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.
If I had all the answers Jun 26, 2008
Last night I had my first, full fledged panic attack. I haven’t had one in years, not since our car was totaled passing through a green light by a 19 year old on her cell. I used to have them on and off for a full two years or so after that day. It was almost always related to driving and it was almost always short lived and managable.
Last night, at 1:00 AM as I crawled in to bed, I literally thought I was going to die.
My throat closed.
My heart raced.
My head spinned.
I ran through the list of possibilities: allergies? virus? heart attack?
I didn’t have anything odd last night, not even anything to drink. I had my usual Fuzze, cabbage soup and water. I worked until about 12:30 this morning laying out the foundation for time management over the next few months.
Then I checked on the sleeping children, listened to Mr. Flinger breath softly, and started to drift off.
I was jolted awake by death. (Or that’s what I said had you asked me at the time.)
Panic attacks aren’t fun, they are not logical, and they’re real. I hate admitting that I can’t handle something. I want to be the person who at least occasionally has her shit together. I’ve said it a million times, and I don’t know why I focus so much on it, but my goal in life must be: A) Spend time with family B) Get Shit Together C) Die peacefully in my sleep after watching grandchildren graduate college and get married and make babies.
I always get hung up on “B”.
So there you have it. Judge if you will. Last night I laid down and swore to God I was going to die and never see my children go to Kindergarden or graduate or learn to drive. Sounds silly in the light of day, doesn’t it?
Silly. But very very real.
Craving Me Jun 24, 2008
There are some things in my life now that are so familiar, I can recall the smells and sounds as if I’m standing there, ten or twenty years ago. Others are so new and wirey, I can barely choke down the change before time is up and new smells and sounds arrive.
This morning on my jog, I turned the corner to the downhill in front of our street and saw the Cascade Range. It exudes summertime right now with the blue shadows and dusts of snow. It is one of those familiar sights to me while running that make this place home. I’m nearly 19 again running in cross country or gearing up for the season the summer prior staring in earnest at the finish line.
The thing most unfamiliar is the stroller I push and what it carries.
For some reason, the mister and I have taken note, adjusting to the second child has been even more difficult than the first. Even without postpartum depression and all the new-parent anxiety, it still has been a hard change in our marriage and in our family. Our bodies are older. We aren’t as fit. We need sleep more. Our minds are engaged elsewhere.
I’ve joked about why being a teen parent is a good idea and I’m really only kidding. Except that I’m possibly wondering about that alternate reality where we had children a few years earlier, say at 25 instead of 30, and maybe we’re shuffling kids off to school and gymnastics instead of naptime.
The grass, it is always greener, isn’t it?
So this morning on my jog, the one place I feel the most in touch with the me that was Me before I was Mom, I thought perhaps instead of my body failing me, I’m failing my body. That instead of this whole parenting gig failing me, I’m failing the parenting gig. And maybe instead of trying to hold on to was I was, I should embrace the Who I Am Now.
And I would. If I knew who that was.
Brutally Honest Monday Suckit. Jun 23, 2008
If I am going to be Brutally Honest with you today, Internet, let me tell you this:
I do not feel like blogging today. Blogging can suckit.
The cop that gave me a ticket in front of our friends because I was driving three miles over the previous speed limit prior to the change on a down-hill can suckit.
The thirty minutes I spent looking for my keys can suckit.
This Monday can suckit.*
<a href=“http://mrs.flinger.us”><img src=“http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3130/2394484739_8a1ed73b65_m.jpg” alt=“Brutally Honest Mondays” border=“0” /></a>
*(That’s what he said)
NomNomNom Jun 19, 2008
Taking my new addiction just a little too far:
That’s right. I’m a geek.
*hat tip to Karen for the
link and to Sweetney who I think twittered it where Karen found it. Or something like that.
How do you choose who takes your kids in the event of the unthinkable? Jun 18, 2008
I’ve mentioned on perhaps only a half million occasions, that I have a slight tendency to hypochondria. :: GASP :: I know! Right? Like you had NO IDEA I’d be this way.
So when I smacked my head on the kids’ bunk bed tonight, I immediately turn to Mr. Flinger (who turns 34 today) and ask, “Are my pupils ok?”
Because hi, that is the natural next question.
