Top Fan

Why is everything a contest these days? Why do even the most non-competitive of life activities (enjoying music and live shows, for example) have social media rankings attached?

I received a Facebook notification yesterday.

Well, obviously. I mean, have you been paying attention here, people?

But it’s silly, right? There is no prize, no greater good for society in being so recognized by a social media platform, I assume for the number of times some algorithm has calculated I’ve included the text “Barenaked Ladies” in my comments or “liked” a status. I cracked wise about my “badge” on my FB page (because who wants a badge when a sash is still on my list of must-haves?) but really? This does not have to be a competitive sport. And if it must, I don’t think I want to play. I just want to keep enjoying my concentrated hobby in my car, all by myself, competing with no one and nothing but which song makes me feel happiest. Clearly, I’m not meant for the Major Leagues.

It’s Opening Day!! This IS major league!

I digress. But the Brewers are undefeated, you guys. It was a good day at the ballpark. It’s always a good day at the ballpark.

You know what would be a worthwhile recognition? Acknowledging people whose real life accomplishments made lives better.  To recognize acts of goodness and kindness and generosity and give those individuals gold stars or top fan badges.  So in the spirit of not-competitive do-gooding (good-doing?), I present not-awards, and since Facebook cornered the market on “badges,” from me, you get a sash.

And The Sash Goes To. . .

I’m a super top fan of these people, who, early in the process, lent their financial support to our MDA Muscle Walk team and/or volunteered to show up on walk day.  Much gratitude and love to Allison Schley, Jenna Stoll, Rhonda and Mark Weir, Laurie Stilin, Sue Doornek, and my incredible friend Sally Warkaske.  Wanna be on my Muscle Walk Top Fan list?  Join or donate to Team Greater Than Gravity by clicking here.

We Rate Dogs, a Twitter feed (@dog_rates) that rates dogs and their antics/gifts on a scale of 1-10 should get a sash for their sweet, sunshine showcase of mutts in their noble canine deeds.  Many dogs get rated 11/10 or 13/10, which I consider simply marvelous math.

Lin-Manuel Miranda (@Lin_Manuel) deserves a galaxy of gold stars for his Gmorning, Gnight Twitter pep talks and pretty much everything else he’s ever said, written, sung, or rapped.  I suck at Twitter. It would be best if I deactivated my whole Twitter account entirely, but We Rate Dogs and L-MM’s genius are enough to string me along.  I just need to shut my mouth there and stay the hell out of political threads.  The rabbit hole is deep and dangerous there, y’all.

My final sash du jour goes to a Milwaukee firefighter. Last weekend, my little guy and I were shopping, and I noticed a familiar face in the shoe section. I approached him, inquiring if was an MFD firefighter, and his response was, “Yes, and I was at your house a few weeks ago.” He was one of the crew dispatched to our home after the Curious Incident of the Ice at the Bus Stop. He asked after my son, and wished him well. I thanked him for providing calm reassurance during a distinctly not calm time. I didn’t want to bother him as he enjoyed his Saturday, so I tried to split pretty quickly, but he recognized having met me!! And that never happens–no one ever remembers me, so extra gold star.

Liking or appreciating something should not be a competitive event, but it’s not a bad idea to point out good deeds and good works.  Rewarding me for being a fan isn’t going to make me a more rabid enthusiastic singer-alonger.  But maybe someone being called out for just doing something nice might encourage more of that just something nice.  A girl can hope anyway.

I still wouldn’t mind having my own sash though.

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Nextdoor

One never knows who lurks next door, does one?  But good lord, one needs only to belong to a neighborhood social media group to experience by proxy the very worst in human behavior lurking right out there in the open.

Earlier today I sat down to pay the bills (and I swear on all that is true in this world, eleven hours later, I’ve done a million things today except pay the bills!).  Because I’m easily distracted though mostly because I don’t enjoy paying the bills, I checked my email (but also, some of my bills arrive electronically, so checking my email wasn’t exactly a complete waste of time toward the bill paying endeavor).  Anyway. . .

