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.
Be vewy vewy quiet Feb 19, 2010
I feel a bit like Elmer Fudd these days. I can see the rabbit, our house, just right——-> there. Right now we’re close. We’re SO CLOSE. We have a closing date that is nearly impossible to believe. We have boxes in the house. We have painters coming. We have a zillion tons of energy and hope surging through our family. We buzz in anticipation.
But oh god do not say a word or you’ll scare it.
Denial is a funny thing. Denial says not to pack a single box until you know for sure. But denial hears good news and waits. Denial hears a closing date and doubts. Denial looks around the house and thinks, “we don’t have that much stuff anyway.”
Denial. She’s funny, no?
We enter the last seven days. THE LAST SEVEN DAYS. Paperwork is signed, bank records are sent. Boxes are stacking. Painters are scheduled.
Work is intense these days. A deadline lands the day after we close. But it focuses me. Grounds me. Keeps me from too much denial.
I see the date coming faster and closer and all I can think of is “be vewy vewy quiet.”
Please god to not scare the rabbit away. It’s always my luck to be chasing a bunny in women’s clothes. And dooped in the end.
It’s time to change all that.
In the softest most quiet voice I can muster: We got the house.
You’re all invited to our backyard for a huge BBQ and fresh lettuce.
And rabbit stew.
Because there are huge images on this blog Feb 17, 2010
Wow. Apparently I think you’re all blind. Or slightly blind. Or have the terrible eyesight I have.
500 pixel mix tapes. HELLO!
Really, I just wanted to push that huge tape down a post. I have posts. In my head. And all you get is some hopped-up-on-pain-killers dribble about the Olympics.
That’s right. PAINKILLERS.
No, wait, THE OLYMPICS ON DRUGS.
I have a failed root canal that got an infection and turned me in to a 34 year old woman in the fetal position on the couch moaning, “MYTEEFMYTEEF.” It was so attractive.
I begged three dentists to DO SOMETHING OMG and one did. Anti-biotics and Vicodin. And a new! root! canal! to look forward to. I win.
I bet those skaters are hopped up on something. Something with sparkles. I bet they snort glitter pre-skate.
So in short, as a review, lessons learned are: 1. Brush and floss daily 2. Take Vicodin and do not blog 3. snort glitter pre-competition.
Just say no to drugs.
The Best Meat Loaf Feb 17, 2010
My family loves meat loaf. Well, they love this meat loaf. The kids love to help me make it by squishing the ingredients together with their hands. They feel so empowered that they made their own dinner, it’s never a fight to have them finish it.
Truly, you have no idea how miraculous those words are.
I promised you the recipe and here I am delivering. FINALLY. GAWD. (Sorry)
3/4 cup Ketchup (we use organic low-sugar)
3/4 cup quaker oats
4 egg whites
1 Onion chopped
1 1/4 pd lean ground turkey
1pkg Knorr dry vegetable soup mix
Heat oven to 350.
Mix turkey, oats, egg whites, salsa, onion, and soup mix together. Mold into 13x13 pan. Top with the Ketchup and bake for 1 hour.
We like it with a side of asparagus cooked in olive oil.
We made you mixed tapes Feb 14, 2010
That’s love yo. That’s love.
Adelaide by Old 97’s
Whistle For The Choir by The Fratellis
High School Stalker by Hello Saferide
The World’s Greatest by Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy
Sea Green, See Blue by Jaymay
Anyone Else But You by The Moldy Peaches
You Love Me by Kimya Dawson
Bury Me Closer by Palomar
Chariots by Joseph Childress
Birthday Present by Mirah
Fairytale by Sarah Bareilles
If We Go To The West by Nina Nastasia
Pollen by Mirah
Persimmon (Unplugged) by Hot Bitch Arsenal
Simple Song by Emily Arin
You Could Be Happy by Snow Patrol
5 Years Time by Noah And The Whale
Honey Bee by Zee Avi
Remember The Mountain Bed by Billy Brag and Wilco
Ugly Love by Eels
Grow Old with You by Adam Sandler
If you Love Me by Flight Of The Conchords
Just you and Me by Zee Avi
Where is the Love by Black Eyes Peas
If you love me by Tim Minchin
Story Book Love by Mark Knopfler
Let’s Do It by Louis Armstrong
Beautiful by G Love and Tristan Prettyman
In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel
I’m Yours by Jason Maraz (new version- live)
Crazy For You by Adele
The Luckiest by Ben Folds Five
You are so beautiful
She’s got a way by Billy Joel
I always knew I was Demi and he was my Ashton Feb 11, 2010
We don’t “DO” Valentine’s Day. We never have. We do “The Discount Chocolate Day” on February 15th, but not a day before. We do “let’s go to the mountain today” or “let’s make home-made cookies” or “let’s go to the beach” but we don’t do Vday.
