A Hero

http://mybrothersvoice.wordpress.com/

"Every family needs a hero." Stephen says, his voice cracking with emotion.


We sit in my parent's family room, hanging on his every word.


This is the motto he lives by.


He asks us to look into his eyes, for in his eyes you can see into his very soul. And this is where we will see the many faces that he carries with him. The faces that drive him to share his painful story with anyone that will listen.


He lives to give them a voice.


He smiles, through his tears, because they would want him to.


During our conversation, he frequently looks up to the heavens to talk to his beloved older brother. He seems to check in with him, as if he's making sure that he is telling their story correctly.


He doesn't miss a detail as he begins with the first day they arrived at the Nazi concentration camp, Auschwitz, as a 13 year old boy. The stench of burned flesh repelled him back into his train car, and ashes fell like black snowflakes from the giant ovens that destroyed millions of prisoners deemed "worthless" to the Nazis.

He recalls the shock of witnessing a Nazi shoot and kill his uncle, right in front of his eyes. And, before he could recover from that loss, how he watched while his infant cousin was ripped from his aunt's hands and brutally murdered. Only to see that same aunt killed, while trying to protect her baby.


He tells us how this gruesome murder had them so traumatized that they didn't notice as their Mother was taken from them and forced to another area of the camp. They never got to say goodbye.


They would never see her again.


Still, Stephen would fight the evil that held them prisoner. He calls himself a "part-time prisoner", explaining that he would tell himself that his days at Auschwitz were only a nightmare. And at night, when he could finally close his eyes, he would escape to his dreams. In his dreams, his family was safe and happy. In his dreams, he was free.


He willed himself to survive, if only for the sake of his brother. He would die if he needed to, to keep him safe. He would fight off a solider who raised a large piece of iron that was meant to crush his brother's skull. He fought, and he won.



He would risk beatings to smuggle extra food in for his brother. He took those beatings, and his brother had food.



He would risk death to find his brother when he went missing from their barracks. Only to find a blue-eyed, skeleton where his beautiful brother once was. Stephen prayed to God that his brother might live.


"I ask nothing for myself. But please, God! Save my brother!"


He died in Stephen's arms that day.


All of this he wrote on a makeshift diary, that he again, risked his life to keep. It was his only defense against his captors. He would not let them take his words. He would live, if only to tell his brother's story.



Every family needs a hero.



A hero who thinks nothing of the pain or anguish they may be feeling, but who instead serves tirelessly and loves unconditionally. A hero who fights with every last breath to protect his loved ones. A hero who walks through the valley of the shadow of death, and thanks God that he has legs to walk through it.


Stephen Nasser is that hero.


"I beg you," he pleads, "Go home and hug your family today. You don't know what I would give to run into my Mother's, my Uncle's, my brother's arms. Be the hero that your family needs."


He gets quiet for a minute, and I watch as the tears begin to well up in his eyes.



"Better yet, give them two hugs. Tell them the second one is from me, because my family isn't here to hug."

Stephen Nasser

My hero, my friend.

Panic Button

There was a time when I was grateful for the "Night Owl" that flapped it's little wings inside my head and kept me awake through those endless term papers and closing shifts. Getting by on little to no sleep was a badge of honor for me and many of my similarly sleep deprived friends. Our lives were dedicated to school, work and of course, play. Most of the time my brain was on automatic pilot and there wasn't much time to second guess the decisions I was making. I knew that something (or someone) wonderful would soon be coming my way and it (or he) would be the missing piece of the puzzle that I had been waiting for.


He did come.


He is wonderful.


After a time, two more beautiful puzzle pieces came our way. And with those long awaited pieces came a brand new sensation:


P.A.N.I.C.


This was not a, "First day of school and I notice that the white, jean shorts I was wearing now have fluorescent, green ink all over the backside, courtesy of a leaky highlighter, just in time for me to be called up in front of the whole Freshman science class and introduce myself" brand of panic. (And yes, I do have some form of, "Have a nice summer, 'Green Butt' ", written in my yearbook.........all four years.)


This panic was unlike any panic that I had previously experienced. This was deep down to the depths of my very soul, "You have two of the most precious, most fragile, most important gifts that could ever be given, one wrong move and you could ruin their lives" panic.


