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.

OHMYGOD I Am One Of THEM. AKA: I’m clearly medicated Oct 12, 2009

#Family Life

Did I just totally gush out on you? Dearchrist. I just re-read my post and…

I think I threw up a little bit in my mouth.

When I started blogging, I was in grad school. I was plowing through programming which at the time, was akin to having my toenails shaved by the lovely asian gals until my toes were nubbins of bone. I used to envision this as I was studying the Java Sun Packages. I’d think, “SCRRAAAPEEE” toe one. “Scrraapppe” This is probably one of the reasons I never liked Java. I like my toes too much.

But then I got pregnant, finished up my thesis, had a baby and dipped in to PPD. I remember reading people’s blogs who were so thrilled to be mothers.

I wanted to kick their asses.

Or drink a lot of gin straight from the bottle.

I used to gag, mentally at least, at the joyful posts of parents who rejoiced in their children.

My kid didn’t sleep. That bitch. And I was tired.

I recovered thanks to medication and a therapist and became a mom. Then I got knocked up again.

And off the medicine.

And got a little crazy.

Or, “KrayKray” as V would say.

I’m open about my PostPartum Depression. I’m open about it because I don’t feel at fault, but rather I understand the imbalance of hormones shifting can cause a drastic change after the birth of a child. Toss in sleep deprivation and you can get pretty whacky.

I’m planning on going off the medicine eventually. My therapist said it takes roughly two years for most synapsis to go back after the change, physical change, that occurs after you have a child. I just think I’m uber cool saying, “My therapist” like I’m some hip Californian who runs on the beach at sunrise and attends spa yoga. I say it with a lisp. “My THERAPYSHT”

It’s been two years. We’re now diving head long in to two and a half. But winter here is long and dark and I will wait until the light comes back before I make that change now. And I am ok with that. I am ok with having a little extra help in the mean time, after adjusting to the change of children. I’ll re-evaluate next spring when the day comes back.

But for now you might get more Happy Happy Joy Joy posts. But I promise to try to keep them to a minimum.

And throw in some good cock.

Because damn, that’s funny.


Inspiring Oct 12, 2009

#Family Life#Working Mom

I know we’re all busy and yet we somehow manage to maintain this space on the Interweb. We drive to it most nights grasping for some bit of ourselves. It’s our haven.

So know that when I say I’m drowning, I’m not asking for you to save me, but maybe just to toss in some floaties.

And a beer.

Or three.

I could post my todo list for you here. We could marvel at its length. We could giggle, “Wow, what a large todo list you have, Mrs. Flinger” and make 12 year old remarks.

Or we could look at some pictures of my kids at the harvest festival from this weekend.

I always say pictures of kids trump a todo list.





And maybe I’ll toss in a quote that is especially moving to me today. After looking at these photos, experiencing the weekend through their eyes, and realizing I am just but one person, I want to leave myself with this small reminder:

“This is what separates artists from ordinary people: the belief, deep in our hearts, that if we build our castles well enough, somehow the ocean won’t wash them away. I think this is a wonderful kind of person to be.” -Anne Lamott

Who is inspiring you today?

Healthy Pancakes Oct 11, 2009

#Family Life


My son is a pancake freak. Periodically at night he’ll ask, “MORE PANCAKES.” And by periodically, I mean every so often at 2Am. It’s like he’s having a sloppy pancake dream.


I use a recipe from my favorite cookbook, “Eating For Life” by Bill Phillips. I literally have this book tagged in fifty pages of recipes we use often.

Here’s our pancake breakfast that keeps me from feeling too bad about indulging his passion.


1 cup Uncooked Whole-grain Oats (non-instant)
6 Egg Whites (We use egg substitute which comes out to 3/4 cup)
1 cup fat free Cottage Cheese*
1/4 tsp Vanilla Extract
1/4 tsp ground Cinnamon
2 packets sugar substitute
1/2 cup sugar-free syrup

1. Coat griddle in non-stick spray and turn on to medium heat.
2. In blender, combine Oats, Egg Whites, Cottage Cheese, Vanilla, Cinnamon, and sugar substitue until smooth. About 1 min.
3. Pour batter, about 1/4 cup at a time, onto hot skillet. When bubbles form on one side, flip.
4. Top with syrup and berries (optional)

*Today we only had a half cup of cottage cheese so we substituted one whole non-ripe banana and it came out deliciously. Banana Pancakes with protein. Kid Approved.

