Nat's Buzz

In my opinion, there is no cookie better than the classic chocolate chip. However, cookies in general frustrate me – so much work for such a small product. Actually all desserts that require individual attention (cupcakes, whoopie pies, etc) tend to drive me crazy (with Christmas cookies being the exception since it’s a special time of year). If the offending recipe can be converted to a 9X13in pan instead of individual chunks of time, I’m the gal to make that happen. Apparently I have a reputation because my family knows that if they want something resembling a chocolate chip cookie, they ask me for a “cookie bar,” not “cookies.”

When Alice asked me for cookie bar on Sunday evening, I said I’d make it Monday to which she asked – “Can I help?”. In light of the fact that our dvd player is now broken thanks to little helpers who were trying to fix it when it was already in top notch condition, those same little helpers seem to be more aware of what I do during the time they would be watching their routine morning video, which will never become a morning routine again according to my husband. (Yes, I admit it – put me in the SAHM’s Hall of Shame – if we are at home for the morning, my kids usually watch a 30-40min dvd which sometimes – ok, ok… many times – turns into an hour.) So now that we no longer have that diversion, it seems that once the mixer is gotten out of hiding and placed on the counter their little baker’s antennas shoot up faster than you can say “baking is for grownups,” and they are all about dumping, pouring, mixing etc. (I used to love baking with Alice. We had lovely bonding experiences standing side-by-side while I helped her carefully pour ingredients into the bowl, explaining in detail what we were doing, slowly savoring each step. But since Ian has become very interested in the process, it has become that… a process, not to mention a mess while the kids stand side-by-side with no room for mom to guide measuring cups to the bowl while listening to the discourse of “It’s my turn to pour the sugar in.” “NO, it’s MY turn. You did it last time.” grinding on my patience. And of course they are usually ready for the next step before I’m finished with the prior one. Any tips on baking with little ones would be appreciated because I don’t want to squelch their interest by not allowing them to help out.)

A little disclaimer: this is not a recipe post. I have nothing against blogs that showcase recipes. In fact, the 1-2ish blogs that I read with a bit of regularity do contain recipes many of which I appreciate. This post is merely a tribute to the classic chocolate chip cookie with a small twist which Daniel and I have found we cannot!! keep our hands off of, nor keep our mouths from ingesting. It is also a tribute to those of you who have had the pleasure of baking with little ones underfoot… or I mean “helping out.”

The making of a Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookie Bar

Helping pour in the sugar

Contently (I thought) watching the mixer. But remember how I said they are ready for the next step before I am? Next thing I knew....

I won't tell you which one of my helpers decided to add the eggs all by his/herself

Can you tell which one looks upset and which one looks mischievious?

Round #2 - starting over

No more pictures until we're pretty much home-free of catastrophe. This helper has apparently has learned moderation. Pat myself on the back.

Hhmmm - this one seems to need a little more work on that moderation idea. (Or maybe he just takes after his mommy.)

End product - substitute 1/2 the butter in your recipe with an equal amount of peanut butter. Fabulous! and slightly more healthy for you.

In November I was asked to write something for my church’s Longest Night service. The purpose of this service is to remember those who are not experiencing the joy and happiness that most people associate with the holidays. This may be due to the loss of health, a loved one, a job, a marriage or other relationship, etc. I ended up writing 2 pieces – just because the mood struck, both of which I was intending to post on the actual longest night in December; however that week our family was victim to a raging stomach bug, hence the delay. This is the first piece I wrote (which was not read at the service); and while I made a resolution years ago never to make another New Year’s resolution, this is about as close to making one as I think I’m ever going to get. The second something will be posted later.

This Thanksgiving was a first for our family. It was first Thanksgiving without my husband’s sister, Alicia. But for some reason, that part of the holiday didn’t even seem real to me. I guess sometimes in the actual moment, I can still fool myself into thinking she’s on a long trip and get caught up in the other activities going on around me. However, alone with my thoughts, I’m unable to make myself believe that and remembrances of our last times together filled my head Thanksgiving weekend brought about by a conversation on black Friday evening at my sister’s house..

We were in the process of washing up Rebecca’s dishes after enjoying the delicious!! smoked turkey my brother-in-law makes every year. During this time, my sister announced that her infant son had finally eaten his cereal without spending the first half of the feeding trying to spit it all back out. In response to this news, my mom said something like “So you’ve had another last time. You’ve experienced your last baby having his last feeding of not knowing how to eat cereal.” I knew exactly what she was talking about. Unbeknownst to my mom and I at the time, we later found out we had both read the same book this past summer in which a mother writes a poem to her youngest child about all the last times in his life that went by unobserved. The mother is somewhat remorseful about not celebrating – or at least commemerating – those last times – the last time he crawled, the last time he sat in her lap, the last time he asked to be carried. Of course, the tricky element of the last time is that most times you don’t know when the last time is actually occuring for the last time.

After my mom’s statement, there was a moment of silence that filled the kitchen as we all may have been thinking the same thought. Last Thanksgiving was the first time my sister exhibited serious symptoms of having LAM. The last time we gathered there to enjoy the delicious smoked turkey we contemplated whether Becky was suffering from severe asthma or a pulmonary embolism as the doctors did not want to perform a CT scan on her lungs to determine the cause of the horrific pain in her chest due to her early pregnancy. That was the last Thanksgiving we were unaware of the disease that was about to change all of our lives, and certainly her own the most.

But rewind a little earlier on Thanksgiving day of 2010 – last Thanksgiving before going to my sister’s place, we gathered at Alicia’s house totally unaware that that would be the last Thanksgiving we would have as a complete family. The last time – the last Thanksgiving, the last Christmas, the last superbowl party at her house, the last phone call, the last time I saw her.