I was scared.


I am scared.


With this feeling, came changes to my past nocturnal relationships. The encouraging fluttering that would keep me on task through those long, dark hours, changed to a taunting of sorts. My feathery friend began to turn on me.

"You're doing it wrong." (flap flap)

"No one else is this overwhelmed." (flap flap)

"Everyone else does it better." (flap)


As I lay in bed, willing myself to fall asleep, I was often visited by these destructive phrases. My thoughts would turn to the countless mistakes I'd made that day and the many reasons why I would most certainly fail. When I had tucked the last little one into bed and kissed my husband goodnight, anxiety would begin to take hold and I knew the thoughts that would soon follow.


One night, I was unable to control the stream of hot tears that ran down my face, or the negative reflections from the previous day. It seemed as though I was sentenced to one more night of self loathing. Though my husband was sound asleep next to me, the loneliness I felt was palpable. Panic was poised to take over for the night and I was desperate to avoid it's damaging clutches.


"Oh please!" I prayed, silently. "I just need a hug!"


Not a second had past before I felt Adam's strong grasp around my shoulders. He pulled me toward him, still sound asleep, and protectively clasped his arms together. And that is where he kept me for the remainder of the night.


I gasped at the immediate response to my silent prayer. But more than that, I was filled with gratitude for a loving partner who spends his life trying to shield me from pain and suffering- the dead of night being no exception.


He was everything I ever hoped for when he came to me, more than eight years ago. He arrived all shiny and new, with instructions to "Push in case of emergency". Though many years of his bride slamming on that button have passed, wearing it so thin that there is a groove that perfectly matches my finger, he has never been out of order. He is always there, encouraging me, comforting me, and sometimes, without even knowing it, answering my prayers.

Boy, could I have used him in science class......

"Green Butt" and her "Capt. Awesome"

Pig Tales: My real life encounter with modern day "Bad Wolves".

Once upon a time, many years ago, in a land far far away, there lived a pig.

Though, in fact she was a human, the enormous size of her ever growing, 7 months pregnant belly, made it very easy to make this comparison. (Not too mention the fact that her snout never met a meal it didn't like.) She lived happily in her cottage made of brick with her handsome husband, "Papa Piggy" and her adorable 2 year old, "Baby Piggy."

*Christy at dinner, 7 months pregnant.

The pig family lived in a quaint village, filled with other darling piggy families. They felt very safe there and rarely worried their pretty little pig heads about much of anything.

Until one day........

Mama Piggy was bustling about her cottage, with Baby Piggy by her side. Papa Piggy had left for work (which he often had to do in order to support Mama Piggy's Hostess cupcake habit) and all was peaceful in the Piggy household.


Suddenly there was a KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK at the door.


Mama Piggy lifted her head from the bag of Doritos that it was previously buried in, and listened once more to a KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK at the door.



Mama, being protective of her baby, was not in the habit of answering the door while Papa was away. So, she quietly played with Baby Piggy, hoping that the visitor would soon be on his way.


Once again she heard a KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK at the door, but this time it was followed by the persistent "DING DONG, DING DONG, DING DONG!" of her doorbell.

Mama thought it might be someone in trouble, or desperately in need of a snack. (For it was not uncommon that Mama might share her arsenal of goodies with a kindly neighbor or two. She did, after all, have a years supply of York peppermint patties that could last her for, well....at least a long weekend.)

Mama Piggy peeked through her side window, and caught her breath. Three sets of wolf paws were in her garden! Her eyes darted to the door just in time to see the wolves headed towards the very window she was looking out of, where they might look inside her house!

Mama squealed and gathered her Baby Piggy into the back room. She hoped these wolves had merely made a mistake, and were knocking on the wrong door.

Again she heard the KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK and the DING DONG DING DONG. This time they were louder and more urgent.

When, without warning, or even the polite "Little pig, little pig, LET ME IN!" that most wolves in fairy tales say to give notice to their victims, Mama Piggy heard a horrible, thunderous......

"CRASH!!!!!!"

The wolves were kicking down her door!

Blast our lack of chimney! I would've torched their criminal behinds!

Mama sprang from her seat (causing turkey and lettuce to fly from the sandwich she had been gripping tightly) and ran towards the broken door.

