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.

Keeping up with the Jonses (or at least the JCPenny Catalog) Apr 29, 2008

#Fitness#Weght Loss and Body Image

I like to think I’m a modern feminist. I’m all for equality. I believe in having choices, in being a Mother, a Wife, a Sister and a Daughter. I believe in having girl friends and in enjoying the people in your life. I believe in equal pay for equal jobs and I believe I can program a website even though “women don’t do computers.”

I guess I believe I can have it all.

I’ve come to realize something very upsetting. I can’t have it all. This should be obvious with the balls that get dropped or the dishes that don’t get clean or the emails that go unanswered. It should hit home when my daughter grips my arm to stay home instead of leaving her while I work or when my son lights up when I get home. I should catch a clue when my husband pulls me to the couch just to grab a moment in front of the TV together, to relax, to just BE.

It should.

Instead, it was the JCPenny catalog that really drove this concept home to me today. Because while I am a modern feminist believing I can be both female, soft, and emotional while simultaneously pacing the men at programming or mowing the lawn or fixing a car engine, I still believe in the advertisers’ perception of the female form. Those women, thin, strong, paint-brushed women, in the catalog looking better in those clothes than I will ever, make me feel bad about myself.

How anti-feminist is that?

I’d like to participate in the Letter to my body initiative on BlogHer but I’m terribly afraid it would say something like this:

“Dear Body,

Fuck you.

The end.”

That “Fuck you” would include a long list of detailed critiques I don’t need to spell out like my stretched out belly, my thighs that no longer look like a 20 year old owns them, my arms that thicken when I lift instead of shape. I don’t need to spell it out, my body knows. But why not celebrate the life it created and the joy those two little people get from being cuddled by it? Why not embrace the ten pounds I’ve lost since September? Why not?

Because of JCPenny.

Because I don’t look like the women I see on every catalog, on TV, in the minds of most Americans. Why will two extra pounds on the scale can cause me to obsess, to critique, to diet? Why will I see someone from years ago, someone who lost 20 pounds on her own, and be jealous instead of proud? Why don’t I celebrate with her instead of berating myself for not being strong enough to follow suit?

Weight loss is to women as sex is to the seventeen year old male: We think about it every 6 seconds.

I’m not kidding.

So, while I like to say things like, “I love you for all you do, Body” and “Look at what you can do if you try!” what I really want to say is sometimes the JCPenny catalog makes me want more than just shoes.

** Other fabulous women who have touched on this topic whose posts stuck in my brain: Sweetney, Amy, Y, Anne and about four billion more. Have you?


Brutally Honest Monday The One Where I Spill Family Secrets Apr 27, 2008

#Life#Brutally Honest Mondays

They say a family who eats at the table has children who don’t fall off the deep end, do drugs, become cereal killers and read three times faster. Or something. But I’d like to give you a teeny tiny glimpse in to the lives of The Flingers. This brutally honest Monday I ask for a peek in to your REAL life. And then I do the same.

I was raised flipping off various family members at dinner. The Dinner Table was a place to fart, belch, flip off and cuss. We actually laughed. Sometimes we’d flip each other off, laugh and fart all before Mom could get us all dished up. Right between prayer and clearing the wine glasses, we’d talk about the day and then, inevitably, someone would say something and someone else would flip ‘em off.

The tradition? It continues:



And even Baby O played along, in his own way:


And this, Internet, is why we don’t often have dinner guests. But if you come over? BYOB. (Bring. Your. Own. Bird.)

** If you participate in your own Brutally Honest Post, let me know, ok? **


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Ohdeargod, I just realized we (my BFF and I) flickred our “Night Out” on Friday. And? Looky Here.  Maybe that’s taking it a WEE bit too far?

Mah bird, it does fly…

Goonies, Baby, Goonies Apr 25, 2008

#Life#Flash Back Friday

This week’s Friday Flashback comes to me in an email reading: What was the first movie you ever saw? What was your first notable movie memory? And what effect did it have on you?