The Working Mom: Improv #239 Oct 09, 2009

#Working Mom


It took a long time for my brain to switch to work mode. I was so used to carrying around diapers and fourteen days worth of crackers that I often walked in to client meetings and sighed as I shoved aside four diapers, wipes, three fruit leathers and a nondescript item from what appears to be of a “gummy” family. Or once was.

I can’t tell you when it happened that I actually stopped carting around my child’s extra pair of panties in my purse, but I did. I started feeling like a woman again, not just the mom of two young children. At some point, I started leaving for work with just my laptop and a yogurt. I mean, how sensible is that?

Apparently, it’s just SO sensible that I forgot my child still craps himself. Frequently.

Talk about sensible.

So what I’m about to share with you is my sensible, and very tactful way, of dealing with a ... um.. “shitty” situation for lack of a better term. (Or the want to use one.)

I met with a fellow company about some plans and was forced to bring the two kiddos with me. I mean, hey! What’s a work meeting without yelling at your children in the play area? Who ISN’T professional without “pink milk” dribbling down one’s arm and a nearly-five year old yelling, “I HAVE TO PEE MOMMY!”


After a while, saying good-bye, I realized my son smelled of poo. It’s not something you usually bring up with clients/co-workers, etc, or people without children at all for that matter, about the consistency and smell of poo. Fellow Moms have no qualms saying, “Oh, yea, his turds nearly fall out of his pant-leg if he has too much cheese.”

For some reason, that topic just doesn’t seem to .. cut it? In this environment. (No, I won’t stop the puns, damnit! I WILL NOT RELINQUISH THE PUNS.)

I dragged the children to the restroom and discovered sensible, classy-dressed me, only had my small black purse, cell phone, wallet, and one solitary cracker. No wipes. No diaper. Nothing.

So I improvised.

I took off the poopy diaper, gagged, and shook the turd out in to the toilet. “What are you doing, Mommy?!” my son asks. “I’m putting the poopoo where it belongs” because THIS IS A TEACHABLE MOMENT PEOPLE. BY GOD I LEARNED SOMETHING FROM DOCTOR PHIL.

Next I sat him down on the potty and wrapped a length of toilet paper in to folds. Over and over I folded the toilet paper until it could cover the soiled area on the diaper. “What are you doing, Mommy?” he asks. “I am making this clean so you can wear it again, Buddy. I have no new diaper.”


This is the first time my two year old ever made any sort of logical sentence in his life.

“Yes, it’s yucky. Now, let’s try to go poopoo in the potty, ok? NO NO STOP TOUCHING THE TOILET WATER.”

I slapped the diaper back on him, all to his disgust, and washed (twelve and a half times) their hands and mine.

We left looking sensible. Clean. And nobody would ever have known except for the strand of toilet paper coming out of my son’s tush.

Welcom, kiddo, to my world.

Sensible. Isn’t it, though?


“IT” Oct 08, 2009

#Family Life


I sat on the plane next to a young gal, mid-twenties she would tell me later, who reminded me a lot of myself at her age. Realizing “her age” wasn’t so far gone, but knowing it was still long enough away to form distant memories and wistful longings in my mind.

“You’re married? With two kids? When did you get married?” she asks with wide brown eyes and a smile that reaches her ears.

“When I was 26. But I knew him for years and years. He was my best friend.” I reply trying to condense our 13 year pre-story in to a sentence.

“How did you know he was the ONE?” she asks.

“I knew.”

I hated that answer when I was her age.

But the truth is, my husband is the single person in the world I don’t get sick of the more time I’m around him. We fight, sure, we drive each other completely batty sometimes, we annoy the everlivingshit out of the other one, but I can’t stand not having him around.

The house is so much… less… without him.

Everything is so much .... less… without him.

Together we’ve worked through graduate school, birthing and raising two babies, and passing one (soon to be two) engineering exams. We’ve purchased houses, sold houses, and moved 5 times as a family.