Now, there is a strange phenomenon with 7 months pregnant, Mama Piggies who feel their babies might be in danger. (And whose blood sugar was dipping dangerously low. Poor sandwich!) These Mamas tend to transform into ferocious Mama Bears, willing to face any danger for their "cubs".

And that is exactly what happened.

She huffed..... and she puffed....... and she let out a, "GRRRRRRRROWL!!!" that frightened those bad wolves away!

And then she cried.........and called Papa Piggy........who called the police.

The police told the Piggy family that 2 other houses (coincidentally, one of straw and one of sticks) had been burgled by the wolves just hours before. The "knocking and"ding dong-ing" were a trick to see if anyone was home. If not, they would kick in the door and run off with a Piggy's most prized possessions. It was a blessing that no one was hurt.

The Piggies soon replaced the door, along with a nifty new security system, and lived happily ever after.......

.....after Mama polished off a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and slept in Baby Piggy's bed for a month.

THE END

*This is a true story, though the people have been changed to pigs for their protection.

**The wolves are also real, though we pray for their incarceration-not their protection.

i dON't wANNA gO tO rEHab...

It has been a week or two since my last update.

While I have many an anecdote I'd like to share, my ability to form a sentence that doesn't start with "cookie" and end with "coconut goodness" has been hindered, due to the fact that I have been a little preoccupied with these:

(Dees be da devils cookies!)

How did I get in this predicament?

One of Satan's little helpers disguised as this:

Can't you just see the evil in their eyes? Oh sure, they look all sweet and smiley with their, "Hello Ma'ams!" and their "Would you like to try a free sample?"

Sample? Try the gateway to a darkness that will have you sneaking into the kitchen late at night, pulling a box out from your secret hiding place ("Oh, sorry Honey! The cookies are all gone."), and shoveling every last morsel into your mouth until you are left in a cookie induced coma, only to be awoken by the screams of your children when the find you, laying in a pile of crumbs and your own saliva, the next morning.

Did they have to take an X-ray to see if i had swallowed a piece of the plastic that held the cookies?

Maybe.

Did that stop me from buying 2 more boxes?

Maybe not.

I shudder to think where this path will lead me. My eyes becoming all "googly" and bugged out. My skin changing colors and possibly even growing hair. My brain so fried that my only way of communicating is to mumble "me want coo-kie" or "yum, yum, yum", like a two year old child.

We've all seen this before, haven't we?

(Give me the strength to accept the things I can't turn into cookies, and the wisdom to eat those that I can...)

Don't worry. I'm not like him. I'm not an addict. I can stop anytime I want, no problem.

And I will.

Just, after this last cookie......

(yum, yum, yum)

Life Lessons from Milton Bradley

Nap time.

I believe those are the two most beautiful words in the English language. (Well, that and "chocolate cake", but let's not dissect my incessant need to eat my emotions just yet.) It's the time of day when my sweet Mimi must cease creating any new artistic renderings on my walls and head off to beddy-by for some much needed sleep. While Ava, sensing the rapid decent of her Mommy's sanity, retires to her room, not to be heard from until her self imposed "quiet time" is over.

I think most Moms will agree that this is a very necessary part of our day. Whether the time is used to complete a chore from start to finish (a very rare occurrence with a child under foot) or to sit for a moment and relish in the absence of screaming, whining and/or crying, nap time can be the answer to every worn out Mother's prayers.

However, one afternoon, after I had tucked little Mia into bed and began surveying the damage from what had to have been a pack of wild, rabid dogs and not two sweet little girls, I noticed Ava obediently gathering her belongings and starting for the stairs. Suddenly, a wave of sadness came over me. I was startled by how grown-up she looked. The temporary nature of our time together hit me like a ton of bricks.

I resisted the urged to rip into the box of powdered doughnuts that sat on my counter. ("Talk about your feelings, Christy, don't eat them!")

I couldn't let Ava go upstairs while the clock continued to tick away the minutes of our time together. Not today, anyway.

"Ava, do you want to play a game with me?"

She stood frozen on the stairs.

"B-but, it's quiet time." she stuttered. "Don't you want me to go to my room?"