Scrolling through my junk email, deleting quickly as I clicked through 50-60 junk messages, I’m stopped by an email from the Nextdoor app with this subject header: Kid at door at 8:30 Sat. Morning.  I mean, I knew it wasn’t my kid up and at ’em by 8:30 on a Saturday morning, but for some reason, I clicked.  For the uninitiated, Nextdoor is a social media app used by residents to report on neighborhood goings-on, including critical news blasts such as this:

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“I am not donating because they woke us up.” To quote my friend Maureen, “Way to take a stand.” Sorry about the picture of a screen.  Super low-res of me–bad blogger, bad blogger.

For reasons I don’t fully understand, I lost my darn mind over this post.  The natural response to online garbage in 2019 is to fire back aggressively and IN ALL CAPS, which of course, I did not do myself on the app because that would expose me as this person’s equal.  Instead, I took my crabby pants show on the road to Facebook, like a responsible adult does.  Bah!!  I know, I know. . .

How do people behave in such incredibly dim-witted ways?  How does an adult post a photo of a child not of his/her own in a ranty, pissed-off, online what’s going on in the neighborhood app–the kid’s full face, you guys–and not give it even a moment’s pause?  I thought it was probably a screen grab from a video doorbell, which, unlike my tech skills here, was quite high-resolution, quite clear.

I circled back at the Nextdoor post after a couple Facebook friends responded to my post, confirming my WTH-ness.  I noted that the post had been edited.

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See I blocked out the picture of the child who is not mine from my public forum.

You can see the tone had been ratcheted down a notch.  I considered maybe replying with a somewhat, “Have you considered how much this child’s mother and father are going to flip their shit when they see this?” comment, but I chose not to, and do you know why I didn’t?  I don’t want a person who thinks this is OK to know where I live.  Fear.  This is my neighbor???  Yikes.

Shortly thereafter, a sweet and wonderful neighbor whom I actually do know (not of the misanthropic variety) informed me that the Nextdoor post had been deleted.

I marinated in my crabby juices all morning over just how gross people can be.  How insensitive, unkind, vengeful, and, and, and. . .  I felt no end to the abyss of negative adjectives I could attach to such a creeptastic post.  These are my neighbors, you guys, the “jury of my peers,” as it were, and it hurt a little bit to think that such rottenness lurks so close to home.  Literally.  After a while, I decided I had to be done with it. To assuage the icky aftertaste of meanness, I would do something good.  No, not enjoy a margarita, silly friends, it was still morning!  I’ve decided to do some trolling of my own, trolling for donations.

Rumor has it that by June 1, Wisconsinites can reasonably expect that snow will be melted and the daily average temperature be above zero.  Mother Nature’s current pattern of behavior notwithstanding, June 1 weather is expected to be lovely.  June 1 will mark our family’s fifth annual MDA Muscle Walk.  It’s the one “MDA family” family reunion I’ve attended since my son’s diagnosis, and since Team Greater Than Gravity’s inception, you’ve helped me raise nearly $10,000 for the Muscular Dystrophy Association.  You can click here to be directed to our team page.  Join us for the walk in person or by plastic–I’ll take support however you’re willing to share it.  For your preparation, I’m a total wreck the day of the walk, but I show up.  I do my best for my kid, WHO, by the way, is getting better by the day since his close encounter with black ice.  Navigating slowly, but better with appropriate medication, time, heating pads, and some kickass get well swag from Nikki, Dena, and Ann–how I love you all–has helped.  Physical therapy begins next week.  Fingers stay crossed!

And?  If some cute little Cub Scout or Boy Scout visited your door this morning, tying a plastic bag onto your door latch?  Fill it up, won’t you?  You have an entire week until those same youngsters will be roving your neighborhood to retrieve the bags, hopefully filled with non-perishables next Saturday.  Let’s show them we’re better than one bad apple.

