Two weeks ago, while staggering dangerously close to the edge of sanity, A-me convinced Mr. 7's doctors to have a pow-wow. The results have been mind altering, and by altering, yeah... I feel like my whole fucking head has just been ran through a shiny new, white sewing machine and I've been stuffed with all sorts of new fluffy information on the subject of "he's only 7."

Unfortunately the doctors agreed to disagree. Just what we needed, more pill pushing idiots trying to shove a second opinion up the pharmacists ass. But I'm proud of A-me, she did her homework and she put her foot down... and now they will be giving medication to help "rule out" one or the other instead of "treat" one or the other.

Two weeks ago Mr. 7 began receiving treatment for Bipolar instead of ADHD, and he went to stay with Grandma for a week. And a juicy morsel of information here, pay attention please, Grandma is bipolar. So we entrusted her with the observations of what she knows about best... how this illness can fuck up your life, and destroy the ones you love.

The medication takes three weeks before becoming fully effective, but there's not a snowball chance in hell I could allow the long wait of three weeks for Mr. 7's return. A-me was a fucking wreck. Other than an occasional weekend stay at grandma's place of cookie cutter spoilage, she has never left one of them behind on the journey home.

One week will have to do... not only for A-me's sanity, but for my own. I can only carry around a box of Kleenex for so long before my needs begin to outweigh the waterworks. (and it's okay, I'm not exactly sensitive, you can call me an asshole.)

Anyways, enough with the history lesson. Today was Mr. 7's return to the 1st grade. At 10 o'clock I received a phone call from A-me. (excuse me while I try to squeeze my newly stuffed head into the paper-shreader) .....She's crying.... (Fuck me! You're kidding, right?)
...and now she's doing a really shitty job of trying to compose herself.

I can barely make out the words... "(sobbing) school called (sobbing) ..."
I think I said "what happened?", but I can't be certain, the flood of not this shit again was unbearably louder than I was.

She finally gained her composure, and relayed to me that she was crying because she was happy.

I'd like to interject something here, a question of feelings. Who cries when they are happy? Yeah, so maybe every once in a while my menstrual sympathy kicks out too many hormones and I get a little choked up when they reveal the fat lady with no arms is getting a new house, but that's completely different. Sobbing, hysterically??? Maybe if I won the world record for penis size? Maybe if I found out Bill Gates made a typo and mailed me a check containing enough to cover the national debt? Then again, these are both under the ...MAYBE category. Obviously because I'm hung like a stud cricket, BUT ANYWAYS!! Not the point! She was crying, uncontrollably... and then she says...


Because Mr. 7 called her to tell her HE was happy, because his teacher told him she was so very proud of him today.

...and at that moment, I answered my own question. I wasn't sobbing, but cheese and fucking rice, was I ever choked up. So much I couldn't clear my own damn throat without reliving puberty.

So... maybe there is hope after all, that Mr. 7 isn't a complete fucking psycho. Not a single outrage, tantrum, or disrespectful jab since he's been home all week, but then again... we've had a stomach bug.