Mrs. Flinger: A work in progress

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.

Not just a famous line in a movie Mar 13, 2007

You know how it’s common knowledge that it rains nine months out of the year in Seattle? And you know how everyone jokes about having webbed feet here? And you know how you get scoffed at if you carry an umbrella?

Wait, no? You didn’t know that?

It’s true. I remember learning this the hard way after moving up from Houston. We, being from the state of deluges, would carry an umbrella when it rained because you can expect to, you know, get WET when it rains. It can rain three inches in an hour in Houston. It takes two months to get three inches in Seattle, except that it rains every day for those two months.  Well, it’s more like mist, really. Or a sneeze. Yes, it’s like one big nasty God-sized sneeze that lasts for weeks. I’m totally grossing myself out now.

After noticing we were the only family in the entire state to actually carry an umbrella, one of my friends pointed out, “You don’t use an umbrella here. It’s weird. You look like you’re from out of state.” I AM from out of state. And don’t you get wet? “Nah, Just wear a coat with a hood. Or get a little wet. It’s not going to kill you. If you stayed inside every time it rained, you’d never leave the house.”

She had a point.

So I joined the masses and got a Columbia jacket. I ditched the umbrella, let the left over AquaNet hairspray rinse out of my hair. I walked like a native. I grew webbed feet. I laughed at people with umbrellas.

It’s been twelve years and in that time, I’ve lived everywhere from the northern most part of Washington to back near my hometown in Texas and back up to the mid-Willamette valley and up to Seattle again. In that time I’ve had eight gortex jackets, six pairs of gortex hiking shoes and ten fleece. But not one umbrella. I’ve never owned a single umbrella. And just last Friday I realized I wasn’t crazy.


See? Here you have to get permission from the weather man to carry an umbrella. Unless you’re two.

Then we let you because you’re cute. (But you can also get away with galoshes and pooping in your pants so I’d still not recommend it to an adult. In case you’re thinking of trying it.)

Next I will turn in to a giant blueberry and get rolled off the screen Mar 11, 2007


I mentioned the hormonal portion of pregnancy but did I tell you that my maternity shirts are already failing to cover the entire belly? Did I mention how I despise those full belly panel pants and so wear the flat panel pants offering little coverage which becomes a complete white-belly nightmare when combines with shorter shirts? Have I taken a picture of this for you? Why no, I haven’t. Bless your hearts, you don’t ACTUALLY want to see that do you?

The family went downtown to the big Old Navy this weekend. We went, mainly, in search of the maternity department because even though I’ve found all of last go-round’s clothing, I’m already past the point where any of it is cute. In fact, this Little Man is carrying higher and rounder than LB did. And, if I was being honest, while I weigh only five pounds less on the exact same week of pregnancy, I think I may be destined to gain a bit more than last time. Damn those little chocolates.


I tried on a total of sixteen outfits. Outfits that look just utterly adorable on a manikin with a tiny round pooch and model thin arms. The size XXS on display doesn’t look the same in an M or L when around a baby the size of six wolverines living within my uterus. I swear to god I’m having a litter of children. It is that beer I had, isn’t it? The one I had the night I took the pregnancy test because “JUST IN CASE” it was positive, I had to have that one last beer. It’s morphed my one lovely little boy into a small pack of mamals or a very tiny country in Asia. I can’t tell which. Either way, this uterus is extraordinarily unattractive in anything at Old Navy, Motherhood, and the Gap.



waddling around the Gap, I saw a mom with a tiny infant. We started chatting as LB points to the baby and then tells the nice stranger “baby brother in mommy’s belly!” She asks me how old our chatty daughter is and informs me she has a two year old as well. Then she says, “And you have one due soon?!” “Well, June,” I admit sheeplishly. “JUNE?!” Hang on to your baby, lady. Yes. June. “Oh! Well. You have a ways to go and you’re already big!”

