Monday Dare: Excellence in Wifery

Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Do, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made before The Projectstarted and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please, feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”

This week: Let bygones be bygones.

Harv and I often spend Saturday afternoons running errands. Glamorous, I know.

One Saturday, we needed to hit several stores, so we carpooled to a large shopping center. He dropped me off at Target and then made his way to Best Buy.

Ninety minutes later, I got worried. Sure, it’s never a good idea to leave me unattended at Target (dammit, Harv, of course we need this avocado slicer), but the real test of our bank account is Harv inside a Best Buy.

I decided to give him a call. After a few attempts, he finally picked up the phone. He sounded a little preoccupied and asked if I could pick up dinner on the way home.

Me: I’m still at Target.

Harv: ……

Me: Hello?

Harv: I forgot that I dropped you off. I came back home to play my new video game.

It’s a good thing I woke up right then. It was a dream, but I was pissed. And, I’m still pissed.

So now, any time we go anywhere, I always part ways with a little warning.

Me: You’d better not leave me at *fill in the blank*, you jerk.

Harv: (sigh) I’m not really sure how to defend myself for something that happened in your dream, but come on, I bet it was World of Warcraft.

Me: Don’t try to weasel your way out of this. I’m still pissed and I’m not done punishing you.

I’m starting the new year fresh. Harv, I forgive you for leaving me at the store.
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A big “Thank You for all of the Monday Dare suggestions y’all have sent. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be able to fit “waitress at the local nudie bar” or “become penpals with a prisoner” into The Project.

A link to all of my previous Monday Dares is here, or you can just click the Monday Dare tab on the side bar.

Please leave some less fucked up other suggestions below. I have 4 slots left on my List of Monday Dares. If I use yours and it wasn’t previously on my list, I’ll give you credit and link to your site. I’ll also send you a $30 gift certificate of your choosing, as long as I can email or snail mail it to you fairly easily.  Don’t make me go to an obscure store in New Hampshire to buy it for you, folks.
photo via FranticMeerkat @ etsy.com

santa, you are profoundly bankrupt

It was pretty exciting growing up in a home where Christmas wasn’t a big deal. Did I say exciting? I meant shitty.

As my mom tucked me in on Christmas Eve, she mentioned that Santa had phoned while I was at school, and he let it slip that he would be bringing me 49 presents. I was eight.

It took forever to fall asleep that night. I thought about all the different ways I could rub in my bounty to the other kids at school. The fat man was going to bring me 49 presents…and I hadn’t even been good that year!

My little enterprising mind started wondering just how many gifts I could get if I actually behaved. 60? 70? Lordy, if I listened to my parents and stopped hitting my little brother, maybe I could get into the triple digits.

I went to bed that night determined to be a good girl the following year.

I rushed downstairs at 4 am the next morning. I only saw two gifts with my name under the tree. Surely, that asshole was playing a trick on me. Where the hell were my 47 other presents? Was this some sort of sadistic holiday gift hunt? Was Santa going to make me scurry around the house looking for my gifts?

I decided I might as well start with the gifts under the tree. I opened the big box first. Looky here, a Christmas sweater. It was nice, except that it WAS Christmas, so I couldn’t even wear it for another 11 months, and by then it probably wouldn’t even fit.

Then, I opened the smaller box. A Crayola box of 48 crayons.

The crayons came in handy that night. I wrote Santa a note with my black crayon, except for a few choice words that I wrote in red. Blood red.
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Merry Christmas, folks.

Any Christmas funnies you want to share?

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photo via RansomInk Shop @etsy.com

Monday Dare: guilt trips? i run the travel agency.

Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Try, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made before The Project started and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please, feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”

This week: Learn to forgive myself.

Since Chhichi came into our family last week, I’ve experienced a deeper love and a greater sense of peace. I used to look at Cal and wonder how I could love anyone as much as my amazing daughter, but now, I know that the heart has enough love for two.

Wait, are you still with me? Did I just compare buying a doll to birthing a second child? Did experiencing a hiccup in my Project psychically shatter me?

I’m feeling a lot of guilt.

I haven’t felt this much guilt since I took Cal for her one week check-up. The doctor gave Cal a thumbs up for her health, and he gave me a pat on the back for being such an amazing mother. I mean, I had managed to keep her intact for a whole week. As I left the office, I broke into a huge grin and decided to treat myself to a milkshake as a reward for my awesomeness. Parenting was a cinch. When I got to the car, I realized that something was missing. I patted my pockets down for my keys. I checked to make sure I had my purse and my baby bag. What was it?

I forgot my baby, yo.

I set Cal’s carrier down to make her next appointment, and I forgot to pick her back up. Good thing I remembered my keys. Lordy, I hate it when people are irresponsible and leave their keys all over the place.

I felt like a failure. Even now, I think about that incident. Thankfully, I am not agile enough to kick myself in the ass, but don’t think I haven’t tried.

I’ve decided not to return Chhichi. I feel a deep sense of guilt that I goofed, but I’m pushing forward.

Thanks for all of your kind words, compassion and support. Y’all are a bunch of enablers. Bless you.

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Have you ever left your keys, er, baby anywhere? At the very least, someone’s got to have picked up the wrong kid from daycare. Or forgotten to pick up their kid at all? This actually happens to other moms, right? Right?!

photo via blueq.com