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.

I don’t suck! The post with all the links… Jul 10, 2007


Surprisingly, you people love to talk vajayjays and beer. Or babies. Or my lack of s.e.x life. Or d) all the above. Which suits me just fine because right now, as of this moment, I have nothing profound. Nada. Oh, sure, I’ve been fawning all over Julia Sweeney lately, and her CD Letting Go of God. I’ve even taken notes, as in Hand Written Notes, in a journal, with a pen, and… paper. I know. What’s paper? But the truth is, the sun, my toddler, my newborn

seven week old and my mother are kicking my ass as of late. The type of ass-whooping that entails falling asleep in the recliner whilst rocking the boy child only to find oneself up as the entire family sleeps muttering cusswords under her breath because why-for-the-love-of-god-am-I-not-asleep-i-am-so-screeewweeeeed-tomorrow.

The good news is, I have been plotting. Or, rather, I’ve been thinking, which lately is the same thing. There will be a competition here. There will be a prize to win. There will be voting. Oh, that’s right.. you’re salivating at the very mention of free things and it’s true, there will be freedom. Freeness. Free. Things. Or, thing.


However, since I’ve neglected my blog community for traveling to exotic, far away places like Bellingham, and Kirkland, and the pool, I wanted to post a thank you and a “RAWK ON” to everyone. Actually, what I wanted to say is WHEE! I DON’T SUCK!

Little Woolgatherings, For The Love, and Colleen all tagged me recently.  (And MGM who tagged me forever ago, and someone else who I’m being just horrid and forgetting right now, but in all fairness, I locked my keys in my car AND forgot my address for the insurance at the hospital, all signs of sleep deprivation, not alcohol usage. I swear.)

I’m thrilled, all giddy-like, that four people like me. Maybe five if you count my Mom. And since I’m totally in blog-crush with a few new reads I found while surfing the Internet at 2am, it’s time to let the cat out of the bag. That’s right. You people don’t suck, either. But the fact that I’m allowed in to your not-sucking part of blogland makes me all warm and fuzzy.

So, here are some more women who rock (or RAWK) and who do not suck:

Whoorl. Seriously? Freaking. Awesome.
Playgroups are not for children. Just reading her tagline had me hooked and I knew I found a BFFOL. (That’s Best Friend Forever On Line. Internet Lingo, yaknow)
Cranky Mamma. Lives in Portland. Has napless child. Writes like one who I’d love in real life, too, and who would laugh about making our toddlers do Yoga.
Sweatpants Mom. I found her through Blogher and thank my lucky add-bar that she popped up. Hilarious and always providing the best post-emmy-award-show evah.
Alpha Baby. With a baby that cute (and practically famous!), she totally rocks the blogworld. Oh, yea, and I get to meet her in person. NanernanerNaner.
And, jeeeze, is it any doubt Mama-C-Ta rocks? No. She’s like the definition of rock.

Then there are the people who always rock, who everyone reads, and who deserve to have massive ammounts of traffic, bloglove, and fame. (Oh! They already do!) 


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Feel free to add this little do-hicky to your post and pass along the non-suckage. Then, feel free to send all your carpal-tunnel surgery requests from all the above clicking to .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address).

It’s complicated Jul 05, 2007

#Parenting Siblings

Things got a little ... complicated this week. It’s not just having two children that makes life… complicated. It’s not just having a preemie that makes life ..... complicated. It’s not just that a two year old is ... complicated.  No, it’s what happens to your body after you go through the miracle of creating an entire human being, growing that person who will one day grow up and be a president of a major corporation or a doctor or a teacher or a data-structure-analizer, after all of the blessed joy of pregnancy, your body totally craps out. It’s .. complicated.

I started bleeding, profusely, after walking around downtown Saturday. This happened for a few days until finally, on Tuesday, I had the bright idea to call the doctor and just make sure this is all kosher. You know, because “I’m about to loose half my brain out my hayhay and, well, is that normal? I’d kind of like to keep that part of my brain. I think.” I explained how I started walking again (oh, it was absolute heaven) and I went two miles on Monday, which correlated to a large ammount of clotting. Clotting. What a horrid word to read on a blog during your lunch break. Anyway, I explained all of this to the nurse who I think made a gasp and said she’d have to talk to the doctor and give me a call back.

About three minutes later, she called saying they were going to put me on Meth. “Meth?” “Yes, it’ll help your uterus shrink. We don’t think you’re having a period. You’re hemorrhaging.”  Apparently, Meth is good for the hayhay? Who knew?