I wasn’t sure at first. I didn’t know if I’d get to play this week because how many people want to hear about how I sang “It’s a Hard Knock Life” to my record of the Annie Soundtrack when my Mother made me clean my room. (Oh, the horror! The ghastly angst!) Or how I lied and told people I was in the movie on the bus to school one day. They made me sing the entire soundtrack, which I did, and said I was the girl with the lisp. (Anyone care to tell me why I’d want to be the girl with the LISP? Seriously? Way to achieve, Leslie.)

But then I remembered The Goonies. Remember The Goonies? Unless you lived, or live, in the northwest, preferably in SW Washington or NW Oregon, you might not. Having grown up in Houston, I’d never think twice about it except that we moved to Washington in 1989 and drove by the house of The Goonies about three times a year.

I don’t clearly remember The Goonies. But I do remember wanting to kiss Sean Astin.  And being a little scared of the basement. And watching it with my eyes closed unless Sean was on screen.

Did I mention Sean? I think I was a little boy crazed as a pre-teen. (Which is evident from my Jr. High journal. Le Sigh.)

In fact, thinking back, I rarely remember anything at all about the movie minus the cute boy, the scary basement, and the fat kid. So this trailer was like a new release for me.

Do you remember?

** Other Badass Mothers remembering their youthful Hollywood intros include **
Oh The Joys
Mamalouges *updated with the actually right URL. Because I rock the typo.
Izzy Mom
Her Bad Mother

Do you have a debut Hollywood Film you recall? And is it different now that you look back? Or is your childhood mind sharper and more focused than mine?

Old Silly Bear

The Real Stories Apr 23, 2008


I’m postponing today’s scheduled post. You’ll understand after you read these:

Catherine replies on behalf of all mommy bloggers to those who hate.

Erin talks about journalism and mommy blogger perception an the power of Web 2.0 after being blocked by a “techie”.

The always amazing Jenny makes me spit out hot coffee when reading her recap of Puerto Rico and promises (Vowes even) to have a drink with me the next time I get to Houston. (That last part isn’t in the post itself, unless you read really closely, like Divinci code, in between the lines where it says, “Leslie? You and I are going for Margaritas the next time you come to Houston”. Didn’t you see that?)

On Blissfully Domestic I post about the diets I’ve been on.

Anne gives us a glimpse in to her daughter Emma’s insight.

And finally, as we all watch and listen, we find out the power of the media and how we have the impact to change the nation. And probably, the world.

The Flinger Family Goes Carbon Friendly Apr 22, 2008

#Life#The Flinger Family

Here are some fun ways The Flinger family has decided to embark upon “Going Green.” I think you’ll see that being green really isn’t as hard as Kermitt led you to believe.

1. Stop bathing your children. We are now only bathing once a week to save water, soap and the ecosystem. SMELLY FOR AMERICA! It’s written in grime across our children’s foreheads to spread the wonderful word of global consciousness.

2. Wear the same clothes more than once. I now do a quick sniff test. :: sniff sniff :: Yup! The clothing stinks less than the child! And away it gets packed in the drawer for use again. Save water, soap, the water system and energy.

3. Bonus to not bathing #2: Save on hair products! Forget Ozone-depleting Aquanet! Go enviro-friendly with your very own home-grown grease! Ponytails are held in place starting around day #3 without a wash. No gooey mess just all natural oils.

4. Go green with your food: Can’t quite make it to the meat in the fridge before it goes bad? Eat it anyway! What’s a little mold or bacteria for the human intestine? After all, there are now studies saying we’re too clean. Grow your own immune system right in your very own fridge.

5. Hug a tree.

republican raises tree hugger

Brutally Honest Monday 3 Bring your opinions and snark Apr 21, 2008

#Life#Brutally Honest Mondays

It’s that time of the week again! Time for you to get judgey and tell me your opinion. (Yes, this is different than any other day of the week. See? I’m ASKING for it.)

This one is easy: Keep? Or Toss?