No, really, you don’t need to send out the troops to lay the smack down. She’s right. I am big. I’m one big largeass mother whale and while the Little Mister seems to find room enough to move furniture around in there and invite his homedawgs over, I’m already complaining of back pain and belly pulling. The best part is? You wanna know the best freaking part? The “oh, it’s such a joyous time” kind of part? I have THIRTEEN MORE WEEKS TO GO, PEOPLE. THIRTEEN. And do you know? The baby? Will gain most of his weight in the weeks to come. So oh, lord, I’m going to need a large hand-truck for my belly. And probably a small wagon for my ass, too.

San Andreas Hormones Mar 09, 2007


I recently saw a picture on Mari’s site of her sitting on the San Andreas Fualt. It’s amazing what a minute can do to the earth. It’s akin to what a week can do to a pregnant ladie’s hormones, actually.

I keep telling Mr. Flinger, “There must be a hormonal shift this week.” I’m searching the Internet for “Hormonal changes week 26” and come up with “You psycho pregnant lady, you are crazy because you are incubating a person, dumbass, not because of what week it is.” Google can be so heartless and cruel, yes?

But it’s true. I swear there is a hormonal shift that occurred this week.  One that made happy second trimester glowing prego in to a large, aching, emotional pile of breast tissue. Oh, the changes! Oh, the breasts! Oh, the tears!

I started suspecting it after the three days of first trimester-ish nausea and confirmed it last night when I started to cry because I couldn’t find the box of maternity clothes from last time. “But! LB wants to go swimming! I have a maternity suit! I wanted to go swimming tomorrow!” :: enter sniffling and quiet crying :: “Because I’m already fat and lumpy why not wear a freaking BATHING SUIT IN PUBLIC.”  :: enter laughing :: “But she’s going to be so disappointed because I said we could go” :: enter crying again and a look of astonishment on Mr. Flinger’s face. ::

It’s not moving mountains or causing the earth to crumble in on itself, but pregnancy is sure effing with this particular usually-stable-intellectual-mostly-coherent woman. Tell me I’m not alone.  Please?  You can find me under the desk or a door jam preparing for the next Big Quake.

Napping: Cage Match Style Mar 07, 2007

#Rants and Raves#The Flinger Family

I mentioned a while back that we bought LB a Big Girl Bed.  It was a great idea. She was so excited to nap, she’d almost go to bed by herself! She’d ask for her bed! I’m using exclamation points to make a point here! Do you see?!

Then (!) she realized she could, indeed, crawl out of bed. This magic revelation occurred one day during the failed nap. It happened to be a day that mommy needed a nap so badly that I came down a little hard on her and told her she’s not ready for a big girl bed if she won’t stay in it and put her back in her crib. The crib became a bad place. So very, very bad. Cribs are for babies. Cribs are not for girls who can use the potty (she does but only on occasion and still loves to crap her britches so don’t get all impressed or anything). Cribs are for children who do not listen to mommy and stay in their beds. Cribs. Are. Satan.

Perhaps this tactic was good for a day or so. “Baby sleeps in crib, not LB,” she’d remind me. “That’s right! You’re a big girl!” Still, though, the child refused to actually nap, even on days she would bless me with staying on her own bed. Instead of closing her eyes and drifting in to a blissful rest, she’d yell Twinkle Twinkle Little Star or the ABC’s until the military would consider it against the Geneva Convention.

I’m usually in for a nice quiet afternoon on days she’s sick. Lately, this could be any day of the week given the numerous colds, viruses, flus, coughs, and now ear infections we all (yes, me, too) have had. (As a side note, one more person tells me it’s good for her to be sick is going to be eating my shoe. After I step in dog poo.)  I thought today would be a mixed blessing, what with the five hours of sleep we all got listening to her scream about her ear last night. After getting her the antibiotics, the exact same medicine I am on for the exact same infraction, I drugged her up nice and good and laid her in the big girl bed with hopes of a sticker and a few hours of alone time.

< Blogland laughs >

Oh, that’s right! What to my wondering ears should appear? Footsteps! Loud thuds! Screams! Oh! And MORE EXCLAMATION POINTS AND CAPS! Because She Child has been destroying her room, has been a little fire hazard pulling her curtains on top of her heater, and throwing books in to every wall imaginable. This is oh, so peaceful. So? I put her in her crib again. That’s right, the devil-crib. I did. I placed her back in the bad-girl crib and told her to go to effing sleep already or mommy will start to lose her freaking mind, honey.  All in a sweet tone because didn’t you know kids are like dogs and it doesn’t matter WHAT you say but HOW you say it? No? Right.