I mentally recalled the countless times I had pointed to the stairs with a crazed look in my eye, threatening to sell my children on EBay if they did not take leave to their respective bedrooms for "quiet time". This could have had something to do with Ava's hesitation.

"That's OK, Avs. Let's just you and I play a game while Mia takes her nap".

Ava let out her trademark "squeal of approval" as she ran off to fetch Candyland. Her excitement translated into non-stop chatter as she carefully pulled out each piece of the game and assembled it. I silently scolded myself for not taking advantage of this one-on-one time sooner.

At the beginning of our game, Ava was flying high. She couldn't pick a bad card if she wanted to. I was trailing way back in the Peppermint Forest while her series of lucky draws had brought her clear to Lollipop Woods. I couldn't help but get caught up in her excitement as we clapped and cheered for every move she made toward the finish line.

With only a few more spaces to go, she turned over the next card.

"Yay! The Gingerbr- oh, wait a minute. The gingerbread space is way back at the beginning. Do I have to go to the beginning again Mom?!?"

Those giant blue saucers, we refer to as eyes, began to well up with tears. The sheer thought of starting the game all over again was devastating to her. It broke my heart. (This time the doughnuts won. Their white powder of shame stayed on my face for half the day.)

I wanted to fix the game for her. To invoke the "That card didn't count because you are so pretty" rule. But I knew that wouldn't help her the next time she sat down with her friends to play. I could picture them calling the game "on account of vain."

"I know it stinks, Honey, but sometimes we draw good cards, and sometimes we draw bad cards. I may win this game, but you could win the next time. The important thing is to have a good attitude when you play."

The thought of a win somewhere in her future gave her the strength to finish out the game. She even mustered up a very genuine "Yay Mommy!" when I won. We continued on to play 2 more games and subsequently, she won both of them. I was thrilled.

As she happily picked up the stray cards and put the game away, I was struck once again with a wave of sadness. Soon enough, she will be spending more time away from me than with me, and I won't have any control over the "cards" she is dealt. Of course I will clap and rejoice for every good card she chooses, but I know that when I look into her tear-filled eyes, I will desperately want to "fix" things when the game isn't going her way. Is there anyway life will accept the "because she's so pretty" rule?

One thing I know for sure, I will always be there to cheer her on, win or lose, no matter how many times she needs to start the game over.

Well, me and my box of doughnuts, that is.....

The Twilight Of My Life

Blood thirsty Vampire or Middle Aged "Meanie" ?

The persistent pounding of my heart was so loud, I was certain the other moviegoers would hear it and complain. I felt little beads of sweat beginning to form on my forehead. I tried to regain composure and rid myself of the irrational thoughts that had made their way into my mind.

"Just keep watching the movie. This has to be a mistake!"

But it wasn't a mistake. Just as sure as I was sitting there, eating Sour Patch Kids by the pound, her cold, steely eyes were staring back at me. I had seen this look before, very recently in fact. But where??

Nagging pangs of recognition lead my frightened gaze to the images in the film in front of me. I gasped as the figures on the screen seemed to mirror back her cold, dead stare, confirming my deepest fears.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Kara has been one of my dearest friends since those gawky, carefree days of High School. Our history of inside jokes is so extensive, that we need only to look at one another for a fit of giggles to come rolling out. Seemingly ordinary words like "pickle" and "galleria" have the ability to make us lose all control of our bladders. It is because of this history that we get together whenever possible to reminisce and laugh until Diet Coke sprays out of our noses.

Over the holidays, we made plans to meet for dinner and catch up on each other's lives. Our feast was filled with good food and much laughter. As the meal was coming to a close, somehow the subject of the Twilight movie was brought up. (When I say "somehow", picture an appalled Kara leaping forward in her seat- pieces of her BBQ chicken salad flying everywhere- screaming "You haven't seen it yet!?!) My Kara is quite the fan of the Twilight. (When I say "fan" picture her sitting on her "I heart Vampires" bedspread, wearing her "Bite Me.....Please" pajamas, and doodling "Mrs. Edward Cullen" in her diary while drawing fake vampire bites on her neck with washable markers.) We agreed that she should be the one to initiate me into the world of vampires on the big screen. Luckily I had read the books, thanks to the generosity of another #1 fan, so the story was not foreign to me. Although, I did have some doubt as to whether Kara would be able to follow along, seeing as how she had only seen the movie s.i.x. t.i.m.e.s. (I don't think I have watched my children's birth videos that much.)

