With all the looks I get in public, you’d think I was wearing lycra. And that, y’all, is what I just might have to start doing. At least people can point at my dimply ass instead of the coffee stains on my white shirt. Maybe.
two thousand sex? two thousand sucks? two thousand six… Jan 03, 2006
Well, can I just say? Shit. I’m behind and the year is an entire three days old. How the hell does this happen, people? Where went my intentions? Where went my goals? Apparently, as I sit in the pile and stacks of boxes, work, to do lists and mud from the garage, I’ve let things.. how shall I say.. distract me.
I finally uploaded some images on flickr. I have completely neglected our family site only to hear about it on Rbelle’s site from a comment my Mom made. For the love of gawd, people, I’m only one woman! And I’m a sucky one at that! I have phone calls to return, designs to make, blogs to fix, a syllabus to write, a job to start, contracts to fill out and grades to submit. And where am I? What am I doing?
Forgive me if I don’t make it to your sites for a week or two. Please, oh please, don’t feel left out. And whatever you do, please don’t comment on a best friend’s blog about how I suck at updating. ‘Cause I *may* just have to blog about you. And you don’t want me to blog about you.
Exhibit A) Mr. Flinger on Beer:
Elmo has sucked all the creativity out of me Jan 03, 2006
LB hasn’t napped in two days. Two Days, people. It’s been one giant cleaning orgy here at the Flinger’s house and LB has been up for the entire thing. Back in the day (read: before Oma came to provide 24/7 entertainment) she could play by herself and let me work/clean/blog. Now, even with Elmo on the new 20 in TV, she has no interest in being alone. It’s all “play-with-me” all the time. So it’s been Elmo, kid music, lots of redirection and Mr. Flinger cussing as he cleans out the attic so I can purge crap and make our house something that resembles a home, not a giant blue light special at K-mart.
I’ve written fabulous posts in my brain. Did you get the memo? No? That’s because “Lalala Lalala Elmo’s World” takes over as soon as I compose something. 100% Elmo 100% of the time makes a lady a little.. what’s the word here.. serial killer-ish.
Hey! Let’s try the Wiggles! Let’s try your books! Let’s try a bottle and a nap! Let’s try anything because Mommy will start drinking if she here’s one more “lalala lalala Elmo’s World.”