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’m rubber, you’re glue Nov 16, 2010

#Life#Getting to know me

I never had headgear. I never had braces. I never had extreme acne. No, my Jr. High experience was flanked with sports and friends and the usual self consciousness. High school was a stable place with a boyfriend and good grades and more sports.

Gymnastics 1986
*Me in 1986. I got medals for showing up. BOOYAH.

God, I knew this would come back to bite me. I just didn’t know I’d be thirty-five.

Call me brace face, four eyes, Darth Vader. (I linked to that just in case you didn’t know who Darth Vader was. Then I realized fuck you, you know? If you don’t know who Darth Vader is, google it. Also, seriously? Where were you in 1979? Oh, not born yet? LIKELY EXCUSE.)

And you will because now? Now I get to sleep with fighter-pilot like gear on.

Oh sweet sweet Maverick-esque gear.

On the plus side, I’m having what the sleep study shows as “Rem Rebound.” Apparently my body is so excited to get to sleep that my dreams are vivid and constant. My body is plunging itself in to REM like it’s the missing opiate.

When I dream that Miranda Bailey is working at a coffee shop handing out pot while a dude in a thong rides roller blades, it’s proof that I’m really, truly, seriously on something. And it’s called Oxygen. Seriously.

So laugh all you want. Name call if you will. But dayam, people, I feel awake for the first time since 1991. Some of you weren’t even born then. But don’t tell me that.


Because I swear to you, this is a disease, man Nov 15, 2010

#Life#Getting to know me

I’ve had a package, two actually, sitting in my living room for SIX MONTHS that I need to mail. It contains time sensitive materials. They are full of clothes for my sister’s daughter, I think you call that my niece, and my good friend’s daughter.

It’s literally been six months and I doubt they will fit their children anymore.

I’ve had a check sitting in my purse for three weeks. It’s not that we don’t need the money, ohgoodlord trust me, it’s that I can’t seem to actually DEPOSIT the check. And I’ve walked by the ATM. Twice.

I really don’t know what this is about but I actually fail to be a grown up sometimes, but I’ve somehow managed to clean the dishes every night and catch up on Grey’s anatomy. I must be doing something right.

I’m so fucking tired of letting people down Nov 11, 2010

#Life#Working Mom

My son had a field trip the other day to a cabin in the woods. It’s a cabin from 1865, a simpler time, were the butter was only made because you made it yourself. The cabin was cold. (As you’d expect old cabins to be.) We pondered life in the old days and how different things are now.

A break of fresh air

Maybe it’s a sign of the times, that a single person can let down entire groups of people multiple times a day. That with twitter and facebook and social media, you can have that many more connections, that many more commitments, that many more ways to upset people. There’s not just the farm, your family, and a neighbor or two; there are thousands of people watching you tweet, hundreds asking for a “one little favor” and a dozen people wanting just ONE thing, just if you don’t mind, can you… I know you’re busy but…

I recently pared way back on any contracting opportunities. Realizing I need two things: 1) sanity and 2) to keep my promises, I’ve only taken on extra work from one location. I still work, in my off time, as a freelance developer for the tramps and god, what a great feeling when Amanda asks if I was able to get to something and I WAS! And she appreciates it! And we fist bump and grab our crotch and spit because fucking hell! Awesome.

But still, I have that ... need. The need to help people. I still want to answer questions, because they are being asked. Or to do some work for someone because I like them. But writing for other sites or helping a friend just seems to fall to the side. It’s hard to let commitments slide, to feel like you lose friends because you can’t keep up with their blogs, to not make the conferences, to begin fading in to the background simply out of survival.

“Hey, how come you haven’t…” “Why don’t you just….” “Where is my .....” “I thought you were going to…..”

I know. I KNOW. I want to. I did. I started. It’s here. It’s almost ready. It’s ....

I’m telling myself that saying NO might very well be the best thing for everyone. It’s OK to say no. Because saying ‘No’ now might prevent me saying, “I just didn’t get to it” later.

It’s not that I don’t want to. I still love you. I still want to help. I still want to be able to be here for you. To help you. To read you. To comment and be part of your network. It just saddens me that I’ve lost touch with some of my favorite of all people and I’m longing a bit for the more simple times. When blogs were where we reached out and we still had a small enough community to truly connect.  Before the children needed things, before the bills got so big, before the market crashed and you lost your largest investment and the security that went with it.

