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.

Proud to be the bacon - or alternate title: If I was gay I’d totally be in heaven right now Jan 11, 2010

#Life#Getting to know me

You know how silly these things are, right? Especially when there’s a list for the list after the list of 50 best mommy bloggers (which, frankly, I am so proud to see so many of my friends on there because yea, I have great taste and it’s obviously all about me), so really this is the list for like, the 51st - 100th best mommy blogger?

Dude. Rawkin’ the Bacon.

See, during this brief moment in time, before word gets out there and people actually take notice that this list exists and that you can vote once a day, I’ve snuck in between two of my most favorite, most adored bloggers out there. The Bloggess and SesameEllis.


Do not ask me how this is possible. I. Do. Not. Know.

What I do know, is that I had to take a screenshot of this before it goes away. I needed something to show off at all the parties I’ll be going to, “Remember that one time? I was the bacon in the SesameEllis/Blogess sandwich?” And people will laugh and say, “ooh, Leslie, you love to toss big names around, don’t ya” and I’ll pull out my iPhone and go, “NO IT IS REAL SEE?”

And when I have no friends left, I will have is this screen-shot to share a glass of whiskey with.

But, seriously, people, what this says to me is that a) mygodthankyou for the people who have thumbed me b) obviously not enough people realize you can thumb more than one person and trust me I’ve thumbed them all and c) I’m the bacon.


Here is my ode to this love sandwich that I just made up on the spot. I do that.

:: clears throat ::

You can be my bread
and I will be your fat
I’ll be the sizzle
in your ratta-tat-tat

I’ve loved you both long time
an honored to be between
I’m full of flavor, artificial and natural
I’m nitrates extra lean.

The next time I go check
I know this won’t be the case
so let me now, so briefly
enjoy this bloggy race.

Bbb-acon I love to be your Bacon.
(that’s the chorus)
(repeat chorus)

You can call me a fanatic
you can call me nuckingfutz
Either way is a-ok!
Just don’t call me cold cutts
Because ...

I’m your Bbb-acon.. I love to be your bacon.
(repeat chorus)

P.S. You can go vote your brains out for Heather, too, who is leading this with a good solid 1-2 punch as is rightly so. Also, check out the list. Lots of great reads. Find one, love one, thumb ‘em all. Pass it on.

Here’s to being the 54th best blog! heh.

{W}rite Challenge- The Job Jan 10, 2010

#Life#Working Mom#{W}rite-of-passage


My husband stepped out the door and I kissed him good-bye as he headed to work. It wasn’t an unusual scene, but a new one. This particular day was his first heading back to work after the birth of our first child. I was starting a new job as well, as a mother, taking care of an entire human being that had no idea how to hold her head, move her hands with fine motor skills or even that she had hands at all.

I was home taking care of a screaming sack of potatoes that shit hourly on the hour.

I was mortified.

So I held him a little too long that morning, my husband, in the door of our rambler. “I love youuuuuuu. Have a gooooooooo daaaaayyyyy. Looks like it won’t be too cold todaaaaaaaaay.”

He knew I was stalling. He’s smart like that.

The baby squirmed and kicked in my arms signaling her patience was giving in. Before she could start a full wail, he looks up and says, “Have fun with that! Seeya babe!” and nearly runs to his car before driving off at mock speed.

The baby and I. Alone. For the first time.

We look at each other. Her face contortions like an old man without his morning prune juice. She twitches, looks up at me and farts.

It was the first day in a long string of days colored with similar stories. And, like most first days on the job, the magnitude and simultaneous insignificance of each detailed moment won’t fully be appreciated until many, many, many years down the road.

Five, to be exact.


As I kiss my daughter off to school and begin a new job, an office job, a job without her in my arms or under my feet or clamoring for my attention, I miss that first moment, the ledge where we both stood that morning on our first journey together. And Oh, I miss it.

I always will.

This post is part of {W}rite-of-passage challenge #5- “The Job”. Here are others joining in this week. Feel free to as well!

A plea from a mother of a toddler who will not sleep Jan 08, 2010

#Life#Rants and Raves#Those Little People

You wouldn’t think someone this adorable could cause any trouble.


And oh, you’d be wrong. And also a suckah.

I can remember sitting behind the recliner listening to the theme song from St. Elsewhere. I remember my mother, without looking back, yelling, “GO TO BED” and wondering how she even knew I was there. I was so quiet! The woman had eyes on the back of her head. She till does.

The theme music has changed, the recliner is different, but the person sitting behind the chair refusing to go to bed is reminiscent of 1982.

My son, my precious baby boy, the apple of my eye, is pissing me right the hell off.  The Boy willl not, for any bribes, threats, pleads, stay in his bed. He will not sleep before 10PM or past 6:30AM. He knows what he wants and he wants it. It’s us. He’s changed in to a little man wanting late night TV and a whisky (ok, fine, “milk” whatever) until way past bedtime. Past OUR bedtime.


Last night in a fit of “what DO I DO WITH YOU” I stated, “Every time you get out of bed, you lose a lovey.” It had a “This Wonderful Life” tone to it but with threats, lovies, and the absence of an adorable child telling a story about angels. It also didn’t work.

I tried putting him back in his pac-n-play telling him only big boys get to be in big boy beds and when he feels he’s ready to be a big boy and stay in his MAN BED, he can have that again. He said, “OH! MY CRIB! YEY!”

Epic Fail.

I’ve lost hair over this. I’ve tried guilt trips, bribes, threats. I’ve let him stay up, I’ve stayed in bed and snuggled, I’ve read extra books, I’ve tried to ignore the behavior.