I spent the next two or three hours playing with my eyeballs in the bathroom mirror. :: click light on :: pupils contract! :: click light off :: pupils dilate!
So far, so good.
Then, for no reason what-so-ever that I can figure out, he asks what we’ll be doing with the children if anything was to, gulp, happen to us. “Why? Why are you asking that tonight of all nights?”
“Because I’m turning thirty-four and we need to have this figured out. We need a will.”
Now I’m obviously dying.
So we talk about it, where do they go? How do we decide? My parents in Texas? My Mom, who’s a preschool teacher and my Dad who’s a college dean/Professor seem like a great option in my head for our children to have the best chance at an education. Mr. Flinger, though, wants a more rural atmosphere for the kids to romp and play. So we argue. Around and around. “Then so-and-so would be upset we didn’t pick them and so-and-so would hate us for doing this..”
“Aren’t we dead? Why do they hate us if we’re dead? And who cares. It’s about the kids and what’s best for them.”
The following twenty minutes was an ugly conversation.
I have no idea how you decide these kinds of things. We used to have two dogs. We had to give them to a better home when we moved to our tiny tiny (tiny TINY) condo in Seattle. One went to my parents, the other went to my Aunt and Uncle.
Seems like if we can decide that with two dogs, kids shouldn’t be much harder, right?
Welcome to thirty-four, Babe. Start praying we never die soon.
- If you like this post you may, or may not, like the following hypochondria related posts -
What Do You Get When you Cross A Hypochondriac with An Engineer
Sleep Deprivation Won’t Kill you But Hypochondria Will
Have I Told You I’m A Hypochondriac? And This Can’t Be Good.
How to make me hate shopping (and that’s hard to do)
———- (The real joy here is to see how many ways I can mis-spell hypochondria over the years. I’ve counted seven so far… )————
Brutally Honest Monday I will lick you Jun 17, 2008
I mentioned my unfortunate need to exclaim “I will LICK you!” when I hear people I love will be going to BlogHer. I’d like to say I’m pretty much joking but given enough of the sauce, I may not be.
How is this brutally honest? The part of the “drinking of Teh Sauce” or the part about sharing germs via my tounge that is truly disgusting and sending people grabbing their purell?
To be Brutally Honest with you there are two things you need to know before I pull out the licks.
1. I love you. I read you. I sweartogod I do. Prolly in my feedreader because I’m a lazy bitch like that. I probably giggle wildly, or nod and then remember I should be working and forget to comment. So it’s true, I suck. TA DA!
2. I won’t remember you at BlogHer. I’ll claim it’s the sauce but honestly? I’m a visual person. I rarely remember things I haven’t visually taken note of. I’ll associate you with some image on your site that may, or may not, be representative of you so when you say, “oh, I am so-and-so” I’ll go… “uummmm” and then you’ll be offended because OMG YOU DON’T KNOW ME? But then I’ll go, “OH! You’re the kid with the bucket head!” I LOVE YOU!
See? It’s how I roll.
So I thought maybe, just maybe, you won’t mind introducing yourself with some image, some visual SOMETHING, that I can hold on to? Comeon, I know you want to. It’ll be fun. “I’m the cat!” “I’m the monkey!” “I’m the box of condoms you forgot to grab last week and couldn’t make out on your weekend away!” No, wait, not that last thing.
So, play along, please? Post an image, some little fun fact, and a link back to here. If you wanna boast your love of being licked, I have a
little button you can have.
**** Code for Lick Button ****
<a href=“http://mrs.flinger.us”><img src=“http://www.flickr.com/photos/mrsflinger/2587997172/” alt=“BlogHer 08” border=“0” /></a>
Then I’ll start studying your sites and images and fun facts so when I meet you and you say, “Oh! Mrs. Flinger! You fart when you laugh.” And I laugh, fart, and we both clink wine glasses, it will be so less awkward than, “Um. yes.. the weather IS lovely, isn’t it?”
If you do a B.H.M. post, please sign the linky below!
The Wind and The Rain Jun 16, 2008
It’s amazing how a few days of sunshine will wash away literally weeks of shit-storm. How a few sunny mornings where the alarm goes off, the children remain in their bed, your husband is next to you softly breathing and the birds chirp pleasantries to each other can remove months of chill and dread and oppression. It reminds me of my husband’s response to the famous Sleepless In Seattle quote, “But it rains nine months of the year in Seattle,” which is, “Yup but you get three months off.”