And that’s just since marriage.

Let’s discount the 20 years we’ve known each other and the 14 years it took to make that commitment in the first place.

So when we decided, together, to buy a new house and take advantage of a sticky situation with some benefits of “the current market,” we knew it could take a while.

I mean, comon, the guy can’t buy a trashcan without a spreadsheet.

Imagine my shock, then, when we go for a drive at our lunch hour to “scope out the neighborhood” we’d ideally love to live, and find our dream.

I’ve never felt this way about a house before.

He clearly never has either.

Or a person for that matter.

We walk around noting the emptiness. We walk all over the grounds, picturing the children playing and each other fixing up the yard. We talk about where we would put the furniture as we peer through the spider-web windows.

It’s so…... “Up” ..... in a way.

The house is ours from first sight. We’re not sure about financing yet, if the foundation is sound, if we can even do this. But for some reason, this particular house, this one time in our lives, there isn’t s spreadsheet, a lengthy discussion, a hesitation.

This one time I got to see my husband fall in love on first sight.

And I was right there with him falling in love, too.

I hope we found our home.

Our home.

Something tells me this is “it.”

I just know.


Nobody tells you when you grow up, you’ll want to be just like your kids Oct 05, 2009

#Family Life


My daughter is so dynamic.

So joyful.

So lovely.

She feels so intensely.

She cares so deeply.

She loves fully.

I watch her play and I wonder when I grew up. When did I stop running in the leaves or spinning in circles to feel the wind on my face? When did I decide socks had to match and outfits had accessories?


People sometimes ask my children what they want to be when they grow up. They have answers, “A mommy! A train! A tree!” They’ll make those decisions later.

Much later.

And then, one day, even as they hold a job they adore and work with people they like, they’ll watch their own children and finally realize:

When I grow up, I want to be just like you.

Women in Tech, a living example in PHP Oct 05, 2009

#She's Gone Geek Again


class nerds {

public static $boy = 'stands to pee';
public $girl = 'sits to pee';

public static function getBoy() { echo self::$boy; }
public static function setBoy() { self::$boy = 'Tech Boy'; }
public function getGirl() { echo $this->

girl; }       

$ob = new nerds();
nerds::getBoy();    // output: stands to pee  
$ob->getBoy();  // output: stands to pee
$ob->getGirl();  // output: sits to pee
          // girls are never static thus you can use the $this->girl

class techgirl extends nerds {
public function lesson() {
$this->x = 'women are not objects';

$techgirl = new Techgirl

echo $techgirl->lesson();  //outputs women are not objects.



Next up: Bunnies! Fluffy Pink Hearts! And the cuttest kiddos ever!

The downfall of being a woman in tech Oct 02, 2009

I’m here at the EE Roadshow here in Seattle. I’m thrilled to be with so many fabulous developers in one location.

It’s a freakin’ GEEK FESTIVAL!


I’m glad to see women being represented here. There must be at least twelve of us in a full room of 200? :: fist pump :: GIrl power.

This, being the first and possibly one time ever, the women’s restroom wouldn’t have a line longer than security at Sea-Tac airport, they only have non-gender specific “washrooms”. This means the boys now stand in line and the women STILL stand in line.

Which, ok.

But this sharing a bathroom with men is something I can hardly do at home, let alone with 180 strangers.

Strangers who happen to own the pipe version.

Who do not aim.

At all.

So men, yo, do a girl a favor. LIFT THE LID. Aim, get’er done, and then CLOSE THE LID.

Don’t spray and run.

Do this sister a solid: Don’t make me squat.

Thank you.

Fluffy green tutus: Time truly is liquid Sep 29, 2009

#Life#Best Of

It’s a cliche, how history repeats itself.

It’s true, at least in our family, as life motors on I see glimpses of my past squished with my present or projected in my future.

Time truly is liquid.


My daughter started ballet a few months ago. She loves the pink outfit, the tights, the shoes. She prances around the house doing pirouettes now. “Watch this move!” she’ll yell gleefully as she swiftly glides by the family in our living room.


I vaguely remember doing that myself.