I have no good answer. I have no good solution. I have my regrets for letting this kid sucker me in to manipulate me with his charming ways of telling me he loves me and his adorable ways of being two.


And now? I’m paying for it.

Help? Please? I’ll let you stay up late. I’ll even buy you a pony.

Haggard. Jan 05, 2010

#Life#Working Mom#{W}rite-of-passage

I recently took a full time position with a fabulous design firm as their Director of Development. I work as a small team helping business reach their potential through an online presence that mimics their real life brand. We’re, what you call, all inclusive. Or “yer bitchez.” We answer to everything.

It’s a fabulous job, but it’s an adjustment. Life, though, is an adjustment. The older we get, the more we’ve adjusted and the more adjusting we do. Including our belt notches.

The children have been simply delicious over the holiday.





Randomly telling Mr. Flinger and I that they love us.



Staying in PJ’s all day long.

It’s been all sorts of wonderful as we adjusted to being home in our tiny condo together for ten days solid. But adjust we did, and fell in to a routine that felt natural and comfortable.


The first day back is always the hardest and memories slip as you forget what it was like before.  You’re armed with goals.




It’s all the same, really. There are goals for work and home and self. For eating and writing and your career. Goals for learning, stretching both mind and body. Goals, not resolutions, are what I created this year. I created goals.

I made a goal to give up drinking while I focused on my fitness.

I made a goal to stay off the computer and focus on the children and family after work.

I made a goal to write more, worry less.

I made a goal to keep the people who love me in my life and release the ones that don’t.

I made a goal to eat clean.

I made a goal to be a better wife, mother, developer.

I made a goal to produce some addons for the ExpressionEngine community.

I made a goal to tell my clients how much I appreciate them.

I made a goal to get our holiday cards out before Valentine’s Day.

I made a goal to say yes only to those projects I know I can do.

I made a goal to run because I love running. I made a goal to find community in everything I do. I made a goal to kick my sister’s ass at Mario Kart.

I have a lot of goals.

I will not reach them all but it’s not a failure. They’re goals. Not expectations. Not demands. Not black. Not white. Goals.


Here’s to a new year filled with lofty goals. And maybe even hitting one or two.

This is a part of writes-of-passage challenge. Here are some other participants this week. Feel free to join!

A tale of four flingers Jan 04, 2010

#Life#The Flinger Family

In her head, “I think we should clean today. Organize. Maybe I’ll get on that vegetarian menu I wanted to try out this week.”




In her head, “Candy canes and mice and princesses and ballet and maybeicangetmybrothertogoawaysoicanplayalone and candy canes and coloring and ballet and princesses and…”


In his head, ”  ....    ......    .....”


May your Sunday bring you whatever it is you desire in your head.

The Other Side Jan 02, 2010

#Fitness#Weght Loss and Body Image

Let’s take this a little further. I believe I’ve stumbled on to one of the basic tenants of the “WHY” portion of my weight-loss dilemma.

I like food.

Here’s where I get stubborn: French Women? Don’t get fat. They eat, the French eat, the Dutch eat, the Germans, mygod do they eat. But they don’t struggle with the same medical issues that we in the US do. I do believe on one hand it’s a simple solution: Calories in vs Calories out. But there is more than just math involved. There’s an entire culture involved. There’s history. There’s the agri-business. There’s an entire western culture built on more, bigger, better, and corn*.

Ultimately I think I should be able to ENJOY food. To truly love food. To savor the community it provides, the atmosphere of joy. Eating should be fun. Hell, drinking IS fun. I cross my arms and pout like a four year old that I should be ABLE to drink and IT’S NOT FAIR because a whole nation of people enjoy the love of red wine and alcohol and nobody things a bloody thing about it; and don’t you watch Mad Men where people drink whisky all afternoon?

So lies the struggle, the internal justification. Why should *I* not be able to have those same things others enjoy?

I guess because it really isn’t working for me.

Because I have a desk job.

Because I have two small children.

Because I work full time and have to choose wisely the things I do otherwise: Run or Drink? Bike, Walk or Ride?

I’m starting to make some better decisions; meeting with a friend to walk instead of have drinks, take the kids to the park and play with them instead of a play area where I sit. Those kind of baby steps toward moving more, eating less.

And yet I struggle. At night. For social parties. Because I love a good beer.

I know it can be done. A good friend of mine stopped drinking to watch her weight and found out, BEHOLD! it worked. I’ve talked with Karen about this topic a million times. It’s a choice. It’s calories. On every diet everywhere it says “no room for alcohol.”




I’ve seen women kick the alcohol habit and live to tell about it. I wonder if I can do the same. Do I need regulations? Do I need regimented calorie counting to prove there’s no room for empty calories? Or do I tell myself it’s a substance like any other type of food, like chocolate, like popcorn (my downfall), and that moderation is key.

None of that has worked thus far.

And so lies the quandary. There it is- the problem without a solution.  If you have one, I’ll take it. If you gave up drinking to better your body and soul, I’d like to know. If you battle the buldge and win, I want to know how. Ultimately, though, as I said before, it’s not in the knowing, it’s in the doing.

I’m ready to be the doing.

*After reading In Defense of Food: An Eater’s Manifesto, I felt empowered to change our eating in to a more natural food source and am making home-made bread, home-cooked meals and the like. Now, reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals I realize the WHY I am changing my diet and, for the first time in my life, am ready to eat “responsibly grown” meat sources and local fresh foods. Only. It’s true- I’ve finally gonen hippie on our food.