Vday is too.. I dunno.. Venereal sounding for me.
I’ve always told Mr. Flinger if I asked him to do something nice for me on Valentine’s day it means he’s in deep shit. VERY deep shit. Instead, I prefer not getting a dozen roses or a card with a half-assed scribbled, “with love, your-husband-that-sleeps-next-to-you-every-night-remember-me?” He better be making an effort to love the me other days of the year and if he’s not, he will have to do much more than get a card or purchase some diabetes-inducing chocolate. He better buy me an island in the Pacific.
So we don’t do gifts. We don’t do a special dinner. We don’t do a date night or a holiday or a trip.
Instead, let’s all gather around and watch some fantastically fun songs. Shall we? Gather hands now and sing along.
Lalallalalalal Let’s Make Out! Lalallalalalalalal Let’s Make Out!
I love you more than a kid loves candy. More than a PMSing woman loves chocolate. Well, almost as much as that last one.
And if that doesn’t make you smile, here’s a little more “risque” card:
Who says I’m not romantic?
I’ll even make some good-carb pancakes for the children in the shape of a heart with some strawberries just for Love-Day.
Are you gagging yet?
In the spirit of Ashton, let’s all tell the people we hate on Valentine’s day how we really feel and go back to loving our people the rest of the year. Deal? Deal.
Carb Swap- A Great Alternative Pancake Feb 11, 2010
I’ve started reducing our sugar intake thanks to The Belly Fat Cure and half a dozen other resources that have scared the ever-living-shit out of me in regards to sugar.
DEATH IN A PACKET ZOMG.
Sweet, lovely, death.
Anyway, so I’ve cut back on our sugar. Turns out? You only need about 15g of sugar A DAY to live. I KNOW! RIGHT? Crazy effers. But it’s true. I started this and am living to talk about it.
The kids, tho, are a harder sell.
So in the spirit of keeping our favorite foods around, and believe me when I tell you my son is a pancake connoisseur, (he man knows his pancakes) I’m adopting this new recipe for a healthier, lower carb pancake.
2 1/3 cups Organic Soy Flour
2 TBSP. plus 1/2 tsp. Baking Powder
1 tsp. Xylitol
1/2 tsp. Salt
1 1/3 cups half and half
1/3 cups Almost Breeze Vanilla Unsweetened Almond Milk
2/3 cup water
5 Tbsp melted butter, divided
1. Sift together the flour, baking powder, xylitol, and salt in to a large bowl; set aside. In a medium bowl, whisk together eggs, half-and-half, almost milk and water until blended.
2. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients. Pour wet ingredients in to the well and stir until just combined. Blend in 4 Tbsp. of the melted butter.
3. Heat a large skillet over medium heat. Add the remaining Tbsp. of butter to the pan. Add about 1/3 cup of batter per pancake and cook until golden and bubbly. Flip over and cook about 45 seconds more. Repeat until the batter is gone.
4. Top each take of pancakes with a Tbsp of butter and serve with a side of Joseph’s Sugar Free Maple Syrup. Optional: Blueberries!
Desk is to Chair as Ass is to Spreading Wildly Without Concern Of Emotional Recoil Feb 09, 2010
Here’s something. You remember those horrific questions on the SAT and GRE? Those “This is to That as That is to _____” and then you have to pick from a list that matches NOTHING and OMG my fourteenth #2 pencil just broke and I need a smoke and I don’t even smoke.
I’m a living proof those standardize tests do two things:
1. Prove nothing. I was told, after each test, to just go live barefoot in the kitchen because you stupid whore, you can’t even do a multiple choice test well and mygod what will society do with a creative thinker? and
b) traumatize me forever.
Which is obvious with the start of this post.
In other traumatic, although not unexpected news, I’ve gained weight. That’s right, laugh all you want. EATING CLEAN IS MAKING ME FAT. Yes. You read it here. DO NOT EAT CLEAN. Go! Eat your High Fructose Corn Syrup and your Corn-based by products and corn-fed chicken and turn in to a giant stalk of corn because at least you’ll be tall and thin and not round like an apple.
I say this for your health. Go eat a candy bar. Pronto.
I could probably blame a lot of things. I can blame my mid-thirty estrogen-imbalance. I could blame my new full time desk job. I could blame my love of a good dark stout or the fact that I am now making homemade meals nightly that rock our worlds and OMNOMNOM.
But I’m not.
I’m sitting here, on my spreading ass, in total awe. SHOCK and AWE if you will.
And so? Enters Hot Yoga.
If you haven’t done it, it’s like a sauna with other half-naked people sweating but bending over in front of you so as to reveal things about them that you will wish you could forget. But it will be branded in your mind forever.
FOREVER I TELL YOU.
