One Week, Version 3.2

This is my second post titled One Week.  It’s not that I’m not creative enough, people, just an opportunity to work a song title into real life.  Plus, I kinda want to puke, but I Kinda Want to Puke?  That’s a way worse title, however apropos it may be.  Our Muscle Walk shirts arrived in the mail yesterday in ample time for the May 1 walk around our zoo.  My middle schooler smiled sweetly, albeit briefly, when he opened the package, relieved they’d made it and maybe a little pleased with himself for the design.  Who doesn’t like getting stuff in the mail, right?

Not bad, kid. Sure, I could have smoothed out the wrinkles for the picture, but. . . The “help me stay strong” nearly killed me–in the good way though. Mostly.


My circle of friends and family have donated more than $2500 to our cause.  The most recent group of team donors, kickass philanthropists all, include these fine folks who have my profound gratitude, even though they’re included in a post that could alternately have had the word puke in its title:  Chantal van Uytfanck, Diane Woppert, Carly Ruggieri, Rebecca Halsey-Schmidt, Jennie Guenthner, Nicole Garza, Heidi Reid, Shelly Weisse, and Colleen Haubner.  As I entered their names just now, I noticed that it happens that each of these individuals but one is an educator.  And while politicians would have you believe the worst in public educators, I am here to tell you that my teacher and my speech-language pathologist friends are the most caring, generous souls out there.  We don’t make a ton of money, and we’ve all suffered huge financial hits in salary and benefits, yet if you ask a teacher to support a cause via time, talent, or treasure, I guarantee they’ll step up.  Every time.  Every time.

Our MDA Muscle Walk team has raised enough money to fund weeks of summer camp for 3.2 children.  Or maybe funded .3 of a motorized wheelchair or most of a lift chair for an adult with MD.  Maybe we helped pay for lab supplies or for the lab data analyst’s salary.  You can join our team or donate to team Greater Than Gravity by clicking here.  Or you can leave me a message below just to say hey.  Or you can silently send up a good wish for me as I head into an event I didn’t even know existed fourteen months ago.  I’ll be the one wearing dark shades. I’ll give you a polite smile in acknowledgement next Sunday. I won’t invite or maintain sustained eye contact with you,  but I’ll be there, and you will be too, friends and readers. You’ll be with me–you’re there in my heart, my ever-grateful, nerve-jangled heart. 

 

 

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