Flourish in Progress

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: I will utter nothing but the truth. I do, however, reserve the right to remain silent. 

Let’s take a poll. Pretend it’s Monday and you’ve had a hard weekend drinking chardonnay-in-a-box in a trampy little Halloween outfit or you’ve been put through the ringer parading your two sugar-addicted spawns around the town for cheap nuggets of crack candy. In your delicate condition, which sounds better to you?

A. Goodness! Aren’t you just a vision! That dress is such a lovely silhouette on you and the color peach really brings out the delicate tone of your skin. Is that gorgeous flower on your shoulder one of your unique crafting creations? It is? I’m swooning!

B. You look like an albino hooker wearing a flower pot. And it pinches you in all the wrong places.

Guess which one I picked this morning? Sometimes, you lie to protect the fragile closet alcoholic. Sometimes, you lie to protect yourself from the rage of the fragile closet alcoholic.

Self-preservation be damned. I will tell the truth until an angry mob bludgeons me into unconsciousness. Obviously, I hate myself.

How I envision this week:

Grocery Check-out Person: How’s your day?

Me Normally: Great! Thanks for asking! And how is YOUR day? (smile)

Me This Week: Well, I’m glad you asked me. I’m on a self-imposed shopping ban for an entire year and today is the two-month mark. I really miss going to the mall and buying shit and now I’m daring myself to do all these things that I normally wouldn’t attempt. I went to the museum a few weeks ago and that didn’t work out so well because a weirdo wanted to take me home and be the father of my children I think, and I also got in trouble for touching some of the installation art. I then forced myself to be really nice to some ladies that are insufferable, and you know how that goes…trying to be classy to passive-aggressive crazies. I may be getting some gray hairs because of that little experiment. I almost divorced my husband over an accordion file folder just last week. He’s been pretty patient about my Project, but he may snap like an old, crispy rubber band at any time and I wouldn’t blame him. I just put a magazine back on the shelf, even though I really want the dirt on Courteney Cox’s separation, because I can’t even buy a magazine. I guess I’ll just have to go to the library and look at the free magazines there that already have other people’s spit marks and food stains on it. And how is YOUR day? (smile)
——-
At home with Harv:

Harv: I love you.

Me Normally: I love you.

Me This Week: I love you, but I need to be honest about a few things. I think Apolo Ohno is incredibly sexy and he’s the only reason I watched the Winter Olympics. The way his hand glides the ice as he takes those turns makes me dizzy and hot and I think his soul patch is remarkably attractive. I’m still pretty pissed that you didn’t want to come to the Justin Beiber book signing with me on Sunday. Yes, he’s young and he lacks any musical talent and his hair is beyond repair, but I think he’s quite charming for a young teen boy. Also, I sometimes think about Wentworth Miller. He’s gay, so I don’t really stand a chance with him, but he is still extremely gorgeous and I can’t take my eyes off of him. Are you suspicious when I check out Gretchen Rubin’s blog incessantly? You should be…it’s called a girl crush. I know you’re really tired of me pining over Tim Holtz and I’m really sorry I wrote “I Love Tim Holtz” on my sneakers in Sharpie, but I still haven’t given up hope that one day, I’ll come home and he’ll be at our dining table with all of his genius crafting tools, ready to have a one-on-one crafting session with me. It could possibly be the best moment of my life if I could just sprinkle glitter all over him and then watch him roll around the floor, covering everything in glitter.
——-
At Cal’s school:

Enemy Friendly Mom: Did Harv get a new car? How much did it cost?

Me Normally: Gee, I really don’t remember. I can ask him for you and get back to you since I really love to see your beautiful shining face every day and our conversations are the highlight of my afternoon.

Me This Week: ……………. (I reserve the right to remain silent).

*Have you ever told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? Did you feel great afterwards? Did an angry mob form around your home with torches? Has anyone ever told YOU the truth about something when you didn’t expect it? 
photo via blueq.com

By now, it’s obvious I lead a classy and understated life. I hate to make a scene and I pretty much live to serve my husband and child. (

Even though Halloween isn’t considered a gift-giving holiday, it still ranks in my top three. Why? Because it’s perfectly acceptable to send my lovely little daughter out into the cold, dark night dressed in rags to beg for candy. The candy I promptly take away as soon as she gets home except for five pieces, claiming a genuine concern for her dental health. Really, I do it because I want the candy for myself. So, free candy for me and I get to dress like a tramp! It’s like winning the lottery, except I didn’t have to spend a dollar for a ticket.

In honor of my third favorite holiday, I’m sharing two scary stories.

Scary Tragic Story:

When Cal was just ten months old, I dressed her up as a Teletubbie and took her trick-or-treating. By “dressed up as a Teletubbie”, I really mean that she only had the Teletubbie cap on because she peed through her diaper and costume after the second house. I had to ditch the costume, change her diaper and continue on Cal’s First Treat-or-Treat Experience. Every house seemed a little hesitant to give a ten-month-old candy, but I reassured each candy clencher that I was saving the goodies for later. You know, for when she had teeth. I then smiled widely, grabbed the candy and ran off before they had time to call CPS.

After Cal went to bed that night, I helped myself to a few pieces of her bounty. I couldn’t believe how much more enjoyable every mundane task became with a little candy in my mouth. Washing dishes? Eat a Tootsie Roll! Folding clothes? Have a Hershey’s! Before I knew it, there was nothing left in the bag except for three starlight mints and some pennies. Fuck.

I planned to use the pennies in a drive-by later that week to pelt the offender’s lawn (pennies are useless). It’s a choking hazard and it’s not candy. OH, not that we got any, but don’t give apples or those tiny little oranges as “treats.” Seriously, don’t you dare.

I didn’t think Cal would notice the missing loot, since she seemed to be preoccupied with other things, like learning how to crawl and eating baby wipes, but the next morning she made a grab for her bag as soon as she woke up. Have you ever seen a ten-month-old’s eyes dim from disappointment and betrayal?

Folks, taking candy from a baby is, in reality, not that easy.

Scarier Story:

Before The Project started, I went to Michael’s craft store. After I got inside, I realized that I had forgotten my “40% off one item” coupon. Scary, right? Don’t fight it, just let that fear wash over you.

Share your scary stories. Or celebrity gossip. Whatever. Just tell me some scary stuff. 
photo via marthastewart.com