Life, it isn’t slowing down. It’s up to me to find that space, the harmony, with letting down as few people as possible. Most notably: Me.

*P.S. Thank you, Amanda, for being awesome and letting me work with you even when I sort of go a little crazy and you talk me off a tree limb yelling css selectors and psudo-code while scratching fleas off the backs of my ears. I love you for it.

** P.P.S. I’m currently on a tree limb scratching at imaginary fleas yelling code. {monkey_sound}++

On Love: AKA It’s our anniversary today Nov 10, 2010

#Life#Getting to know me#The Flinger Family

My young son sat on the log outside waiting for snack. The older kids poured out from the Kindergarten room and I see his eyes follow a little blonde girl. He stands up, runs to her and says, “I’m here, Piper!” The little girl, Piper, doesn’t hear him. She has another friend of ours talking to her and my young son is standing behind her. “Here, Piper, I’m here!” I hear Piper ask where he is and finally she hears him, the third time, and turns around. “Oh! There you are! I missed you!” She sits down and pats the seat next to her. My son sits beside her and wraps his arm around her waist and gives her a snuggle I know well.

A moment flashes and I see a time I’m not my son’s only woman. It is only a moment, as he turns to me, smiles, and says, “I wuv you, Mommy.”


Later that same day my phone rings. I answer the unfamiliar, but local, number. A little girl asks who I am. I hear her dad in the background say, “no no, sweetie, you need to say who YOU are. Ask for LB.” I smile, “Are you looking for LB?” “Yes, is LB there?” I hand my daughter the phone and listen to her squeal to her school friend in delight. They talk about school and petshops. There’s a lot of giggling and a lot of repetition but I smile realizing this is the first of many many phone calls my daughter will be receiving from fellow schoolmates. For now, it is a girl. I see a day, though, when her first boy call comes and smile, shake my head, and remember.


My young husband, 15 at the time, was outside mowing the lawn when the phone rang. His mother answers the phone not knowing who is on the line. It’s a time before caller ID, before call waiting, before google IM and chat. She doesn’t know there’s a girl on the phone, the first phone call from a girl at school she’s never heard of. She doesn’t know I’ve called two other numbers with the same last name to find this one in the phone book and that I just hung up with his Grandma a few minutes before who gave me the correct number.

“Bobby!” I hear her yell, “Bobby! It’s a girl on the phone.”

I hear a long pause and finally he answers breathlessly. It is the first of a million phone calls we’ll share over the next twenty-one years.


Today we celebrate our ninth anniversary. As I sit here watching a very young family, I see them share the children. Dad taking the older one, mom rocking the very tiny newborn. They switch when one gets restless and the other seamlessly takes over in that place rocking or entertaining. They are tired. They are young. They clearly have an unspoken ritual, they’ve done this a thousand times at home, in public, wordlessly working at a team.

I think of all the years, married and unmarried, my husband and I have worked to build that same unspoken communication. We call it our “harmony.” We’ve had times where our harmony was off but we fix it. Built on twenty-one years of phone calls, of late nights, of teary discussions and hours of laughter, we reach another small, but significant milestone in our marriage. Nine years.

It’s a drop in the bucket, we laugh. We’re not even near dead yet. I tell him I’ll run away to England or Holland and he tells me that’s fine, he’ll be on the next plane with the kids. And we laugh about it because it’s so absurd one minute and so real the next, that life flies by and lasts so long in the same moment. We shake our heads at our children growing and ponder their smallness. We do it together: as we have. For nine years. And counting.


What you’re good at and what you enjoy might be two different things Nov 08, 2010


I recently had a conversation with my president about my future in the company, career aspirations, and plans. It was a two hour conversation, a good one, but ultimately one thing he said keeps repeating over in my mind, “What you’re good at and what you enjoy might be two different things.”

The guy is deep, y’all. Deep, intelligent, and wise. And full of these little gems.

As an 18 year old fresh in college, I had a plan. It was not one my parents thought would provide enough income or direction or job opportunities. In fact, they begged me to go in to Computer Science. “THAT, Leslie, THAT is the future!” My dad has a PhD in Educational Technology, the man can program, has years of troubleshooting experience and taught me BASIC when I was 12. When his oldest daughter declared she wanted to get an Undergraduate Degree in Exercise and Sports Science with a minor in chemistry, and a graduate degree in Nutrition, he rolled his eyes. “But you? You can CODE, Leslie. That’s the future. Not ... PE and food.”

