Mrs. Flinger: Based on a True Story

One of those times where I’m bored to tears. Hand me a tissue. 12/Jun/2006

You know how you have a million CDs (or now-a-days, gigabytes of music) and you can listen to the first two seconds of every song and be bored with it? You know how you have a million things to do at work, can be standing in front of your classroom teaching and be bored? You know how you are playing the same game with your toddler, the one where you chase her and she runs away screaming while you yell, “Let’s put your shirt on. Come here, LB. I mean it. Let’s get you dressed so we can leave the house. COME HERE!” and be tired of your life as you know it?

It’s not just me is it?

I think this is what happens when I’m happy. Maybe I’m not used to the blissful feeling of loving my life. My job? LIke it. My family? Love... Read more

On blue eyeshadow and notes in class 08/Jun/2006

Music does amazing things. I can hear a song and am instantly back in that place where I used to hear it, complete with pre-teen zits, puffy bangs and blue eyeshadow. I can smell the cut grass of our Texas neighbors or I can feel the humidity of the Gulf. Or, I can see the Bellingham Bay or the Pudget Sound and feel the wind blowing in my hair as I feel the freedom and fear of leaving for college.

It’s something I’ve been thinking about lately, this phenomenon, and find myself wondering around iTunes looking for songs to bring back memories I’ve long sense (thankfully) forgotten.

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Don’t understimate the work of carrying around this hormonal bagage, MmmmMMK? 07/Jun/2006

#Good News#The Flinger Family

Yesterday, being the hormonal wreck that I’ve been lately, I tell Mr. Flinger how LB has been really *really* grating my nerves. The jar of spinach she threw at the grocery store was not only the last straw, it got all over my new, white skirt (note to the Internet: DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT BUY WHITE WITH A TODDLER). It’s hard to look smart and sophisticated with green goo running between your legs while your boobs pop out of your stylish shirt when you bend down to shove your squirmy child back into the mammoth truck stroller thingie as she flings her head back yelling, “Moorreee!!! MOOORRREEEE!!!” 

Damnit child, I’ll show you more…

See, I understand “Read more

I’m a teenage mom with wrinkles, cellulite and gray hair 05/Jun/2006

Had I known being a mom would be so like High School, I might be more for teenage pregnancy. Ok, not really, but why is it when we?re all grown up and professional at work we can?t be grown up on the playground? What is it about being around children that make us act our child?s age? Why do moms feel the need to exclude other women simply because they are new?

I know a lot of you have written about this before. I?m sure I could link to several (hundred) posts of yours where some beyotch mom makes you feel like crap because you don?t have the right jeans, the good hair, the child with the perfect nose. Or, there are moms (skinnybitch is my personal thorn in my side) that love your child so much, mostly because she will mostly likely be so pretty and... Read more

The chick you meet online and his prison mates 03/Jun/2006

#Life

Mr. Flinger teases me often about the “women” I speak with online. Every time we’re out in public and see some scruffy dude, he’ll tell me “that inmate-looking guy? That’s your ‘R*belle’ chick.” Or we’ll see someone on the news who is doing random acts of weirdness and he’ll tell me, “That’s your “Mari” friend and was seen on the computer shortly before the rampage and he was IMing a group of M O M M Y B L O G G E R S.”

He thinks he’s funny. He’s not. But this happens a lot.

It does leave me thinking. I’ve been wondering this more and more as I read about crazy people stalking or... Read more

Date Night 02/Jun/2006

#The Flinger Family

Tonight we get out like grown ups. We get to eat dinner

, go to a movie and not have sticky fingers in our hair on food thrown on our laps. We get to have conversations that do not include the words, “night night. Wha Wha. LB, no, ma’am. Good girl, Please sit on your bottom. LB, stay here.”  We get to talk about politics! And our effed up government. We can talk religion, and sports and drink wine and sit by candlelight without the fear of squirmy starting a fire. We can enjoy using sharp objects and small, chokable items, if we want.

I think I’m going to miss our LB. Wearing spaghetti sauce has become a bit of a style for me and I’m used to dull knives... Read more