Wheel chair is here. Let me share a photo taken this past weekend…

Now ain’t that just darling? Makes me want to puke.

Let me come back later. My body is wigging out from sitting here.

The dog is going to live with my sister. I knew it wouldn’t last. The kids don’t play with him, they don’t seem to like him, and they damn sure don’t help out much with him. MB3 does. The Nephew does. Other kids could care less. MS’s kids actually like the dog. They run with him and play with his toys and hug him and all that good stuff. And they live out in the country where he can run. We’re hardly here now with school and tomorrow he’s going to have to go all day without a potty break unless MB2 comes home in between classes and lets him out. Just too busy for a dog. Not to mention that this house is small. There is no room to put shit up like in a regular house. Book bags often remain on the floor at night, and the dog then eats said book bag. Or my fucking favorite sandals, that I’ve had for 4 years and can’t replace now and damn that dog anyway.

Now to get her to take the cats. Are you listening?

Make a wish people came. Looks like we’re going to Disney in March/April. “You will receive a three-day “park hopper” pass for each person on your Wish trip that allows you to visit the Walt Disney World theme parks: The Magic Kingdom, EPCOT, Disney’s Animal Kingdom and Disney’s Hollywood Studios. You will also receive two-day passes for each person on your Wish to Universal Orlando and Islands of Adventure theme parks and a single day pass to SeaWorld Orlando.” Are we going to be busy. He’s going to have the time of his life. I guess that’s the point, huh? I try not to think of WHY we are going on this trip. I try not to think of a lot of things.

The MDA is having a reunion for the camp folks next weekend. This weekend we’re going to World’s of Fun, compliments of my boss. He’s really one helluva guy.

Hey, I haven’t had one drop of alcohol today. Realizing that it’s 8am, I will state that I did not have any yesterday either. Or the day before. Just for the record and all.

And then I thought, but I never really expected to NOT become a drunk. I knew it’d come someday. Just thought I would have waited until AFTER Ian quit needing me.

But I know I’m not a drunk. Not yet. This is a wake up call to myself to knock my shit off. Damn.

Gotta waste a post with this shit.

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Ok, not wasted…… I mean the post isn’t wasted. Wait. I’m not wasted either.

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Ok, for real this time ……..

Wheelchair comes on Tuesday. Except I have to be here from 9-4 waiting all day for them to come. Isn’t that a bitch? Like I have the PTO hours to waste waiting for them to show up. My luck it comes at 3 pm and fucks me all day. I cuss alot when I’m drunk.

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Should I go back and read what I just wrote? I’ve not had THAT much to drink and I don’t want it to seem like I drink 24/7. I drink when J is home and tonight I didn’t wait for him to get here and that makes me feel guilty. Other than that though. What the fuck. It’s the weekend and I’m human. Right? Why do I feel guilt about this? Enough to waste 3o fucking minutes on my blog bothered with it.

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gah

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I’m outta here. To clean my toilet and try to purge my guilt from my hard limeade.

I can’t even update because I don’t know where to begin or even where I left off.

School starts tomorrow. Half of the kids are taking the bus, the other half aren’t. I think. Haven’t decided yet, and it’s the 11th hour. Help. Gawd. Geezus. I can’t even think straight. I know Ian is taking the bus, but not yet. Not until he gets his wheelchair, and that hasn’t come yet. Dammit. MG can’t take the bus because they cut routes due to funding, and she’s now a walker. Bullshit. She’s only 9 (happy birthday little girl), and she’s not walking anywhere. So, I’m taking her and going to put her in day care with Ian after school. But that means I have to get off early so we don’t go broke cuz it’s $4 an hour each. And then there’s MB4, who might have to walk home from the elementary school alone. Dammit. And all this happens as the paper printed a story this morning about a perv trying to snatch kids from around this area. I just can’t  ……  I just cant……..

I have to go have a nervous breakdown.

Autoplay on the brain all day. When my brain sends me this message, and it does a lot, I smile and know that overall, I’m pretty damn lucky to have my life. Shit and all.