After purchasing our tickets with a "student discount" (What? I can pass for a student. If I cover the picture w/ my thumb and wiggle the card so the cashier's eyes can't focus) we settled excitedly into our seats. Kara educated me on some little known movie facts ("That vampire does his own stunt work!") as the theatre began to fill up.

The lights dimmed. Kara squealed. It was Twilight time.

We were about a third of the way into the movie. I was actually enjoying my first experience with these ghostly pale teens who *really* enjoy their eyeliner. And then it happened. The woman in front of us answered her cell phone. I felt myself tense up as I glanced at Kara.

You should know something about my sweet Kara. Whereas I cry and wet myself at the thought of confrontation, she undergoes a "Hulk-like" transformation from a pretty, blonde all-American girl, to a tough as nails, strong willed woman, who doesn't back down. I have been in numerous situations with her as she heroically stood her ground against many a discourteous bully. (You can usually find me a few feet back....... in the fetal position.......rocking back and forth......... singing "If you're happy and you know it".) And so I was nervous, because a woman rudely chatting away on her cell phone in the middle of a movie is just the thing to get Kara revved up and ready to defend our fellow patrons of the theatre.

At first the women spoke softly, to where it almost sounded like a constant hum under the actors' dialogue.

Kara shifted in her seat.

Then, our friend's volume increased ever so slightly so that we could make out actual words.

Kara cleared her throat.

Finally, our chatty chum forgot her "inside voice".

"Shhhhhhhhh!!"

I didn't have to see it to know who had been the "shusher". After all, everyone has their limits and this lady was messing with Kara's seventh viewing of vampire love. I slumped down in my seat, hoping the "cell lady" would take Kara's "Shhh" as the gentle reminder it was and let us all get back to enjoying the movie.

No such luck.

Instead, this middle aged woman began speaking louder-almost a shout-as if she was challenging the "Shhh" and raising it one "See if I care". This only infuriated Kara, who then leaned over the empty seat in front of us, glared at the side of "cell lady's" head and whispered "So rude!" I buried my face into my hands and waited for the impending response.

Which leads me to the nightmare I described at the beginning of this story.

The woman promptly hung up her phone, whipped around in her seat, and looked right at........ME! (If you have seen Twilight, than you will understand the "look" that I received from her, the same look the Vampires give to........well, everyone. It was a cross between smelling something really foul and wanting to kill me with her bare hands.) I kept my eyes on the screen while she kept her hardened gaze fixed right. on. me. (gulp!)

I played out a million scenarios in my head, all of which ended with this women, who was old enough to be my mother, making me bleed and cry. She was wearing a fringed leather jacket, for Pete's sake, so you know she meant business! I located each of the exits and calculated which would be the quickest escape. I racked my brain for any self defense moves I might have picked up along the way, but could only recall an ancient 90210 episode where Brenda and Donna learned to punch the air and scream "No!".

I was so busy having a panic attack that I didn't notice that the woman and her companion had begun to leave.

Oh happy day! Maybe it was all a misunderstanding! Maybe we had met before and she was trying to remember my name. (Although, I would have remembered that jacket. ) Maybe she thought the movie was scary and had to turn around until the scene had ended. Either way, she was leaving and I still had all of my body parts in their original positions.

I let out all of the air I had been holding in and turned to my fearless friend, who found this whole situation quite humorous.

"What just happened?!" I giggled. "You just couldn't resist, could you Kara?" This set off a fit of laughter as we watched "cell lady" disappear behind the walkway.

Until she heard us laugh.

Everything happened in slow motion, as this woman ran full speed back up the ramp shouting and waving her fists, "Are they laughing at me?! They can't laugh at me! I'll kill them!" or something to that effect. I'm not exactly sure what happened after this because I was too busy searching for a popcorn bag to breathe into. Thankfully, her companion, who was obviously accustomed to her outbursts, pulled her away by that darling jacket and pushed her out of the door.

We enjoyed the rest of the movie in relative peace. Well, after Kara gave me CPR, that is.