And? No. I still haven’t paid the bills. *sigh*

Five Cents, Please

Nine-to-fourteen inches of snow was the prediction.  Grocery lanes were jammed with customers stocking their larders (if larders were a thing in 2019 urban Milwaukee) with the necessities a snowpocalypse demands.  Cancellations flurried in late Sunday afternoon, then dumped en masse and at the speed of light.  Kids rejoiced, then made a mad dash for sleds and snowpants.  School district superintendents pushed their social media campaigns for the most clever delivery of snow day school closings (the dude from Missouri Valley wins all, this week or last, hands down).

I was delighted not to have to set an alarm this morning and I’m relieved not to be navigating snow-covered, ice-crusted roads, not gonna lie about that, friends, but I expected more from “thundersnow.”  Though it’s picking up again, I believe they oversold it.

I spent a too-short weekend partially prostrate on my friend Ann’s couch.  Too short in part to my eagerness to avoid the impending doom of the snowpocalypse.  I really have become a wuss as my years on this earth advance.  Maybe I’m smarter too, but mostly, I’m much less a risk-taker than I once was.  Hoping to avoid an early arrival by Mother Nature, I hit the road before noon Sunday.

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Thank you to the inimitable Charles M. Schulz for his colorful characters with character.

In my little Peanuts metaphor, Ann is Lucy Van Pelt, dispensing psychiatric advice, and yours truly stars, or slumps really, in the role of Charlie Brown, trying to make sense of my anxieties.  I write about stuff here, but there, on her grey couch resting my head on the most calming, nuanced shade of coral accent pillows, is where I talked.  I won’t bore you with the details, but voicing the words, “I think I bordered on depressed for a few days” was cathartic.  Saying those words helped me realized I’m already rising through, returning to equilibrium.  Five cents, please.

Other thoughts from the couch. . .

Botox

No, I haven’t gone under the needle, but twice since Saturday and with two different friends, it’s come up.  My BFF just had bangs cut into her naturally platinum spiral locks–“cheap Botox” she claimed.  I wear my glasses more frequently, masking those deep, deep, deep furrow lines between my brow with chunky tortoiseshell frames.  I thought the laugh lines would be the most prominent as I aged, but it would seem I’m less jolly than I imagined myself, my face wearing worry or anger more often.  Boo.

I once proclaimed that I would NEVER consider plastic surgery.  I was 35 then, the hell did I know??  I am vain though, and I probably would shoot my face full of toxins if I weren’t terror-stricken that I’d become paralyzed, or worse, dead as a result.  I like my smile lines–wouldn’t change those.  And no, my lips aren’t as elastic as they’d been, but who wants to look like any one of the thousands of “Housewives” along with other celebrities, barely recognizable as humanoids anymore??  I mean besides the thousands lining up every month at their plastic surgeon’s office.  Stop the madness, ladies!  And gentlemen, for that matter.

The Next Revolution Renaissance

In education, we endure cycles of pendulum swings. In 2019 THIS is what’s best for kids, we’re told.  You’ve been doing it all wrong, y’all–THIS [insert new thing here] is the best approach to learning.  Stick around long enough and you’ve heard it all–Whole Language, Direct Instruction, Site-Based Management, Multiple Intelligences, School Choice (let’s just DON’T), Learning Styles, Problem Solving, Understanding a Framework of Poverty, Differentiated Instruction, Whole-Small-Whole Group Instruction, Full Inclusion, Common Core State Standards, Standards-Based Grading, Trauma-Informed Care, Social-Emotional Learning, Interventions, School-to-Work, College and Career Ready, Mindfulness, Every kid gets a Chromebook!  Geez, my fingers need a break from just typing!