These are the moments
I know heaven must exist
These are the moments I know all I need is this

Older boys are stepping in line for once. Doing chores and talking to us again. Like we’re friends again. Asking permission instead of forgiveness. Chore chart has been revamped, and newest member, MoodyNephew, has been added to the mix of chore-do’ers. He’s taking it in stride and seems to be adapting well. Older boys are taking him around town to see movies and play at the water park and taking him for lunch, etc. I’m glad they seem to be getting along.

Little ones are still fighting like mad, but I guess that’s never going to change. Not until they are old enough to pal around like MB1 and MB2. They’re practically best friends. Now. They went at it constantly when they were younger.

I gotta split, MG is lonely and talkative. I gotta go talk to her before she turns into a teen and hates me. It’ll happen before I know it.

I wish to gawd I could stop the clock. More than anything in the world, I wish I could stop the clock.

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Geezus, where was I going with that? Not sure I remember it exactly, but somehow I was going to tie that in with an apology for why I have just kept on keeping on when I know I should just hang it up and go home. That I’ve let this blog die because I’ve changed so very much and I worry every day that I’ve changed so much that the reason people liked me is gone. You, my husband, my friends…… am I just me only nice? or is Angie no longer the majority stockholder in this life? Again, I worry every day that I’m a familiar stranger and it’s just not good enough to hold it together.

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I’ve had a few too many. Raise of hands, who already knew that?

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I do not drink every day. I have drank 1 winecooler every night this week. Tonight I had 4. But my husband will be home soon and has already promised to fulfill spousal obligations and I decided drunken sex sounded better than just regular sex, and I just hope he gets here before I go night night. ‘Cause I’m so very tired.

THen she told us that his flu shots are free from now on. And that every MDA kid gets $500 for repairs a year on their equipment. And that she has a loaner closet that has everything we might need in it. Like a power chair when the time comes. She said that power chairs are around 25k, and insurance will pay for $5k. So, they loan us one while he’s still growing. Then she finds us the rest of the money through grants and gifts. She’s an awesome woman who knows every kid with MD by heart in our area. She knows that “Josh” just turned 23 and leaves for KU next week. She knows this shit about every child she helps. She’s amazing.

She gave us books and told us not to read one of them yet. So I did. ‘ Cause I’m a child like that. And I read it in the car before we went into the store. And I bawled through the store. And then I read it 4 more times to harden myself to the words. I can read it now without crying. I am victorious. I can tell you that I am NOT strong enough to actually live the last two chapters of the book. I’m just not. I’m falling apart now and he’s damn near perfect right now. Perfect little man. How fucking cruel for life to start taking away his freedoms. I have got to win the lottery. I have got to move to Columbus Ohio where this doctor is and pay someone off to get a trial ready for my boy. I have to do something.

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I called the school and the bus company. Bus company said they would be more than happy to pick up him and his wheelchair – after I had an IEP in place. ?? It takes months to get an IEP around here. So I called the school and the gal directed me to another gal and she cried foul on the bus company and said she would work it and let me know. So I wait. I told her all he really needs right now is extra time in the bathroom, railings on his chair to push himself up, no sitting on the floor during story time, pencil grips, and common sense at PE. Maybe let him be coach’s helper or score keeper or whatever. Angie (the mda gal) said she would come up anytime and talk to the teachers or students or the IEP team or his soccer coach and teammates — whatever I need. SHe’s an absolute doll.

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Ok, I think that’s it. I can go outside now.

MB3 and MB2 had a fight downstairs. They bring it upstairs and MB2 motions for MB3 to come outside and fight. MB3 shot out of here like a rocket. MB2 got MB3 to the ground, then MB3 got him in a head lock and MB2 was hollering for MD to release MB3’s hand. So MD let it go for another few seconds, and then broke it up. So MB2 rears back to punch MB3 in the face, and MD steps in and pushes him back. Next thing you know, MB2 is cussing and hollering about how he hates this family and he’s never coming back and he gets in to his car and drives off.

I was  a mess from the get go. I was an even bigger mess thinking of him driving that upset.

Few minutes later he comes back and goes inside and downstairs to pack. Lots of things happen at once. Him and MD get into it, and MD takes off and tells me that since he’s a bad dad, he’s going to leave. !! He leaves. !! Meanwhile MB2 feels bad now that MD took it so hard, and I can tell in his eyes that he feels trapped now and doesn’t know what to do.  MB3 comes down and they cry and make up and all that jazz.