The man who wore the tiny speedo-ish shorts? With the belly? And the tattoos? And the, OMG the, loudest breathing ever? And the slap-slap of your thighs? You are a hero to someone. I think maybe yourself.
The lady with the bra and shorts that twisted in ways I envision people pretending to know how in inappropriate chat rooms, just.. wow.
I have no room to judge, though. This is why I think Hot Yoga is the great equalizer. I left there as red as a ricotta, wet as rain. My pores were shiny. My legs shook. The heavy-tattoed-speedo wearing bearded man? Suddenly looked smart. A SPEEDO! DUH!
As painful as it was, as reminiscent of a Galveston Gulf Coast Mid-Afternoon in August, I ache to return. Ache being the optimal word. It’s oddly addicting, oddly rewarding and simply odd. Which fits me just fine. Unlike my pants right now.
Avatar + Rush Limbaugh = Me Feb 04, 2010
This is your brain.
This is your brain completely consumed on the dream house you are still waiting to hear about while playing cat - n - mouse with the Dept. of Ed.
(Your brain is the fleshy delicious goodness of pig fat in this scenario.)
Update: If this goes much longer my pig fat will be grilled and buttered before I have the chance to pick out colors for the new living room.
The professional translation of that statement as told to me by my broker? “We’re getting closer.”
I hear: Your brain tastes great around green beans OMNOMNOM
*************** Now back to our story ************
We, like everyone else on the first-world-commercial-industrialized-planet (even, though questionable, the Vice President) saw Avatar a few weeks back. We loved it. LOVED IT. It was enough to make me want to chain myself to a tree. Almost seriously.
I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again, I am switzerland. I am so mid-ground it’s dumb. To a conservative I’m a crazy lib. To a democrat I’m a tightass repubilcan.
In reality, I just sit back and laugh that HAHA You’re an Ass and You’re a huge mofo. Why, peeps, why the animals?
If I had to pick an animal to be, I’d probably pick this hodgepodge:
I think one can possess both strong views on each side of the fence. I think it’s possible to not run down party lines. I think it’s possible to listen to Rush Limbaugh because he reminds you of your dad and listening to him is a little like being home without the 4 hour flight and 300 dollar ticket while simultaneously believing it’s good to do what you can for the environment.
I call this LOGIC.
I’ve recently had the opportunity to review my beliefs. It’s nice to take time to re-evaluate where you are in your beliefs and how you’re prioritizing your life. It comes down to this:
I know we sometimes get off-balance in our house. We’re a little “off” right now. But in general, even if we do not go to church (someone in the back! FAN MY MOTHER BEFORE SHE FAINTS) we still take to heart the family values and believe in building each other up. We spend quality time together. I work to provide healthy, clean, good meals. We give the kids love, consequences, structure and more love.
In general, I’m just not a fan of Big Brother. No matter what He looks like. Government, Taxes, Policies, or The Department Of Ed. In my experiences I’ve found the more layers of “stuff” there is before you can get to a decision maker, the harder it is to feel connected as a person, to have the power to make changes, and the confidence to stand up on your own two feet.
Which is why I’m a Rush Limbaugh avatar living in a tree feeling connected to the earth while yelling, “NO MORE TAXATION WITHOUT REPRESENTATION” and telling people to help each other but for the love of GOD if you can stand up and help DO IT or I will come spank you.
In a nutshell.
Reality Check Jan 31, 2010
I know in the large scheme of things, this will all seem like an over-dramatic reenactment of some time in our life we’ll totally forget. I know there are bigger worries. I’m reminded daily watching one of my dearest friends stay positive in a high risk pregnancy waiting for a blood clot three times the size of her baby to dissolve. I see my sister face a year without her husband as he gets deployed to Korea. I know my mom is going in for surgery on her shoulder and ultimately her neck where they take a piece of bone from her leg and use it to provide space between her vertebrate.
I get this and I’m thankful that this is not a loss of a person, but a house. As upset as my family is, we keep our perspective and we’re thankful.
I do so appreciate all your advice. I feel so Meg Ryan from “You’ve Got Mail” but with a much worse haircut and much less grace. “Go to the Mattresses” “Fight. FIGHT FIGHT.” The end result may not change, but it will not be because I didn’t try.
I’m armed with some names and a few lenders to try. I know that if anything truly horrid ever happened, I’d come back here and find comfort and support. It’s what you do, “you”, the “interwebz”. But it’s more than that. The community of bloggers jumps at the chance to lift up someone in pain and I will always reciprocate that knowing how much your words have meant.
Inexplicable pain, heartache, and why I continue to fight Jan 30, 2010
I read the email at 7AM friday morning. I dropped the phone and clutched my stomach. “Noooo” I could hardly breathe.
It was true, I was sure it was true. My groggy mind tried to form the words. “We lost the house.” I said it out loud just to be sure I was awake.
