Mrs. Flinger: Based on a True Story

Coming to you and making no sense whatsoevah 27/Feb/2009

#Theology

I dunno. Maybe it’s PMS. Or Estrogen hijacking. Or my lump-hair producing neck. But I’m ... I dunno…

Worried? No…

Anxious? No….

Unsure?

Maybe it’s the uncertainty that makes me want to watch Grey’s Anatomy for a good cry because I feel like MAYBE I want to cry but I don’t have a real reason to.

So maybe watching a delicious McDreamy will make me want to grab some tissue and weep a bit for someone dying on a table diagnosed with some godawful something because at least I know they had a short contract with The Show.

Does anyone know how long their contract is with This Show? No?

So I had my lump looked at today. I like to laugh at... Read more

The Second Year 26/Feb/2009

#Family Life

My son is nearing two. TWO. Keeping all the “It goes so quickly” and “Next thing you know they’ll be teenagers and never want to be in your presence again” and “She’ll be walking down the isle before you know it” comments at bay, let me just say this:

OHMYGOD-WHERE-DID-ALL-THE-TIME-GO-AND-NEXT-THING
I-KNOW-THEY’LL-BE-OFF-AT-COLLEGE-OHMYGOD.

imageRead more

My First Round of Weekly Winners 22/Feb/2009

#Media

Because I love Lotus so much I could squish her face.

hot

flower

Read more

The day I Knew You’d Be Mah Baby Daddy 17/Feb/2009

#The Liberal Years

You already know this. I’ve said it at least a dozen times. But this is for our children and our grandchildren. One day they will ask the question, “How did you know he was ‘The Right One’?” I will point to this section of our memoirs and say, “Here.”

Kids? listen up.

I’m sure I’ve told you the history of us. How your dad and I dated in High School as insecure young people. I’m sure the love we had in our hearts was real but the maturity of that love was years and years away. My bad poetry and his creative cards are only a snippet of what we would become. Who we really were.... Read more

How Blissdom helped me understand my daughter 10/Feb/2009

#Family Life

I stepped down off the panel, my legs shaking so much I had a touch of paulsy. I’m pretty sure the sweat on my face could be seen from the back row. I stayed to answer a few questions and meet a new client so the room was nearly empty. I was actually a little relieved that nobody was left to see me taking deep breaths and stepping carefully. One. Two. Three. Breath.

I push thoughts of over-analyzing the panel out of my head and focused on food. I need it. Bad.

The feedback is great. People respond well to watching a complete and utter spaz on stage. I think it’s like a train-wreck. So cliche and so true. Or reading the fail blog. I? Am one Giant Fail Blog.

Word.

I start to think back to those times in my life I’ve lived up to my... Read more

Little Girl 03/Feb/2009

#The Early Years

I dance in the grass, my favorite twirlie dress flowing around my young legs. Each blade of grass tickles my toes as it squishes under my feet. I run and leap, awkwardly, in the air. I land and fall, my dress fluttering behind and under me. I get up and do it all again.

I sing to the tree behind our fence. Loudly. Out of tune. To a beat of my own. The lyrics never rhyme but I sing anyway. I sing of stars and sunshine and flowers.

I splash in the pool, watching the water slosh to each side. It’s almost big enough for me to dip my head under the water and count to ten without hitting the walls. I dunk under and start counting. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. ... My sister comes out to play and I whine. I know there will not be enough room now for dunking and counting. At least... Read more

Saturday Mornings 01/Feb/2009

#The Early Years

From my desk, I can hear my husband playing with our kids downstairs. I’m here working, hoping to get somethings done before I head off to a conference where I’m making an idiot out of myself in front of people

speaking, all professional and stuff. (ish)

I hear them laughing. I hear the faint sound of the TV. I hear a lot of loud wrestling.

I remember Saturday mornings as a child in Houston. Memories of cartoons, bike riding, running around with our neighbor friends.

I grew up on a regular suburbia street in which every fourth house was the same floor plan. There were wood fences separating lives in the back and a long cement sidewalk connecting us in the front. Nearly every house... Read more