When Kara got home that night, she discovered that her hubcaps had been stolen. We think our phone obsessed friend was exacting her revenge.

Legend has it that a fringed, leather jacket was found beside the car.......

That's a Wrap

The end of the holiday season is always bitter sweet for me. It seems to fly by at lightning speed, in a flash of twinkle lights, animatronic snow people, and worn out debit cards. (I believe I actually heard my card "sigh" the last time I used it.) Every year, I give myself a pep talk right before Thanksgiving. "This year you will slow down and enjoy the true spirit of the holiday season!"

And every year, I seem to fail miserably.

It's only after I put away all the Christmas spoils, throw out what was left of the Christmas goodies, (OK. I ate everything. There was nothing left to throw out. I may have even licked a plate or two.) and de-holiday the house, that I finally take time to reflect upon the holiday season. Here are some major plot points of the last few weeks......

*Black and Blue Friday
Armed with nothing but the clothes on our back and the dream of retail prices being slashed in half, my friend Rachael and I braved the crowds at Anthem for an all night shopping extravaganza! We shopped from 11:00pm to 7:30am on Black Friday. I'm not gonna lie. It got a little ugly out there, and I may be suffering from PTSD (Post Traumatic Shopping Disorder). I still wake up in a cold sweat, screaming for the Disney Princess Vanity that I had to leave behind. But it was a rush the likes of which I haven't experienced since the great "Tickle Me Elmo" craze of '99.

*Zoo lights
It was an especially twinkly Christmas for us this year. We just could not get enough "light-seeing". We headed out to Zoo lights w/ Adam's sister, Amy, our Brother-in-law Rick, our nieces Sophie and Emma and Grandpa Bill. It was cold and crisp and a perfect start to the holiday season. The yummy hot chocolate and kettle corn didn't hurt either. It is one of our favorite traditions with Grandpa and the Wolff cousins! Where else can you see a giant, talking Giraffe with an affinity for knock-knock jokes?

Ava, Mimi, Emma, Sophie

*Glendale Glitters
A few nights later we went to Glendale Glitters w/ my Mom, Dad, sister Anne, brother Ed, sister-in-law Merry, and my nieces Katie and Karina. We shopped in antique stores, bounced in the bounciest of castles, and gorged ourselves on funnel cake. This must be what heaven is like...

The Gordon Clan

Karina, Ava, Katie, Mia

*Mia turned 2!
My little Mimi had her 2nd birthday. How is that possible?? I can’t type anymore about it or I will short out the keyboard with my tears.

*Christmas in the Time of Cholera
I think we were visited by every cold and flu out there this season. Every family member was hit with at least one strain- not one of us was spared. Our Christmas mugs were emptied of Eggnog and refilled with NyQuil, and our candy canes were replaced by cough drops. It was awesome.



*A Long Distance Call
On Christmas Eve I was able to talk with my sweet baby brother or "Marky Poo" as my sister and I fondly refer to him, who is serving a mission in Costa Rica. (He's just going to love that I'm sharing that nickname with everyone!) It was so wonderful to hear his voice. He humored his big sister and spoke "Costa Rican" for me. I was amazed at how comfortable he was with the language, as he rattled off phrase after phrase in perfect Spanish. We miss him so much, but more than that, we are so proud of the amazing man that he has become.

My sis and I after our chat w/ Mark.

*I'm in the "Dawg Pound". Randy said so.
My sweet niece, Emma received the American Idol Karaoke game for Christmas. It became a favorite pastime during our holiday gatherings with Adam's family. Amy and I took turns battling it out to become "Idols" while the little girls danced and sang along with us.

Yesterday, while Ava and I were playing in her playhouse, she handed me the phone with great urgency, which I took expecting to "talk" with a Grandma, a cousin or any number of imaginary friends. Instead, she placed one hand over the receiver and whispered excitedly,

"Mom! It's Jenny!'

"Jenny? Who's Jenny?" I asked.

"I remembered her number from that song. You know, "867-5309"!

We didn't think Ava would learn her 80's one-hit-wonder icons for a few more years. She'll be top of her class for sure. Thank you, American Idol.

Adam and our little Rick Springfield enthusiast.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!