I marvel, wondering if it’s all little girls or only those in my family. If we all dream of tutus and ballet shoes and eating disorders and men in tights.

Or if it’s simply the art of attention. Of feeling pretty. Of being graceful.


And if we ever grow out of that.

I watch as her face fills with so much glee. So much pride.

Her once two left feet carrying her in circles, her arms raised. Her smile lit.

Feet landing softly.

Out of order.

On their own.

Hearing a different music.

Than the others.

I smile at my husband, as he beams at his daughter. We laugh and look at our son. How one day he, too, will be performing for us. Music, sports, art.

I can not remember when they grew. I do not remember when I did. In my heart I am still the little girl dancing.

Her feet to a music all alone.

A smile wide and bright.

I don’t remember the day I gave my ballet recital exactly, but I do remember the smile on my face.

Simply because I saw it again, on my daughter, just the other day.


Change- A Type A Mom Con Story Sep 28, 2009


I stepped off the plane in Seattle to a cold wind and sun. When I left, only four days earlier, summer was still raging and children played in sprinklers. However, fall noticeably bustled in during my absece, taking over the breezes and leaves, making the air chilly and my unused jacket necessary.

I felt just as different as the weather.

Four days ago I stepped on a flight to Ashville, NC. The 48 hours I spent at Type-A-Mom was a transcendent experience.

I met some fantastic women. I found some wonderful opportunities to grow and expand, both in my career and in my personal relationships. I held deep and wonderful conversations with some of my most favorite bloggers. These women, plus some new favorites, and old friends, friendly faces, and encouraging smiles, gave me the courage to stand up during the “Town Hall Meeting” and say something that is near and dear to my life as a blogger:

Be who you are and you will find companies who will want to work with you because of it. You can dress it up a touch, maybe make it a touch classy, but don’t change yourself. The companies that love you for who you are will be a much better, long lasting relationship than the ones that require changes to you or your blog.

Photo copyright Rick of Tiny Prints used with permission

My first experience in this was after Blissdom 09. After speaking in the vivacious, charismatic way that I do, I wondered if my client in the audience would rather work with someone more professional looking, sounding. I have a wealth of knowledge behind this trucker’s mouth. A ton of wisdom behind this post-child body. I have more to offer if I truly love working with you than if I don’t. But I didn’t know how she would feel after watching me “cracker it up” on stage.

Turns out? Molly is not only a client, but became a good friend. She not only stuck around after seeing me be myself in a professional setting, she clung to me like a lover and I to her. Ok, lover is a touch strong here, but you see what I’m saying.

I have similar stories with many of my clients.

Be yourself and your audience and sponsors will reflect who you really are.

After the Pioneer Woman linked to me, a (few) hundreds of people came by. Many were not my typical audience. Those who were, however, those who I found just as engaging and wonderful as they enjoyed what I had to say, stuck around and became new online friends. I couldn’t change my type of writing simply to accomidate a larger audience. And so I didn’t. But I did remain true to my own voice and those of you who are STILL around, are not only crackertastically adorable, but people I connect with on many levels.

For which I am grateful.

It is with this knowledge that I entered Type-A-Mom-Con this weekend. I became empowered to be the person I’ve always been, outgoing, loving to laugh, and silly. Friendly. Possibly too much so. But I felt accepted and met so many wonderful ladies that I truly couldn’t change who I am if I wanted to.

I’m thankful to Rob from Cozi for his wonderful input in the ad session. I’m grateful for MomDot for being so open and honest and infomational. I’m always thankful for my friend Alli who’s encouragement is never-ending and to Mishi and Rick for their photography inspiration and photos. I’m especially thankful to Dress Barn for the fantastic evening and outfit and to David for giving us the opportunity.

I will always be me. I hope you enjoy it. You? Are wonderful just the way you are.

I hope you know that.


Type A Mom From @SecretAgentMama
Coyright Mishi

Dress Barn Models
Type A Mom From @PaperFans
Copyright Rick of Tiny Prints

Type A Mom From @PaperFans
Copyright Rick of Tiny Prints

Type A Mom From @PaperFans
Copyright Rick of Tiny Prints