After college I searched for jobs but there was a very big shortage of anything relatively career worthy. In fact, it looked like my parents were right. I couldn’t use my degree. It was useless. I nearly cried, “I learned how to lift weights! FOR TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS.”

senior pic les

Of course that’s not true, I learned a variety of chemical reactions in the body, I understand physiology, I knew every name and location of every bone. I learned every metabolic process your cells go through and I learned how muscles react under stress and rest. But while this was wonderful information, without a graduate degree, it was useless.

So I started learning web design.

Within a year, I was teaching computer applications and learning how to support computers. I went in to the tech support field. I learned more web design. I learned PHP. And, finally, I made it official by getting a masters degree, at last, in Information Technology.

This? This made my parents proud.

I always tell people I switched from Nutrition because I wanted a field that wasn’t always changing so rapidly. (HA! I laugh. I kill me.)

This path you know about, have shared with me, have watched me grow. The Interweb has been a huge part of this life, this experience. I am faced now with this single fact: I am not as good at code as I am at other pieces of business. I am not as strong at PHP as I am marketing. As my grad prof once told me, “You’re smart, you understand the logic, you can code in processes, but the syntax bogs you down and drowns your ability to produce.” That’s another one of those advice quotes that just kind of stuck.

I like code, I enjoy coding,  but I’m not as good as it as I should be.

This brings up a realm of other issues. What am I good at? Why do I like coding? And, ultimately, is there something I might be great at that I’ve completely moved away from simply because I thought I couldn’t succeed? And does this, at all, have anything to do with my.. obsession… with nutrition, alternate medicine, and sustainable food?

And if so, what does it all mean?

I’ve been watching more and more documentaries, reading more books, talking to more farmers, Natural-paths, nutritionist. I talk to them and feel a sort of connection. I recently watched Food Matters and kept muttering, “Why the fuck did I give up nutrition?” I tell this to my friend Sara, who admits she wanted to be an artist and ended up in Advertising. “We sold out” she says. “We got jobs because we needed them, we went the easy route. But if we change now, our families would suffer. We’re a little… stuck.”

But are we? Are those pieces of our passions, art, humans, interacting, sustanable living, is that independant of our technologically driven careers? And if we went in pursuit of those passions, would we end up wondering, feeling less fulfilled because we miss the fast-paced life, the producing, the online aspect of this life?

I have no idea.

This weekend I got back in to coding. Front-end coding, but coding non-the-less. I beamed at my husband when I produced the most clean HTML5/CSS3 I’ve yet produced. “See,” he smiles, “You love coding. I don’t know what you’re worried about.”

I remind him, “What you enjoy and what you’re good at may be two different things.”

He nods, I nod. We both know, without saying, that finding that thing you’re truly good at might be the hardest part of our careers yet.

Can A Family Of Four Eat Whole Organic Food Without Going To The Grocery Store? Nov 08, 2010


That’s our goal.

For the past three months we’ve primarily gone to Farmer’s Markets for our vegetables and fruits. This past weekend, I signed us up for fresh organic milk and dairy delivery. I’m also getting us ready for the CSA Box from Full Cirlcle Farms. With Bill the Butcher’s Organic Meat down the street, I’m nearly ready to say good-bye to traditional American grocery stores.

This is a process that has been in the works for six months now. And we’re almost ready.

I originally wanted to blog about our transition away from all packaged foods, processed cheeses/meats/snacks. But I noticed it was such a gradual change, it was difficult to document. One week I’d make our own granola bars to see if it was possible to get healthy snacks for the children from home. I’d experiment with drying fruits to see if I can get away from fruit leather at the store. I’d bake bread, fail, and bake another loaf.

We’re set up to have most of our food delivered straight from the farms, literally within 20 miles of our home, and meat sold down the street from local farmers. It’s been a process. But there is one more step in the process we’re still preparing for.

Our own fresh garden.

Throughout the winter we’re learning when to plant, till and harvest. We’re studying how to best prepare our garden beds. The goal is, by next summer, to suppliment our CSA box and farmer’s market trips with our own vegetables. Eventually, we’ll supply our own.