I call my friends who were waiting for LB and I to arrive at their house to play in the backyard and explain that I’ll be going on Meth. We talk for a while, me feeling slightly foggy, what from the days of bleeding and all, swearing the nurse said “METHADONE”. You know? Meth? Not as in “crystal Meth” but regular Meth.

After googling Meth, I called the nurse back a bit appalled. “METH?”  “Yes,” she explained, “Methergine. It helps shrink the uterus after miscarriage or childbirth. You should notice a decrease in the bleeding shortly.” Ahhhh. Methergine.  I totally flunked D.A.R.E.

The problem is, I did notice a slight decrease, as in I’m no longer afraid my arm will get sucked down in to my body and fall out my uterus. But overall? I’m still bleeding. It’s to the point I can no longer stand up for short periods of time. I can’t even get up to fill my daughter’s cup with milk. Or make a bottle. And this? Is ridiculous.

I’m having them put in an IUD next week. This is so our last child. My body isn’t pleased with creating life. Thank god I’m not Catholic anymore.

Wordless Wednesday 3: The First Parade Jul 04, 2007

Leaving the house: Like Indiana Jones, if he pooped his pants and yelled “ME DO IT” Jul 03, 2007

#Parenting Siblings

Like everything else in my life as of late, I started to post a “Watch us leave the house: IN REAL TIME” a while back. Then, I dunno, the kids need things. My Mom needs things. I have to pee. Someone throws herself on the ground for a fit and hits her knee yelling, “I BONK! I BONK! I BOOONNK!” I sigh, stand up, and completely give up writing about how it’s impossible to accomplish anything in one sitting. Ironic.

So, instead of real time, here are pieces of “The Flingers Leaving” filed under “So you think you want two?”


5:00 AM- Festivities begin! The baby feeds, grunts, whimpers and burps for an hour.
6:00 AM- Mr. Flinger gets up to head to work. Scratch that, Mr. Flinger lets snooze go off for forty minutes before being forty minutes late to work.
7:00 AM- LB gets up and begins yelling in her room “I AWAKE! I AWAKE!”
8:00 AM- Baby Feeds, grunts, whimpers and burps for an hour
9:00 AM- THANK GOD SESAME STREET IS ON. I shower while LB eats.
10:00 AM- Pack bags, food, bottles, sunscreen, do LB’s hair. Have power-struggle over who will actually put LB’s shorts on. It’s fun! Join in!
11:00 AM- Just before leaving the house, LB poops and needs a change. What’s that? It’s time to feed the baby again? Fuck.
12:00 PM- Baby is finished eating but LB has now thrown herself in to mass hysterics. She’s TIRED. And HUNG-R-AY. Take baby out of car seat and place in swing. He’s pissed, too.
1:00 PM- Make LB pick up the food she’s thrown on the floor. Drag her up the stairs to her bedroom. Have power struggle getting her in to bed. Are we having fun yet? Is it happy hour?
2:00 PM- LB is still yelling in her room obviously not napping. Time to feed the baby again! Damn he eats a lot.
3:00 PM- Call friends and try to connect this afternoon since this morning didn’t work. Four? Can we make four? I think so!
4:00 PM- LB decides she will a) change her clothes b) put on her shoes by herself c) crap her pants again.
5:00 PM- Get everone strapped in to car. Baby is hungry and crying. Try to make playdate with screaming infant in backseat.
5:30 PM- Get to park. Feed baby. LB plays.
6:00 PM- All the normal people are going home to eat dinner and take baths for bed. Baby is still feeding/burping/whimpering. Like hell I’m leaving now after 12 hours of preparing to actually get here.
7:00 PM- It’s now past LB’s bedtime and she’s on the floor in the sand box crying because some kid looked at her wrong.
8:00 PM- Finish dinner, drag kid upstairs. Skip bath again. (You can’t remember the last time we bathed her. Because? This is your life now.)
10:00 PM- Eyeball the vodka
11:00 PM- Feed/bounce/burp
12:00 AM- Take Baby for walk around block. Drag stroller up to room.
1-3 AM: Sleep
3-4 AM: Feed baby
4-5 AM: Sleep

And then? it’s 5AM. And you do it all over again.

Did that put you to sleep, too? Or just make you go grab a box of condoms from Walgreens?

Yea, me, too.