So, instead of hearing her little feet and books being thrown about, I’m listening to WWE Smackdown Cage Match which involves a toddler, a buddy, and four crib walls. And all I can think about it, “You break that crib and it’s coming out of your allowance.” Because really, you can’t reason with a toddler. And apparently, I can’t keep her in there forever. So I’m just totally screwed. Aren’t I.


The promised wrap-up complete with mush and photo Mar 06, 2007

This weekend we travelled back to the familiar. I reflected on our drive down that I was never allowed to grieve over moving. The weekend we left Oregon, we celebrated LB’s second birthday, stayed up until 1AM cleaning the old house, got up at 7AM on Sunday and drove the remaining things to our new, tiny townhouse. On the way out of town, we pulled in to the doctors to get the second blood draw confirming the pregnancy and check the HCG doubling (being only 6 weeks out of a miscarriage, we watched the levels early on). With so much to be excited about and so many things changing at one time, I never had a chance to say good-bye. It felt like another of our weekend trips. Only one day, we didn’t drive back. I never considered how much this effected me.

As much as I snark on Oregon for their completely effed up politics, their lack of actual bonafied mountains, and the inability to let you pump your own gas, the place became home to me. I’ve lived a lot of places in my thirty years. But in the six years I lived in Oregon, we lived in three towns as many as 60 miles apart,  and still we somehow made a home when I wasn’t looking. Somehow I liked the place I swore I wouldn’t stay. At some point, we made really good friends, found a place to raise our daughter, got used to waiting ten years for the old man to pump our gas. Somewhere along the way, we got comfortable.

I made a somewhat quick decision to go back this weekend. LB asks, almost daily, to see her friend JB. When we first moved in October, she would stand at the top of the stairs and yell, “Ready to go! Ready to go to JBs!” She’s stopped demanding that we head out and started asking in the most heart-wrenching little voice. “See JB? Please, mommy? Yea. Let’s go. Go when the light turns green.” She doesn’t understand the concept of distance and the 5 hours that lay between us now. And honestly, I wish I didn’t.

With the help of the iPod on repeat of movies and pictures of JB and LB growing up, we travelled the five hours to our friend’s house. The girls played, the adults flirted with the baby, the women talked and the men sat and nodded. It’s wonderful how comfortable you can be in a friend’s house. LB giggled non-stop for six hours before crashing in a complete exhausted heap at the hotel requesting to go see JB in the morning. She recounted the entire day complete with what she ate with JB and how they played outside in boots and kicked a ball. I think she was in heaven. Actually, we all were.

The next morning we got up and headed to a local coffee shop to meet Emily from Red W(h)ine and Boo. The three little gals played while the parents chatted over yummy coffee. She’s just as fun as you’d expect from her website and even easier to chat with in person. I think the next time we get together, though, I"ll have a lot better photo opps leaving both of our children home with daddy and going out for a mom-drink with the ladies. Oh, and I promise to blog that drunk. With a podcast. Of all of us. Because you want that. Trust me. (eye roll)

The best thing about the weekend was knowing how close five hours can feel sometimes. Kids, pregnancy, nap schedules, colds (oh! The ENDLESS COLDS!) gas, cars, and hotel stays can make five hours feel almost impossible. To be able to look at your toddler one day, ask her “Do you want to go see JB?” see her little face light up with complete excitement and decide that yes, we are going, we will go for a visit, is quite possibly the best thing I learned this weekend. Knowing that it’s hard to get together is ok. Realizing that it’s not impossible is even better.