My goal now is to blog my own experiment: Can we, a family of four, eat fresh organic, whole foods without a grocery store and can we do it for under 800 dollars a month?

Follow along.

When you’re ready to begin the process, I’d like to offer a few documentaries and books to start with. Some of these are available on Netflix for streaming. Some are books you can check out of the library. You don’t have to break the bank to make wise choices, but I urge you to begin somewhere. Even if it’s whole oats instead of instant for breakfast. Trust me, every step counts.

Two of the latest inspiring and informational resources:

*Available at Netflix Streaming

FoodMatters Recipe

*Next up: An experiment. The subject? Me. Inspired by Enlighten Up! Documentary. (Also available at Netflix streaming)

I can totally pull this off Nov 04, 2010

#Life#Best Of#Social Clutz Loveable Spaz

I’ve been sleepy since I was 16 years old. The first doctor I saw, during cross country season my Junior Year of High School, dismissed my complaints. “Look,” he leaned forward, his hands resting on this thighs, smelling of soap, “You’re not tired. You can’t be tired. You run 5 miles a day and get straight A’s. You’re not tired.”

But I *WAS* tired.

I continued to be tired and get dismissed for the next 19 years. I slept through college. Literally. I fell asleep regularly on my books in the library, drooling between pages of my Physics book. I went to bed at 9PM every night and fell asleep during movies my roommates and I would rent. I took three hour naps regularly and barely made it through until evening.

After having our daughter, I was attempting sleep following the 24 hours of labor, emergency C-section, medicated debacle. My oxygen monitor kept rining and a nurse would have to run in and reset it. I was frustrated, tired, and not able to sleep after 30 hours of exhaustion. “Has anyone ever talked to you about Sleep Apnea?” one nurse finally asked. “No?”

In fact, nobody would talk to me about it again for years to come. Doctors explored yeast imbalance, gluten intolerance, PCOS, Chronic Fatigue and so on. I’ve taken hormones and pills. I’ve done diet after diet to increase energy.

Still, though, I was sleepy.

At the urging of a very dear friend, I signed up for a sleep study. She’s probably the seventeenth person to tell me to do it, but it stuck. She’s just sort of that influential. Or that good at nagging. Either way.

I went in, got hooked up to a thousand wires and went to sleep. I say “sleep” not in a traditional sense but in a “wow, this is a lot of crap hooked up to me and I CAN’T ROLL OVER WHERE AM I WHY IS THIS UP MY NOSE” sort of way. Apparently it was just enough, though, for them to get a read on my sleeping habits.

The next morning I was standing talking to some random dude checking me out (literal and figurative here) at the grocery store. As he scanned the items in to the cart, he was staring at my boobs. I got annoyed, made light small talk and walked away thinking what a perv he was.

I got in the car, looked in the mirror and found what one may think is a hicky but by some sort of big mouthed gorilla.

sleep hicky

It was the remaining redness from the wires the previous night.

Later in the afternoon I headed in to get my final diagnoses. Apnea. I have Sleep Apnea. I stop breathing TWENTY-SIX times an hour. Idealy you stop breathing, oh you know, NEVER. But apparently anything less than 5 times an hour is acceptable.


No wonder I’ve been tired for 20 years. Twenty. Years.

“You’ll be wearing a what to bed?” Mr. Flinger asks when I tell him the diagnoses. “A CPAP machine” I say. He looks at me and I know what he’s thinking, “You mean, like the thing Baby O had hooked up to him when he was in the NICU?” “Ayup” I reply. “Wow.. um.. that’s.. uh.. sexy…”

I realize I’m going to look like something out of some sci-fi movie at night now. “Hey Baby, come on over here and.. wait, hangon.. let me move my mask, oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you with that tube… oh hangon, the air is blowing on us, just a sec….” I get that I’m at my mid-thirty sexual peak and I’m royally screwed, not in the good way, of having any normal nights again.

But you know? Maybe I can use that. Something out of a sci-fi movie, eh?


Princess Leia with CPAP

Yea, that works.

Why Google Is Not Taking Over The World Quite Yet Nov 04, 2010



But oh, this did make my day.

Thank you, Sincerely, Hello, Yo Yo,

Bites Finger.

