12/6/2007

Body Image Parenting

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A letter to me:

I am doing everything I can here. Lay off, wouldya? You’re entirely too condescending of me, critical in front of the mirror, embarrassed to post the photos. I just created life, remember? The son you cuddle and enjoy? *I* grew him. And only three weeks ago we underwent major surgery to have him safely brought in to the world. Let me heal before you start judging. Let me get more than two hours of sleep in a row. Let me enjoy this time home with my family before you begin punishing me on the scale.  And those three ounces of milk I’m making is something I’m proud of. I’m making food in addition to all the other things I’ve gone through so if you don’t mind, please don’t punish me for having a bit of a belly still and hanging on to those last 15 pregnancy pounds. After all, there are still three weeks left before we can be active again. Why not save your judgments for then?

If women are from Venus, Mars must not have phones Parenting

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I remember the day I knew I could marry Mr. Flinger. Surprisingly, it wasn’t in High School when we were mushy young love-birds. (gag) It wasn’t during college when we were best friends, not-dating, and desperately fixing one another up with other people. It wasn’t until years later, at 24, having moved home to Texas and back that I saw him with my cousin Danielle. I remember the summer, of 2000, living with my Uncle and Aunt having found a job up in Portland, but not an apartment. I moved up from Houston ready to start my job and my new life.  One day we took my cousin roller blading. She so adored Mr. Flinger that she made a necklace for him, a pretty little thing with beads and a star at the center. Perfect for an 8 year old and slightly odd for a 25 year old man. Mr. Flinger wore that necklace all day long. He wore it roller blading at the park. He wore it to the store. He wore it even though the small string barely fit around his neck and the star jabbed him as it stuck straight out, strained on its new owner.

This was the day I realized he would make a wonderful dad; Years and years before that day ever happened.

I don’t suck! The post with all the links…

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Surprisingly, you people love to talk vajayjays and beer. Or babies. Or my lack of s.e.x life. Or d) all the above. Which suits me just fine because right now, as of this moment, I have nothing profound. Nada. Oh, sure, I’ve been fawning all over Julia Sweeney lately, and her CD Letting Go of God. I’ve even taken notes, as in Hand Written Notes, in a journal, with a pen, and… paper. I know. What’s paper? But the truth is, the sun, my toddler, my newborn

seven week old and my mother are kicking my ass as of late. The type of ass-whooping that entails falling asleep in the recliner whilst rocking the boy child only to find oneself up as the entire family sleeps muttering cusswords under her breath because why-for-the-love-of-god-am-I-not-asleep-i-am-so-screeewweeeeed-tomorrow.

Birth control they should include in sex education for 13 year olds Parenting

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I just spent 20 minutes massaging my son’s rectum with a warm wash cloth to relax his sphincter to alleviate his constipation…
..... then cheered when it worked.

My secret super hero power

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If I was a Super Hero, I’d be super anxiety gal.  I’d probably wear yoga pants because this 19-weeks-pregnant ass should never be crammed in to spandex, but I’d surely have a cape and probably a wrist-watch thing that could read the future and comfortable shoes.

Not that I’ve given this much thought or anything.

5/10/2007

Are we all bumbo bumbling idiots?

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Seriously? As in ... Seriously? You’re kidding, right?

These are the first thoughts that ran through my head upon hearing about the Bumbo Seat Recall. I have a Bumbo Seat. We love the Bumbo Seat. Baby O sits up in his Bumbo Seat. It’s a blue, soft, squishy seat of wonderfulness.

4/7/2007

Flinger Flight 666 Parenting

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Welcome aboard Flinger Flight 666. Next destination: Hell.
We’re proud to serve you goldfish and fruitsnacks for your inflight meal. Your movie will be “Elmo’s Potty Time” on a loop. You’re aboard a special flight filled with a scientific experiment where your children have been sleep deprived and starved and are needing your attention.
In case of an emergency, there are no exists.
Thank you for choosing Flinger Airlines.

We were going along just splendidly, or rather as splendidly as one with a new baby could possibly be going along, when BLAMO! The ‘flux hit the house. LB had the flux. We weren’t aware that’s what was going on until well in to my “I hate being a mom OHMYHELL what did we do?!” phase. Once she got on Zantac, life became bearable. A few months later, she started sleeping and a few months after that I uttered the words “Number Two.” And now, here we are. History has a way of repeating itself.

Poltergeist, exorcism, and that damn ghost kitty Parenting

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I’ve talked openly about my child’s refusal to nap and its subsequent effect on me.  We’ve been battling the “Nap Issue” for some time now. Eons ago, Oma said “perhaps she’s just giving it up?” to which I threw tomatoes at her and booed very loudly.  I may have even hissed, I’m not sure. Either way, I know that even if SHE thinks she does not need a nap, *I* know she does. She claims she wants to go play because “my eyes aren’t tired, Mommy!” but I see this:

image

4/2/2007

Oprah and Bon-Bons (or, why I suck at being a WAHM) Parenting

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Anyone else feel like you’re treading under water? Grey’s Anatomy aside here, we’re all drowning in snot and a megga slow server. I swear I’ve tried to update only to get a “page loading” message for, oh, more than the .2 nanoseconds that I have patience to wait so I close my browser and decide my site hates me. No, it’s not you, it’s me. It’s the snot. It’s the fever. It’s the holy-hell-sinus-pressure-that-I-can-only-take-farking-saline-spray-for (!?) and the other things the Internet was telling me you don’t need to hear about.

Being sick is boring as hell, y’all.