Conversations that bring tears to my eyes Mar 04, 2007

#Life#Pregnancy#The Flinger Family

(Tears of joy and not-so-much joy)

Heard today as we pull in to Seattle again, “Mommy? Wanna see Jelly Belly. See JB again? Mommy? LB miss her. Mommy? See JB again? Please?” No, sweetie, we just saw them. We won’t get to see them for a while again. We can look at some pictures when we get home, though. “No, I want JB. Ok? Let’s do that.” **

Heard tonight sitting on our bed as Mr. Flinger rubs CB in my belly, “Hey there Little Mister. It’s your daddy. I know you’re just getting used to hearing things now so this is your daddy’s voice. I’m half of you.  Well, unless you come out Hispanic or Black. I might end up raising you anyway. We’ll have to talk about this when you’re mother isn’t here. I think she heard me…”

**More pictures and information on our trip to come. Also, anyone care to venture a guess as to what mystery person I met this weekend from my blogroll?  (If you happen to be one of the parties present, hush-it. Make ‘em guess for a while. Suspense is a good thing) :: Enter maniacal evil laugh :: 

***Also, thanks to all the people stopping in from the party. I’ve found a few good reads. And even some people who don’t mind the hayhay talk so much. How’s that for a conversation starter? Grab a virgin colada while you’re cruising around.

Kids say the darndest things Mar 02, 2007

Today I took LB to an indoor play area we recently found out about. I needed her to burn off some energy so I have some hope of a quiet afternoon (read: working).  The play area has all kinds of fun things like indoor bouncy rides, scooters, balls, a teeter-totter. We really enjoy it.

About half an hour in to playing, LB comes across one of those bouncy balls with the two handles. Remember those? The ones where you’re supposed to sit and bounce on? She’s entirely too little to use it correctly. Instead, she holds the handle, looks up at me and says, “it goes pee-pee.” Um, What? I lean in closer so I can see if I heard her correctly. “It goes pee-pee.”

Sure enough, when I bent down to see the handles, they did kinda look like a Penis. Go figure.

It’s like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a variable declared knife Mar 01, 2007

I started blogging in graduate school, back in August 2003. (My lands! It’s been a while!) I remember blogging in the midst of a major programming-related meltdown (I had many of these). I had to sift through some .csv backups of my old, old, old blog to find this entry but here it is, in between various boring posts about school and technical resources I was using at the time.

And so, as she walked among the fields of heather and velvet blue violets, she came upon the goddess “Tuliah”, which means “to know the earth” or “the road less traveled” if translated through the ancient Latin. At any rate, she fell to her knees in her weakened state unable to hold her head up and speak intelligently. “Child,” the goddess spoke, “you are weary from your walk. Come… drink from the bottle and rest upon the mossy grass. I will tell you the secret that you seek.”  She did as she was instructed. She drank the rich wine and as she lay down on the mossy grass, so warm from the morning sun and slightly moist with dew, she slept. In her dreams she saw the answer…Unless the method has been declared with void as its return type, the method returns some kind of value when it is completed.  It was at this moment she understood. All good things for you are painful at first. But it is through triumph that we grow. The easy road takes you to hell. The higher road gets you the job you want.

And now, ironically, I’m teaching programming next term. See? You, too, can face your worst nightmares. And end up teaching about them.

Fashionably (?) late as always Mar 01, 2007

I realize the party is tomorrow. I realize I have nothing to wear, my belly hangs out below most of my shirts (both pregnancy and pre-pregnancy) and I will not be doing the worm, what with this large growth I’m carrying around. And, yes, I realize I will not be intoxicated what-so-ever and may even remember the names of most people I might bump in to but I still plan on attending.

What am I talking about? Thanks for asking!

I’ve been seeing a growing list of people who are attending “The Ultimate (( echo Ultimate )) Blog (( echo Blog )) Party! (( echo Party Party Party )).

Being the person who is less than detail oriented, I honestly have no idea what all is going to happen. I figure there will be people there, new faces and a few familiar ones, and maybe even virtual cake and small delicacies. I plan on waddling, virtual waddling mind you which is only slightly less ghastly than real world waddling,  and maybe finding a few new reads. Maybe you’ll be there, too, and if you are can you let me know so I can watch the door anxiously for you? Because THANK GOD there is someone I know! Then I’ll probably attach myself to your arm and talk your ear off while you try to politely peel away and mingle with other people who don’t talk about their hayhay

:: ahem :: Still, I hope to see you there.