Maybe if I start today, you’ll get my holiday cards before Valentine’s day Nov 02, 2010

I’ve been pretty open about how I fail at the holiday “stuff.”  I regularly catch turkeys on fire, forget to thaw them at all, send out holiday cards in March. (I call it “HAPPY I’M JUST THAT ON TOP OF IT FOR NEXT YEAR” cards) Pretty much, though, I’m an epic fail with all things tradition except drinking eggnog, making yummy food and watching excellent commercialized christmas videos.

That’s when Shutterfly steps in to help me be a non-spaz this year. A FIRST! Perhaps, perhaps, I can get my holiday cards out before Valentine’s day. Let’s make a bet, shall we? All I need to do is find one that’s just right for my family.

I’ve been checking out their new holiday photo cards and found a few I have commentary for. Personally, I’m a huge fan of the Photo Card. I love seeing some of my blog friends’ children over the years growing and changing. I save all the cards and place them together so each year we marvel at how big they get. “Who’s that?” my children ask. “Oh, it’s just a friend Mommy hasn’t met in person ever but shares deeply personal things like her period with, honey.” “Oh,....” See, some traditions are worth it.

First I came across this as a real possibility. I mean, my kids are adorable, right? But who needs more than the details. This is PERFECT. One boy, one girl, a photo of both with some sort of bragging right under it.

EXCELLENT. My style of card. If I got this card I’d say, “Oh, look at what a perfectly well adjusted family that is and OH HULK SMASH they can afford personalized German lessons? Oh, COMEON, on HIS salary?”


You’re right. I’m totally using that one. I’m going to put personalized German lessons. Holiday Envy! The joy of the spirit.

Or, maybe, I can use this card.


I’m not even making this up (I wish I was) but a good friend of mine has photos in her living room with strange people in the frame. An entire family that CAME WITH THE FRAME adorn her walls. Seriously.

I think of this when I want to order this card. “Hey, look, I ADORE this style of card but my family isn’t nearly as sexy as these people. Does it cost extra to just, yaknow, leave them in? Nobody will ever have to know it’s not us.”

Then I remember that only works for online friends whom I’ve never met or shown a picture of our family to so that pretty much gets rid of 98% of the people.

And then? Then I saw the holy grail of holiday cards.


This card yells FLINGER! (A little like Aaron Vest does) It’s the perfect blend of natural, fun, imperfect, real. I can see my strange photos fitting perfectly in this card, in the little circles all placed like ornaments.

This? This is my card.

Or, maybe I’ll just aim for a New Year’s card just to be safe. Because you know me.

Do you want 50 free holiday cards from Shutterfly? Click here to go to Shutterfly for information on how you can get 50 free cards this holiday season, and make sure to select Clever 1000 as the referral source.

This post is part of a series sponsored by Shutterfly. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective, which endorses Blog With Integrity, as I do.

An unpopular opinion by a guest poster. Corporate Woman’s Opinion on Working Moms Nov 01, 2010

I wasn’t going to post this essay by my German Hostess. It’s not only an unpopular opinion, it goes against my own beliefs as a mother who strives daily to HAVE IT ALL. I have cake! I EAT IT TOO. Then I work off the cake in a wave of guilt and promise to not eat the cake again only to fail the following day.

Are we still talking about cake? I forgot.

This morning I rushed to get the entire family out of the house on time, which would have been a challenge on any day but today, especially, each of us having woken up an hour late with massive sugar hang-overs. I ran around, calling to various people, “Are you getting dressed? Are you going potty? GO POTTY BY GOD JUST GO. Yes, stop talking. Go poop. Ok.”

I made lunches, coffee, breakfast. I got homework together and started the load of laundry from my daughter’s nightly wetting of her bed. (still) I managed two tantrums successfully and served everyone. Just as I was running upstairs to brush my hair, I heard the bus roll by. Fuck. We ran out in the rain hoping that was the early bus. My daughter and I stood, in the stream of water, like complete idiots looking down the wet road for signs of a giant yellow bus. Ten minutes later, we gave up, head back in, and find the three year old is in a massive melt-down “I WANNA GO WIFF YOU TO THE BUSS I WANN GO WIFF YOU TO THE BUS.”

There is no consolation at this point.

An hour later, exactly ONE HOUR LATER, I gather the children in to the car, check myself in the rear view mirror, and speed (responsibly) to the elementary school. We rush in, all three of us, because my daughter is now tardy and it requires my signature admitting that “I failed at getting my child to school on time and also probably putting on makeup.”