Exhibit 1:
Old Navy sweater Circa 2000. Lime green with thick banding on waist and wrist. Comes to just below navel. Looks fab with high waisted pants.


Except that I’m afraid the short preppy sweaters and high waisted pants aren’t in anymore. Unless you’re 56 and working in the principals office at the local elementary school. And then it’s hip if you were your white sneakers so you can walk on your thirty minute lunch break.

Dude, I can know fashion.

Exhibit 2:
The Banana Republic “The Only Thing I Could Ever Afford There” shirt:


It’s black, waist length (again! what’s with that?), with three quarter sleeve. If I lift my arms, mah VERY SEXAY belly pokes out just a wee bit. Hello stretched out belly! It’s hot. Really.

Also best worn with high waisted jeans. Preferably those with stretch in the thigh and pumps. (Not Pajama Bottoms from Costco :: cough ::)

So do I keep them and hope that I’m just as hip at 55 as I am at 32? Or toss and forgetaboutit?

** If you participate in your own Brutally Honest Post, let me know, ok? **

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Because that last post went over like pork at a vegan wedding… Apr 18, 2008

#Life#Rants and Raves

Look! Snow!

5:10 p.m. Update: A strong Puget Sound Convergence Zone has reformed in Snohomish County, bringing steady snow as well as thunder and lightning to the area. A SNOW ADVISORY is now in effect for Snohomish County until 5 a.m. Saturday for as much as 1-3” of snow—especially above 400 feet

SEATTLE—Summer is only 63 days away.

That’s about the only solace we have to sun fans who are looking at potentially the latest snowfall ever recorded, at least in the Seattle area. Meanwhile, snow and rain fans are all smiles as winter extends well into its fourth month.”

Today we have big fat fucking flakes of snow. That’s right. EFFING SNOW. “Snow and Rain Fans”? Frakya all.

All because you betches used Aquanet.



Big Fat Middle Finger To Mother Nature.

I’m ready for summer.

Friday Flashback Stories Apr 18, 2008

#Life#Flash Back Friday

There’s a lot of angst in being thirteen. There are pimples. There are boys. There are boobs, the lack thereof, periods, the lack thereof, and bangs that absolutely must stand six inches tall and curl just-like-so.

I think of my daughter turning thirteen and I die a little inside. I die a little for me and how our relationship will change. I die a little for her and how much she’ll analyze her social status, hair, nose. I die for my husband who might not be the only man in his little girl’s life anymore and I die for her brother who will not understand PMS or fifteen hour phone calls. But mostly I die because she will do things that I will never know about until she grows up, creates a blog, and I find it.

Hi Mom.

The following story is part of this Friday’s Flashback, “What memory/story from your youth (or childhood) - if any - would you never share with your own children? Why? And if there’s nothing from your history that you wouldn’t have them know, why is that?” as brought to you by Catherine and Tracey.

Being thirteen in Houston, Texas is probably like being thirteen anywhere. Teenagers snuck out at night, went down the road to their friend’s house and walked to the High School to make out or smoke. I was such a Good Girl growing up that I never initiated these things myself, but followed by best friend in 8th grade like an eager sidekick so when she started sneaking out at night to go smoke cigarets with the hot guys down the street, naturally, I followed.

One night I remember hanging out with Matt’s sixteen year old brother. Oh, the hair gel and up-turn polos! He was F-I-N-E. Like, TOTALLY RAD. Awesome. And we loved him. So when he asked if we wanted to drive his dad’s car we nodded in awe and hopped in. My Best Friend was up in front driving the stick down a long dirt road while I sat in the back counting the minutes until my turn. We went faster and faster, two thirteen year old girls and one hot older man down the dirt road. It was exhilarating. It was horrifying. It was a rite of passage.

We returned the car, snuck back home, left our muddy shoes in the bushes out in front of her window and crawled back in bed gasping for breath and giggling. Of the handful of times we snuck out, this one remains, quite possibly, the most memorable.

Shortly after this we moved to Washington and I never snuck out again.