Ann and I observed how the pendulum’s swing hasn’t quite returned to the opposite arc–instead it’s pinging at a near 90-degree angle.  When will we inch back to what teachers know actually works?  When will pedagogy be stripped from politicians and big-money publishing houses to be returned to teachers, you know, the ones who teach??  What will it take?  I used the term revolution; Ann more astutely remarked that we are lying in wait for the next age of enlightenment, the next renaissance.

I sometimes feel that my children are part of some half-assed social experiment.  Their time having been enrolled in formal education has seen more changes than in any period in my career. I eagerly await this Renaissance.  I’m happy this neo-Renaissance of which I dream comes with indoor plumbing and vaccinations though.  Science is real, yo.

Politics and the Government Shutdown

Nope.  Not touching it.  You know me?  You know where I stand.  I thank my lucky stars that I have Ann’s grey couch to dive deeply into ideas and ideals.  And lunacy.

Transgender Individuals

My son related to his father and me a conversation he’d had with a friend who is transgender about this individual’s identifying with the gender opposite the one at birth.  My son was working out the pronouns, and what I loved most about this chat was that his friend being transgender was really a sidebar to matter of this friend bringing “Cards Against Humanity” and “What Do You Meme?” to play during some free time after school, about which he was deeeeeeeee-lighted.  Those games are so inappropriate.  So stinkin’ funny though, and let me be your cautionary tale–they’re not games kids want to play with their parents nor parents with their kids.  I’m still blushing. . .

Brewers On Deck

My baby, the 6′ thirteen-year-old multi-sport athlete, through his baseball organization, had an opportunity to attend Brewers On Deck.  On Deck is a massive fan fest where Milwaukee Brewers baseball players are made to make themselves available for a day-long meet and greet.  Fans wait in line for autographs and photos.  The event sells out annually, and with a tuxedo-clad Christian Yelich having just received his MVP award the night prior, the kids’ entry was a premium!  The kid was ready to go, but begged off at the last minute.  He had a chance to meet his idol, Travis Shaw, but declined.  I’m told he crashed the boards and crashed his knee Saturday morning during his basketball game, so wasn’t at top form physically.  I can’t help but wonder if he has a touch of his mother’s anxiety though–he was petrified to meet Barenaked Ladies (granted, he was seven at the time) and he didn’t feel like it was OK to approach Alan Doyle after a show in Chicago a few years back either.  I think he’s an “I’m gonna admire them from afar” kind of guy.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that; there’s not.  But I don’t want him to throw away his shot.

2019 MDA Muscle Walk

Yep, I’m already ratcheting up about the timing of this year’s walk.  My younger son has a baseball tournament out of town that weekend, so I already know my husband and I are going to have to split time.  This year’s event is June 1, scheduled with hopes of warmer weather prevailing on walk day.  My son is “lucky” that his MD doesn’t come with the side dish of massive internal complications that many kids with MD endure.  But now I’m prematurely anxious/guilty about picking.  In missing one or the other, which child will be deemed  or feel more “worthy” of my attention, will all of us have all the right gear in the right city?

Anxiety is dumb.  But that’s the thing about anxiety–it’s worrying about something that might never happen.  But that doesn’t mean you don’t worry; you can’t help but worry.  It’s the very definition of anxiety.  I know I’ll be at the Muscle Walk, so why is this even a thing?

Probably I’ll figure that one out on my next visit down to Ann’s.  Miss you already, sweet girl.

3,564 Reasons You’re Incredible

You did it.  You helped our team hit our fundraising target for the 2018 MDA Muscle Walk.  Team Greater Than Gravity collected $3564 for the Muscular Dystrophy Association.  YOU DID THIS.

Muscle Walk Total

Your dollars are possibly sending several kids to summer camp.  Perhaps those dollars are helping fund a pharmaceutical lab assistant working toward a treatment, or maybe they’re helping a family fund a wheelchair or ventilator for their child.  I don’t get to direct precisely where the funds land, but I know that each and every dollar is well spent.