We dodge the rain, sign her in, grab my now screaming three year old yelling, “I WANT TO STAY HERE” and run back to the car. I check myself in the mirror again and notice I look a little Miss Havisham, my lipstick on my teeth, my mascara running from the rain, my hair stringy. I sigh loudly, over my son’s screaming, and drive home defeated.

This? This is Monday and work hasn’t even started.

It is because of this, I’m broken down just enough to give in. Hands raised, stringy hair and bad makeup, admitting that I can’t do it all. So here it is: The “Essay on Working Mothers” by Betty. Excuse me while I go make some more coffee, wash my face, dry my hair, and raise two children to be amazing little people while co-parenting an amazing little company as well. I’ll just be sitting here taking bites of my cake, a piece at a time.


I was the host mentioned in the previous post.  We had the discussion of: Can you do both – have a career and kids? I have pretty strong and not too popular opinions on the subject.  And I worried that I might have been too harsh or spoken too openly to someone I just met but with whom I felt a close connection. I don’t have children, so many will think I am not qualified to speak on this subject.  But that’s just it, I do feel I can speak on this subject because the INSANITY of trying to work and have children is part of the reason why I chose not to have children. I had a great job, a comfortable salary, was able to travel and live all over the world.  I married a nice guy, and we didn’t have kids (on purpose that is).  We have a carefree, stressfree, joyful, active life together in a peaceful, cozy apartment in Munich.  I am afraid you working moms will not like what I have to say on the subject…but get over it, get over the guilt, get over the struggle.  YOU all made the choice to have children and frankly just as Leslie has said you can’t do both well, so why did you have kids?  Or if you wanted kids so badly, why do you want to work so badly? It really is that simple, don’t come to me with all the outrage or all reasons to have children, it really is a cut and dry choice of 4 options for women:

1) don’t have kids, work or do whatever you want
2) have kids stay at home and enjoy that, but put your life on hold for 20 some odd years then do whatever you want
3) have kids, work, do what you want and OUTSOURCE the parenting.  Meaning make enough money for live-in full time help and focus on your job and do that really well.
4) have kids, work and have a stay at home husband
Did you all really think there was a 5) work, have kids, be great not only at both – but be a hot sexy wife and travel the world too?  Really?  And don’t come with all the examples of women that have done it.  Yes, they are called exceptions…and if you look closely they probably also have help in some form or have very unconventional work.  And I am not talking about single working moms due to divorce or death of spouse.  I am talking to double income couples where the wife is juggling the job and doing most of the childcare and feeling alternatively, bad, guilty, great, frazzled, tired, energized, exhausted, hateful, joyful….and so on, just read Dooce.

You all thought “I can do both!” and had a kid, geez sometimes several.  So get over it and live with the fact you will be so-so at both work and mothering.  Or get over it and realize that you will probably do really well at work and be a crappy mom.  Which by the way, being a crappy mom (whatever that means) is actually okay in my book, because honestly the skill sets you have - the stuff you do and know that makes you so good at the work you love and enjoy…..may not be the same skill sets that make a good mother.  So stick with your core competencies and outsource the mothering.  If that thought is just so horrifying to you - what outsource mothering/parenting? You can’t do that!  Well then, get over it and stay at home or have your husband stay at home.  And don’t come to me with the we can’t afford it.  Yes. You. Can. If you really can’t live on one salary, should you really had had kids? Mull over that a little…before you come to me with the outcries of that statement.

The stories that Leslie told me about what she has to sometimes deal with…were rough but I am afraid fairly typical what you working mothers go through.  And I can guarantee you that the successful working MEN with children in Leslie’s field or in any other field are neither going through the guilt, the struggle nor dealing with vomitting children during their work day. They have wives at home or wives who just took off work taking care of all that shit.  That means you working moms are bearing a double load and yes, that was not so smart of you.  And as much as I want to be empathetic (and really I am a little) did have the choice of not having children, and you still have the choice of not working…or outsourcing. 

But alas, if you choose to still be caught in the struggle of doing both, here is a last consolation - no matter how good of a mother you were during your kid’s childhood, no matter if you stayed home or worked full time and had a nanny, or did the insane juggling act that is working and being a mom….in every case….your kids will still be sullen ungrateful teenagers….and then grow up to be just fine.