My daughter will have these stories and I will never know. I will not tell her these stories either. I will share most everything else, every other part of me, but these I will keep to myself, hidden safely on my public web site. Why? Because I am a Mom now. Because my Mom did the same things when she was young and I never knew. Because it’s a rite of teenagers everywhere to have those secrets, those tiny pieces of self that a handful of people know, to survive, mature, grow, and look back and nod “how youthfully stupid.”

But mostly because I want to remember what it’s like to be thirteen sometimes. I only have ten years left. And it makes me die a little inside.

*** If you want to play along, please copy and paste the participants and put your name at the bottom in your post so others can include you as well. **

Flashback Friday Peeps
Her Bad Mother
Izzy Mom
Mrs. Flinger

Real Names vs Internet Names: A running commentary Apr 15, 2008

#Life#Getting to know me#The Flinger Family

There’s this phenomenon on the Internet. It’s called Google. Most people/employers/possible clients know how to use Google. Google is good. Google is bad. Google may be Big Brother.

Or, maybe, if we go all deep and philosophical, Google is really God. All knowing. All seeing. Telling your seventh grade boyfriend things you said about him and making your marriage an open book. Google is the bane of the medical world and the best friend of new moms with collicy babies.

In short, we all turn to Google at night to answer our requests. Am I wrong?

But with such knowledge at our fingertips (annoyingly so) it’s easy to “get caught” in the act. Or tarnish a reputation. Or ruin friendships/relationships/jobs.

So, when I got the name of a potential nanny, the first thing I did was type her name in to google and see what comes up in case she hasn’t read whoorl’s tip for nannys. I found nothing. Not a clue. Which, in a way, is a good thing. I think.

I’ve struggled with this for my own business, needing and being so public to market a skillset while simultaneously being enteraining about my husband’s junk and honest about the juggle of staying at home and working. I told myself, a year ago, when I got a job, I’d quit the blog.

I didn’t.

She did. And she might. And she talks about the benefits of going offline.

And it’s not that I am going to go anywhere. I just wonder about my Internet Identity and my Professional Identity and how they mesh with my Mom/Writer/Sarcastic “I make fun of my life and most of it is real.”

As “more and more blog writers out their real names, I wonder if I should as well. Or if I’m even fooling myself with thinking this is a safe place anymore anyway.

Most of you know me in real life. And you know a lot of what I say here is a character of my real life, not my real life itself.


And in case you were wondering?

Nov12_07 049

This is us. Hi.

But you already knew that, didn’t you.

Brutally Honest Monday 2: The 80’s Prom Outfit Apr 13, 2008

#Life#Brutally Honest Mondays

Hiya! Did you have a lovely weekend? Yes, yes, I did, thank you. I worked, cussed out an old man at Starbucks, went to a SpaJama party and enjoyed a date night with my husband. What more can a person ask for? (Cough SEX Cough)

Well then, let’s jump right in. First, a gigantic ol’ OHMYGODILOVEYOU for those who chimed in last week. This week I have a special treat for you. It’s PROM WEEK! That’s right! PROM. Part of the inspiration for Friday’s Flashback was this weekend’s upcoming 80’s prom I’m attending on Saturday with some good friends. We’ve been shopping at Value Village (the mecca of all things grossly outdated) and I have an outfit I need Teh Amazing Interweb’s opinion on.

You might want to sit down for this.


S-E-X-A-Y. I know.

So, here’s the thing. I don’t know if the black nylons are too conservative. I think I need these leggings instead. And I don’t have the the lace gloves I wanted. Or Aquanet. But still? For 6 bucks I think it’s pretty great.

Now it’s your turn. How do I spiff this bad boy up? What should I do to complete my costume? And finally?

Would you go for an 80’s day at BlogHer? Comeon. It will be fun. PLEASE? I need to get more use out of this thing and also, IT WOULD BE FUNNNnnNNNNN.


** If you wanna play, just put a list of who else is going it and add this button. I’ll update as I can. XO

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