Que late June.
So we enter the time of year where web feet start evolving back to toes and children giggle with sun in their eyes. Cheeks are pink from hiking and parents sit grouped in twos and threes on beach towels near the Sound. We hike. We BBQ. We ditch work and play tag near Bellingham Bay.
We forget about blogging, stats, the computer. It’s a simpler time. There may be a writing journal.
Most likely there won’t be.
But there are smutty magazines. And bikes. And sand.
It’s a time for forgetting what day of the week it is, for forgetting your phone and for sunning in the backyard. It’s time for posting Brutally Honest Monday on late Tuesday. :: cough :: And for reading good books with a glass of wine and for working late in to the evening jamming to the sounds of good tunes watching the sun set.
It’s time to forget the wind and the rain and enjoy today.
I hope you enjoyed today.
Slurp Slurp Slurp Jun 13, 2008
If this blog gets a little steamy, please do not disturb. The InLaws are coming to take the kids for the night (two?) and the Mister and I will be romping around like the 17 year old selves we once were.
That’s right! We’ll be falling asleep on the couch watching movies at 9! :: snort ::
Happy Father’s Day.
The Cabbage Soup Diet, the gateway drug Jun 12, 2008
God, is she going to post more about how cold and crappy it is there? UGH. You know? Like she’s the ONLY person to deal with shitty weather? I mean, comeon, people are drowning in their beds in the mid-west and blahblahblah it rains in Seattle. Get over it already. GOD. Or is this another “Why I’m too busy for you” post that makes me so warm and fuzzy? Like yesterday’s old fruit? Because nothing says “love” like “you’re third on my list, blog, and, well, it’s a short list.”
Oh why hello there, Internet! Did you know that we are living paralell lives? That I, too, almost purchased a skirt bathing suit before declaring that spanx should come installed in all swimsuits because if I’m spending 100 dollars on a suit, it damn well better make me look like Jennifer Aniston (exclamation point, loud talking in Macy’s, in front of the sales girl). I’ve also been feeling the guilt over the part time daycare set up we have and am trying to lose weight with a chatty little girl in tow.
Also, apparently, I’m very hungry because I’ve already told Elaine, Y, Rachel and Leah that I am going to lick them at Blogher. And I can not figure out why this is the first thing that comes out of my mouth. “I will LICK YOU!”
Dear god, that’s disgusting.
I must be hungry.
I am very hungry.
See, Monday, Michelle and I started the Cabbage Soup Diet. For someone who is always telling people to love themselves because it’s not about what you look like but who you are, I sure am obsess with what I look like. Or rather, how I feel about what I look like. So Michelle and I thought it would be lovely to jump start some healthy eating habits this summer by doing the Cabbage Soup Diet (again) together.
This diet fucking works.
But you are also very hungry.
:: oohhh, that keyboard looks tastey.. nomnom.. ::
The real goal is not to diet and lose weight (well, yes, of course it IS, ...) but rather to use it as a way of spurring ourselves on with some motivational numbers on the scale. It’s not THAT hard, really.
Within four days I’ve lost four pounds.
I’m within four pounds of my pre-LB weight. 2 pounds less than Pre-O.
The sag is still there. The Pooch is still there. My body is thirty, a mother, working and tired. But I’m more ok with that right now than I’ve been in a long long time. I’m OK with eating better. I’m OK with working out. I’m OK with drinking more water and making better choices.
Suddenly, I am just OK.
I’m hungry. I’m farting. I’m sick and tired of carrots. But I’ve learned that I can do this, I can make better choices. I can eat until I’m full without stuffing myself and I can make a kickass salad without dressing.
Saturday we resume our regular daily living. I don’t think either of us will be going back to before, though. We’ve seen a better way.
I’m sticking to it.
Variations on a Theme Jun 10, 2008
They reached out their hands
icy fingers grasp
my hang in theirs cold
Parks open for summer
empty swings sway
in the wind and rain
Coats once hung
brought out again
huddling with blankets
A month ago today
Arizona sunny skies
My sister and a sunburn
Now faded tan
skin pasty white
icy cold feet