A dad, a mom, and I were invited to speak before the walk began Sunday, and you’d have to be some kind of stoic not to have a tear in your eye listening to those two parents speak about their children–how they knew something was wrong, and how long it took to determine just what that something was.  How it took years of effort and investigation to find the right medical professional to steer them toward, and then settle on that MD diagnosis–it was story not entirely unlike ours–MD is sneaky, and its variations so disparate.  There are some “common” or more “identifiable” subtypes, and there are also a slew of other subtypes not so clearly evident.  You know something isn’t quite right, but your “what is wrong?” compass doesn’t settle due north.

I didn’t share much of our story on the microphone because my son is fourteen, and it was horror enough to him that I was even up there.  Before I agreed to speak, I talked with my son, asking him if he would be OK with me up there and he agreed so long as I didn’t point him out or betray any privacy (or look at him while I was talking, or, or, or. . .), and out of respect for him, I did not say too much.  It got me to thinking that the lifespan of this blog was maybe nearing its sunset.  I probably wonder something like that every time I hit “publish” to be honest.  Writing these days is less about my boy with MD and more about my four-legged boy with a penis infection (the dog). My life!

I’m happy I can do the walk, raising awareness and money for an honorable cause, but I am glad it’s over.  I feel physically beat, and NOT because the walk was physically demanding.  I’m tired.  It’s an honor, an exhausting honor, to help support the MDA, but I think now I need a nap.  Does that sound lame?  Ungrateful?  Please know that it’s not ungrateful.  I can live with lame.  I’m a total weirdo on walk day, a fact to which anyone at the walk can attest.  Sorry guys.

This team is comprised of family members and friends I see routinely, friends from high school, work friends and colleagues who quietly surprise the hell out of me with their support here.  My crew contains anonymous donors, a former boss, a writer I’ve met blogging, parents of my son’s friends, my Barenaked Ladies ladies, and people I’ve never even met! I know you don’t donate to our team to read your name here in my goofball blog, but I would be remiss in not posting an honor roll.  It is truly my honor to know you, and that is true even if we haven’t met in real life.  Thank you.  There are a million organizations you could choose to lend your support, and somehow, when I ask, you choose mine.  There are no words to express what that means.

Ann Calverley, Sean Carlin, Bridget Panlener, Greg Amborn, Beth Sandmire, PJ Early, Alicia Kraucunas, Terry Radtke, Ginger Stapp, Amy Van Ells, Sue Wacker, Diane Piedt, Nicole Garza, Shelly Weisse, Lori Lepak, Patti Bohlman, Laurie Stilin, Jill Holmes, Stacy Skenandore, Chelsea Laub, Heidi Britz, Nikki Leininger, Michelle Sjoblom, John Weir, Bek Szypula, Rose Mary Walecki, Rhonda Weir, Bob Kosky, Amy Behrendt, Rene Damask, Gwen Evseichik, Jenna Stoll, Sally Warkaske, Janice Schwind, Jennifer Sanders, Steve Inman, Charlie Pozza, Valerie Hoehnke, Barb Berman, Kathy Gregorski, Maggie Palutsis, Julie Freyre, Chantal Van Uytfanck, Anonymous donors, Lisa Lien, Tracy Klement, Julie Smith, Heather Koll, Patti Sereno, Christine Carey, Shelly Boutet, Jodi Liebelt, Rebecca Halsey-Schmidt, Jane Mlenar, Ula Julien, Ann Kukowski, Mike Zyniecki, Anne & Bob Kosky, Todd Condroski, and Michele Nixon–you are the best of all the people ever.

I told the walk participants that the list of things I’d rather do than ask for money is long.  Really, really long.  And then I said that while I hated it, I’d continue to do it so that my child and others with muscle disease get the chance to go to camp, the chance not to be the only one.  I promised to continue showing up because showing up is the first step.  Thank you for showing up with me.

If you ever wonder if you are making a difference?  You are.