MD calls and tells me that he just needs to cool off. He comes home and eventually goes downstairs to talk to MB2. I hear nothing for 30 minutes. I am worried out of my mind that they are down there fighting and shit.

Next thing I know MB2 is S-C-R-E-A-M-I-N-G at the top of his lungs — moooooooooooooooooooom, it’s dad. it’s dad.

That’s all he could say. And he could point to the stairs. So I flew down there, so find MD face first on the floor – out. I holler and shake him a little and he opens his eyes. Says he can’t really move. Next thing I know, some man is walking down the steps and crouches down with us. It’s a cop. Said someone called 911. (MB3) MD slowly lifts himself up to a crawling position, and two more men come downstairs. Ambulance guys. They sit him on the bed and ask a billion questions and take his blood pressure and pulse. We tell them about the volleyball tournament the day before and they say he’s probably having a heat stroke/episode. I say it’s stress from the boys. I was afraid that he killed himself or something. I don’t know why, but it was a weird night and anything can happen in this heat when people go crazy.

They ended up leaving him here. Told them that I would take him in if need be.

He actually goes outside and finishes cooking – at 9pm at night because the kids were hungry and he wanted the steaks.

I was a mess. I didn’t want to eat.

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That night we’re talking because I really didn’t think it was cool that he left. And I don’t think it’s cool that he’s asking me to choose between two pieces of my heart. He thinks it’s tough love, and he’s right, but they haven’t fucked up so badly that it can’t be healed yet. Wait until they do before you kick them out. And don’t tell them they can’t come back if they leave. ‘Cause they won’t. And I can’t bear the thought of never seeing them again.

I just don’t need this shit right now. I cry every day as it is. I just can’t help it.

Anyway, that night MB1 calls from work and tells us that he wants to go to this party for a friend who is leaving town. We say no because he’s still grounded from the whole pot/possession thing. This was at midnight. He comes home at 3am with his hair wet – he went anyway. Swimming at this party. Moron. I don’t wake MD, I just make a mental note to jump MB1’s shit the next day.

THen I find out that he went to the aquatic park the next day. Didn’t ask if he could leave the house. He just did.

So I have a good long heart to heart with him. I tell him that MD wants me to choose. I tell him that although I wouldn’t like it, if they keep disobeying and fucking up, then I will side with MD and they will leave the house. We can’t have the other kids thinking it’s ok to do whatever the hell you want in this life. I get that. I do . I just don’t like that taste the words leave in my mouth.

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Then MD comes home and they talk some more. He tells us that he’s been thinking about the Guard. Not sure how serious he is, but it’s the first glimmer of hope I’ve had in a long while. No, I don’t want my son to die in a war, but the military will give him what he needs. He’s the perfect kind of person who benefits totally from the service. The self esteem, the motivation, the pride, the family, the responsibility, the girls who love a man in uniform…… But I would be scared for him. He’s my baby boy.Always will be.

Sigh.

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Then MD is talking to this gal who owns a sports complex here in town, and Ian came up. Namely his Duchenne’s. MD is her beer guy, and they want him to help them build a volleyball complex. She said she had no idea, and that her grandson had it as well. Said she had all kinds of stuff we could have that he used while …… he was alive. MD asked how old he was when they lost him ,and she said 14. So that means that the last 4 kids that I’ve heard of that have passed have been 14, 12, 12, and 14 . That’s not 20. Or 30. That’s still just a baby. That hurts my heart in a way the average joe can’t possibly understand. Unless a miracle happens, my youngest son is going to die. That’s the fucking reality of it. We might only have 6 more years with him. That’s not enough. I gave up long ago on the hope that someone is actually listening, but I pray every night that Ian makes it to 40. Or beyond. I want him to be that exception. I want him to know love. I want him to drive. I want him to get a job and feel productive. I want him to be old enough to appreciate every day of life that’s given to him.

I want to die before he does.

And with that, I’m off. Going to sit outside for awhile and listen to crickets.