See, It’s MY Car

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.

rodgers-cobb

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.

Life changing, for reals.

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.

Lions And Tigers And Bears

Any trip to the zoo leaves me a trace sad. Except that one time Nikki and I met Bek at the zoo in Toledo and managed not to see one single wild animal, but did manage to crash the Barenaked Ladies sound check.  Contest winners?  Yes, yes we are. The Toledo Zoological Gardens are the home of #ketchupandmustard, so will always hold a special place in my heart.  Plus it’s an epic achievement to haul ass around a rather large zoo without catching one single glimpse of wildlife, wouldn’t you agree?  Ah, good times.

Last Wednesday, on my darn birthday no less, I shuttled a nearly dead bunny to the Humane Society, only for it to gasp its last breath about three minutes before our arrival.  Baby bunny had been hit by a car, the vet surmised, and its future was not bright upon impact.  She thanked the boys and me for doing the right thing to help Peter Cottontail, though our attempt was in vain.  This morning, rounding the corner back to our house, I found a dead bird lying on the alley sewer grate.  Mercifully, I spied the bird before Caleb the Wonderdog did, so was able to steer him away.  What is the deal with wildlife this week?

The Green Bay Packers are as near to a religion as I follow these days. Game day is a big deal where I live, and we do tune in.  Some games are straight-up events, parties with green and gold-themed foods and décor, but most often game day comes and goes with just the four of us around the TV.  My birthday falls on the equinox, meaning our days for outdoor opportunities are becoming numbered.  Baseball got canceled this morning, so we thought we would knock out a few hours at the zoo before Packers kickoff.  Strike while the iron is shining, and all that.

I wasn’t as sad about the animals as I typically get today, though the polar bear’s green patch of fur freaked me out a whit (algae from its habitat’s pool).  I was completely within myself sad as I watched my big kid trek around.  There are some days where MD kicks his butt a touch more squarely than other days.  Today?  He was so tired that he had to stop and sit every few minutes.  There are some days where his disease is in my face screaming out loud; the slap on my face from MD’s hand of reality stings acutely.

I sat with him outside the aquatic and reptile center because it was near the end of our visit and he had to sit it out.  Did he say that he wanted to sit it out?  No, he didn’t.  He offered a non-committal shrug when asked if he wanted to go in.  “Nah, it’s OK,” he mumbled.  Yeah, it’s OK, but it’s usually one of his fave stops, so I knew he had hit he wall.  Sunglasses were a welcome fashion accessory this morning, as they covered my leaking eyes.  I think my kid and I were both dancing around the 800 lb. gorilla in the room.  Technically it was an orangutan, but I’ve already massacred one metaphor here two paragraphs ago, so we’re sticking with gorilla.  We both pretended it was no thang.  He didn’t have the energy to keep walking; I didn’t have the heart to inquire and make him verbalize that.  Win/win?  Lose/lose?  Choose your own adventure.

I walked behind my three boys in a line at one point, watching as they goofed.  I had a notion to get a picture of the three of them lined up, but in the moment decided against it.  I was struck by something else.  My husband only just barely keeps his height advantage over the big kid now, and our younger son is not at all far behind.  It was a glimpse into the future–in the very, very near future, those roles will reverse–little one will likely be the tallest, big kid will be in the middle, and Tom will relinquish the tallest guy in the house title.

I was further struck recalling the blindness I’d clutched with all my might for eleven years.  Watching my older son amble around the zoo, I wept to myself.  How could I have been so blind?  How, HOW did I not see?  How did I believe for so long that he’d grow out of it?  His limbs are so long and so thin.  His muscle tone?  Well, there really isn’t any.  He is all straight, long lines, and I just don’t know how on this earth I imagined he would grow from his lankiness into a lithe and agile young man.  Pretending was nice, though I suppose I wasn’t exactly pretending everything was aces.  From little on, I knew something was up, so it wasn’t pretending I was doing.  What was it though?


I get an “F” in revisionist history this term.  I blame the Packers.  I blame the clear morning skies.  I blame the bear.  I blame my kid’s baseball game cancellation.  It’s easier than blaming myself.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/pretend/”>Pretend</a&gt;

via Daily Prompt: Pretend