“We lost the house” Louder now with more force.
“WE LOST THE HOUSE” I ran to the bathroom to get Mr. Flinger who was busy getting ready for a normal day. A regular Friday.
But this was no longer a regular Friday.
He looked boggled, confused, unsure. I began to sob. “Wait, calm down, what?”
Unable to speak I pulled him downstairs and showed him the email. The lender denied us. My credit score fell over 120 points this one month alone. I couldn’t speak.
“It. Was. The. Late. Payment. On. My. Student. Loan.” I chocked.
Apparently, not realizing my student loan didn’t get switched with our other bills to our new bank, I neglected to check it for two months. Two months. Any other two months would not matter. This two months, though, will change our life.
I paid the bill in full on January 8th, 2010. I set up automatic deduction so I would never make this mistake again. I thought I fixed it. I didn’t think twice.
The 60 days will cost us the house. Our house. The house that just Monday we stood in, for only the second time, talking to each other like new lovers. “Doesn’t it feel like we’ve lived here before?” “Yes, what is that? Did we marry in another life and have this house?” The children have moved in according to their drawings at school and home. We’ve made plans for our garden. We have, very much literally, fallen in love, as a family, with this house. The kids have their own rooms. They have a back yard. They look forward to schools with great reputations and parental involvement.
It was surely a dream too good to be true. A gem. Our house.
My husband and I have worked hard to get to where we are. We planned, nearly too well, the order of events. We finished undergraduate school, got jobs, and got married. I finished graduate school before I had our first child. I planned, the entire time, to use my graduate degree to provide a life for my children where their mother was both happy and involved. I followed a passion to get my continued education. My husband passed the creditials for being a professional engineer to better serve his family and work. We continue, planning, to this point. This end. This dream.
This is the year we were to move in to a hose big enough for the children to grow up in, finish school in, bring home boy friends, girl friends and leave for college in.
Our goal, since dating in 1989, has been to be in The House by the time our first child entered public school. Our goal was to provide a stable home for our children in a house we could stay in.
We found that house in October, 2009.
Literally, it was familiar upon first glance and immediately ours in our hearts.
Having a few quiet moments in our house on Monday, I sat, alone, watching the ghosts of the future. I saw my children running in from the school bus. I heard my daughter talking endlessly on the phone up in her room. I saw my parents visit and have enough space to stay after their long flight from Texas and a backyard big enough to house our puppy we are all eager to get.
Ghosts, fleeting hopes, and wishes.
I spent Friday working with our mortgage broker and the Dept of Ed. I called, I cried. I wrote earnest letters begging for help. The difference I’m asking for is simply this;
Remove the 60 day late off my credit, make it 30 days, and I can get the house my family needs.
This window will close quickly. We may not get an extension on this house. If we don’t move fast, our chance for finding any house will be gone as the market rises and the chance to leave our small condo closes. In the words of our mortgage broker, it’s now or in ten years when you recover from this market.
My fifteen year old daughter and thirteen year old son growing up without a backyard and sharing a room. This is the future if we don’t move quickly.
So I called up the chain of command. Three times. I asked, begged, who do I talk to? Who can help me? I just need thirty days marked off my credit. My account is in good standing. I have auto-deduct set up. You will get paid on time. I am sorry. It was a mistake.
I am sorry.
These are the words I choked out to my family yesterday morning. I sobbed, “I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry” as they gathered around me on the couch. The intense pain of knowing I let each and every one of them down was almost too much to take. They snuggled me. They kissed me. My son offered his lovie to me. And I sobbed even harder knowing how hard we worked for this dream and how I had single-handedly destroyed it.
And now I’m begging you.
I have no other choice but to fight for our new life. It is my fault it is gone and it is my duty to fight for it. I am asking, begging, pleading with you. Do you know anyone in the Credit Clearing department in the Department of Ed? Do you know a lender who will accept a 583 credit knowing my husband’s is in the 700’s and mine will return there shortly? We are good people, we pay our bills, we are a family just wanting to do what is best. We work hard to be where we are and will continue to do so. It is who we are.
I will do anything for this dream.
My daughter asked if she could help me. She was confused by my tears. “Moms and Dads cry too?” My children looked lost and afraid. I hugged them. I said they could help. They could help mommy because Moms and Dads are just people, too. We make mistakes. Small, silly, life altering mistakes.
And God I’m sorry.
So my daughter recorded this video for you. It is all she knows to do. I write because it is all I know to do. My husband supports us, loving us even if, in his words, we had to live in a shack and my son offers his stuffed toys because he wants to help. We plea, we beg, we call, and all I can do is hope we get this house in the end.
Mygodmygod, it is our house.
From the archive where I first wrote about finding the house:
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.
Something tells me this is “it.”
I just know.