Few things feel as much as a violation as strangers rummaging through your private property. Yesterday as we watched the Green Bay Packers stick it to the Giants at the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field (you know the voice, right?), some dick invited himself into our car. Sure, I could’ve used “interloper” or “budding felon” or “low-life,” but I feel like “dick” captures his essence. Her essence? Statistically it’s probably a male, so I’m playing the odds here.
We were sitting in our living room, which faces the street, at which were weren’t focused because hello? Packers game??, when someone stole part of our portable DVD player and rifled through the rest of the center console and glove box. Because I work in the ‘hood and practice vigilance and really, more because we have nothing of value to steal, nothing of value resides in the car. There was nothing to snatch quickly but the second video screen for our portable DVD player, so he absconded with an essentially useless piece of technology. I fully expected to find the screen laying in a nearby alley or gutter when I got home this evening because it’s worthless without the control unit, which remained. There may have been $.13 in pennies in the center console, and that’s not a typo–the decimal is in the correct place–we maybe had thirteen whole shiny pennies, probably really only like eleven though to steal. They didn’t even bother with the pennies! Suckas.
Tom came in from having put the car in the garage, STILL broad daylight y’all, asking if I had brought in the DVD screen for any reason. He had that uneasy feeling, inexplicable until the puzzle pieces click in place, that something about the car was amiss. I’m no Felix Unger, but neither am I one to rifle through shit and leave it tossed all over the car’s interior. Yesterday was sunny and clear for the first in a long time, and we were left to conclude that we’d been robbed. Basically had we turned our necks window-side, we couldn’t have helped but see it, but the guys in green and gold were so distracting! Not gonna lie, you feel kinda duped when your car is robbed while parked in front of your house. In broad daylight.
My stomach churned for most of the second quarter of the game. This could’ve been attributed to the Packers’ sickly first half offense, sure, but no. The intrusion hit me physically; my reaction at a visceral level, and I felt sick. Fortunately, Aaron Rodgers connected with Randall Cobb to end the first half with a holla! and I was over it. Well, not entirely over it because here I am twenty-four hours later writing about it, duh, Wendy.
So instead of staying annoyed with humanity, I’m choosing good over stupid. What a peculiar segue into my, “HEY YOU GUYS!” plea to support Team Greater Than Gravity for the 2017 MDA Muscle Walk, huh?
I began blogging almost exactly two years ago, after #1 was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy. I was paralyzed. A neurologist told me my baby, my firstborn, my sure-he’s-clumsy-but-eventually-his muscles-will-catch-up-with-his-height was going to live his life never catching up. I’ve written about that day before, and won’t revisit it today. The anniversary is right around the corner, so it’s sure to be an up and coming post. Where was I? I was paralyzed. I knew not what to do or say, and felt a helplessness and despair I’d not wish on my worst enemy. Only as I wrote, I began to understand my feelings. It’s hard to explain if you’re not the writer type, but writing told me how I felt. Often I didn’t know what I felt until I read my first months’ of posts, and I’d go, “Oh, I’m frustrated that the Y closed,” or “I’m terrified to meet other MDA moms and dads,” or “Sometimes I’m pretty funny, and sometimes I’m a ridiculously easy crowd!” Anyway. . .
After a time, my paralysis ebbed a bit that spring, and I found determination to raise funds for the Southern Wisconsin MDA Chapter’s Muscle Walk. In year one, our team raised about $1900. I was mystified at my good fortune to have people in my life, so concerned and generous, that they donated to our effort. I DID something. Well not me, it was YOU, you freaking amazing people, but I asked. I did something. WE did something. Last year you more than doubled that, and I swear to the stars that if I ever find out who anonymously donated $1000 to our team, I will kiss you on the mouth. And you know I am NOT much for hyperbole (insert winky-winky emoticon here). But even if you didn’t donate $1000, ’cause really?, I love you for being here with me. Thank you.
Today, to show the world that I’m picking goodness over misdemeanor theft, I open my 2017 MDA Muscle Walk page. Join us, won’t you? Click here to donate to or walk with our team on April 30. MDA Summer Camp is a life-changing experience for kids with muscle disease. That is certainly NOT hyperbole, folks. It’s also not that last time you’ll hear me beat the drum for our effort. #sorrynotsorry Last year we helped fund camp for 5 kids and more. But of course you can’t mathematically divide a child. Obviously.
My kind of paralysis ebbs and flows. Today, I moved forward. Purpose. Momentum. I’ll even kick in the first thirteen pennies to start. Shine on.