Fixing Mrs. Flinger Feb 20, 2015
I'm currently working on this website. I want to add back the links to blogs I love, some ways to find content easier, and put in archive, at last, some of the ancient articles. Come back to see updates.
Stage 2: Inspiration Aug 16, 2009
#The Liberal Years
The continued story of how I decided to live barefoot:
Prefix: The Acorn and Me
Stage 1: Stage 1: Realization
Through the year and a half I was in Texas, a dynamic shift occurred in both my physical self, my group of friends, and my relationship with God. I began the year teaching preschool at a non-denominational church with every intention to get a master’s degree in Elementary Education. The experiences I had that year led to my rebellion. “Rebellion” that is.
As I processed the difference between my home in Bellingham, the mountains and parks, and my new home in Houston, I wrote an entry on April 30, 1999:
“It’s cold enough to cause my arms to have chills. In fact, it’s about the same temperature as Whistler on an August night. I expect to look...
Thirty Days is a really really really long time Aug 15, 2009
It’s hard enough to hit a goal of “doing pilates/yoga for thirty days” without other stuff getting in the way. It’s hard enough to tell yourself that on this lunch break you will spend the first 45 minutes of that hour in downward dog watching your arms shake while you hold your tummy in tight and will yourself to be stronger, leaner, meaner. It’s hard enough to choose to twist your body and flex your ab muscles (wait, ARE those ab muscles?) instead of grabbing a coffee and working.
So when my ovaries grew to the size of a small state and began to ache, I mean, explode, I knew my plans were for not. Of course, I figured it was because I was dying from some strange ovarian virus. Something like, “THE OVARIAN FLU OF DEATH!” So I figured why...
The Brand of Me Aug 13, 2009
It’s been coming to this for a long time, this merging of me vs me. I’ve pretended to be different: Professional Me and Personal Me. But honestly? I am only one person, not two threaded halves.
I am a multitude of rolls, but I am just me. I am as transparent and as open as anyone can be, equally giving way to hurt and laughter and insecurities and strength. I’m open to accepting new ideas, I love my family and my work and I give people the benefit of the doubt to an almost gullible level.
I am what I am and that’s all that I am. (Picture me giving you the pop-eye here. Or, in my case a “Pirate Eye.”)
It sounds old and cliche, but it’s taken me six years of Internet Identity to figure out that I’m the same person online and...
Hidden (or not so much) messages of Motherhood Aug 10, 2009
Hidden (Or not so much) Messages from Mrs. Flinger on Vimeo.
(Sometimes I just can’t help myself)
Ellis Aug 09, 2009
#The College Angsty Years
I have a sound clip from 1997 that features my college roommates and I interviewing each other on “what we wanted to be doing in five years.” I’ve stumbled across that clip a few times since graduation, always giggling to myself and wondering if any of the other girls thought about those goals.
“I’ll probably be teaching” G stated, matter of fact.
“I’ll be hiking or something,” Nicole mused. (She was.)
“I’ll be servicing humans,” (insert fits of laughter here for our Human Service Major friend wasn’t kidding) Paige giggled.
“I’ll be… um…” I offered. And this is how my young adult life started.
We’ve since gone on to graduate school,...
In the quest of the perfect eyebrow Aug 08, 2009
I only started plucking my eyebrows in my late twenties. As in VERY late twenties. As in, I was already a mom and labeled thus, “mother plucker” my Mr. Flinger.
When it comes to beauty, I’m at a loss. Makeup? Learning how to apply that still. Hair? Well. I can blow dry! But as my friend Michelle stated in exasperation, “You don’t even have the RIGHT kind of flat iron.” I didn’t realize they went out of style. And apparently, I have an old style, the big one? With the FLAT IRON?
:: shrugs ::
Since 2004 when I started the quest for the perfect eyebrow I have done a lot of research. I’ve polled readers. I’ve goggled “how to pluck your eyebrows you stupid later bloomer.” I’ve even started a PhD in Plucking hairs (for)...
Words We Aren’t Allowed to Say Aug 05, 2009
Words. They can be powerful. They can be meaningless. They can send chills down your spine. They can go in one ear and out the other.
Or is that just me getting all giddy to use a word like “PERPLEXING.”
So why is it that we have all these “RULES” about words? They’re just… words. Meaningless until someone attaches a feeling around it.
We’ve called my daughter, “Stinker” her whole life. We’ve called her “Pooper” “Pooper scooper” (honestly, I have no idea why, but it’s a term of endearment, I swear) and “Stinker Butt.” We rarely call each other our real names in this house at all, actually. “Man Baby!” “Buddy” “Babe”...
My snatch got stuck Aug 03, 2009
So I was talking to some good friends and one mentioned, “You know what I miss? Sneezing without having to tense up my cooter before hand.” And I joined in, “Oh, I KNOW!” But! BUT (There is always a but in there somewhere) “YOU didn’t even have to blow out your snatch.”
I reply, “I know, dude. I know. My snatch got stuck.”
We all have these wonderful visions of labor and delivery when we’re huge pregnant for the first time because it’s LOVELY! And NATURAL! and HOLY MOTHER JUST GET THE BABY OUTTA MY UTERUS. So we think of the wonderfulness of pushing, just like in the movies, a brand new four month old baby outta our snatch.
And then reality.
I labored for nearly 24 hours with my first. Her head got so jammed in to my...
Community Aug 02, 2009
I watch the clock. 12:24. 12:25. ...
My daughter rambles on in the back-seat about her hair and her dress. “AnnaBella is going to LOVE my dress, Mommy!”
She has no idea what a failure I am.
She chats on and on about her invisible mice and her dress and her school friends and whose birthday it was today and whose birthday is next. I can barely hear her beneath my own self talk, “Great Big Parenting Fail. Can’t get child to a single thing on time, let alone a birthday party within two hours of the start. Well done, loser.”
I grab my iPhone, shaking the GPS one more time. I know where I’m going. I thought I did, at least. But the streets aren’t looking familiar.
We arrive, at last, as the sound of “Happy Birthday” pours out the open...
The Tale of Costco (aka: Why you are thankful you don’t live by us) Jul 31, 2009
I hate Costco. I hate Costco the way alcoholics hate bars. The way recovering smokers hate Neil Diamond concerts.
My children, they amplify the situation.
We call Costco the $100 store. It’s the place you walk in needing two things and walk out with a tab well over $100. “We need diapers and toothpaste.” I mark it off the list. An hour and seventeen items later, the cashier says, “$234 dollars please.” Every. Single. Time.
My children begin to foam at the mouth about a mile before the turn in. “Are we going to COSTCO?!” my four year old yells. “Yes!” I reply. My two year old says, “SAMPLE? SAMPLE?” And then the foaming, it gets worse until the time we actually walk in to the store and I’m carting around two rabid...