Maybe many you have had similar thoughts or experiences. Or maybe you actually knew you were experiencing the last time you would get to hug your loved one or tell them you love them. Maybe you can look back and know that you were able to comfort your loved one or share words meant only for him/her to hear one last time. But maybe you were not so fortunate – maybe you live wishing you could have had that last time, wishing you had known this was the last time, wishing you would have said something or done something differently had you only known this was the last time.

Due to the nature of Alicia’s death, I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t able to have a meaningful, loving last time with her. But as I process this stark fact and also the realities of my sister’s quickly declining health, I feel like I need to make a commitment that I will live today as if I am living my last times. And I ponder the thought -What would I do differently if I thought this was the last time I had with a particular person? Would I simply smile even if I felt like frowning? Would I attend to his physical needs with greater care and patience? Would I listen to her problems more attentively? Would I be more compassionate? Would I hug him – maybe hold on a little longer than normal? Would I thank her for the difference she made in my life and tell her how much she is worth? Would I tell him “I love you”?

In my sorrow, it’s so easy to look inward. “Most people don’t really understand how hard 2011 has been” is a thought that occurrs to me many times throughout the week. It’s easy to tell myself that it takes too much energy to live out my intentions right now as I wade through my sorrow, support my husband, help out my sister – and raise 2 energetic kids. And to a certain extent, that is true. I’ve needed to be patient in realizing I honestly can’t do everything I think I should be able to do. But I do need to go on really living. I do need to invest in others, not just their sake, but for my own as well. I intend to live each day as if it were my last. It won’t always happen – I will fail many days. But on the days I that I succeed, maybe some of the pain I bare of missing the last time with Alicia will turn into tiny moments of peace…. maybe. I won’t know until I try it.

You called today

I was beat up – body exhausted, mind unstable, spirit low.

You had a way to win the battle, not the war – the battle.

“Here’s the plan,” You declared.

My spirit resisted, too tired to do the work.

“Be strong!” You urged.

My spirit resisted, too hardened to care.

“Pick up the pieces… keep moving,” You implored.

My spirit resisted, too hurt by the past.

“It will get better,” You encouraged.

My spirit resisted, too angry to see clearly.

“Forgive,” You reminded.

My spirit resisted, too raw and broken to tend the wound.

You … cried, a river of healing reaching the depths of my being.

“Rest,” said my spirit.

“Rest.

Tomorrow

Fight again.”

Every first Wednesday in December the Connections group I’m a part of at my church offers 2.5hrs of childcare for mothers to go do whatever they would like. Two and one half hours of sacred alone time. I know a lot of women usually go Christmas shopping; however I usually don’t. One year I scrap booked. One year I made 5lbs of potato salad for a get-together. I probably cleaned part of the house another year, etc, etc. But now that my kids are getting to the age when a pair of shoes and a board book from CVS no longer cut it as Christmas gifts, I had to take advantage of that 2.5hrs and use it for shopping purposes.

Boxes are the Best

Now you’ll all think I live under a rock when I say that I honestly haven’t done much physical shopping recently (other than grocery shopping) – especially at Christmas time. Most of my Christmas purchases occur online. So I was truly overwhelmed when I drove into Toysrus at 9:30 last Wednesday morning and the parking lot was PACKED! I went into the store, knowing exactly what I wanted; however a one-day-sale was going on that day on the very item I wanted and apparently everyone else in the county knew this bit of information except me because the merchandise was well picked over, leaving me to wonder around the store looking for an alternative. Nothing else caught my interest, but what I did notice as I meandered about were the shopping carts. Shopping carts filled to the brim, overflowing(!) with toys, games, puzzles, bikes, you-name-it. I wondered how many children would receive gifts from one cartload – 4 or 5? 3…2…1? I also took in the conversations around me. I listened to a man proudly tell a salesclerk that he had visited 3 different states searching for an item. I also heard a clerk telling another clerk that she bought every single item on her daughter’s Christmas list… expensive items, putting financial strain on the mother.

Christmas Eve Fun

I (and my husband) am no saint either. I entered Toyrus thinking of something very specific to finish out shopping for my daughter and ended the morning with that item bought at another store plus some additional small finds. Daniel and I drove 1.5hrs roundtrip looking for a specific item for my son and spent an evening looking at toy tractors – trying to reign in our purchasing power while knowing full well how much he would LOVE the 1/16 scale John Deere everything. And even though I never had them growing up, I have added stockings to our family tradition as a way slip in a few extra fun things.

I remember thinking after Christmas was over last year that this year was going to be different. We were not going to spend as much and bring as much stuff into our house this coming Christmas. Also, I desperately wanted to bring back the focus to the real Reason for the Season, which Daniel and I both believe isn’t presents. And while it seems we may (cross your fingers) end up accomplishing some of those goals this year (Thank you small group for throwing a birthday party for Jesus!!), here I sit with my shopping finished but no energy to make Christmas cookies to give away like I was hoping to do, put up a tree to sit by and relax, or engage my children in some other meaningful Christmas related interaction. I wonder… where has the joy of Christmas gone? Maybe I forgot to pick it up at the store.

Christmas Day Fun

A few weeks ago, I heard a story about a plain mennonite girl who received 2 things for Christmas as a child – some candy in a large kettle that the entire family would share, and one present from a school gift exchange. The decorations in her house consisted of a cheap-plastic, Christmas-themed music box. That was it – a few pieces of candy, 1 small gift and 1 decoration. But Christmas was still one of the most special days of the year because of the traditions and time spent with family and friends. Now there is real Joy.

And while Christmas of 2011 will consist of more than 1gift, some candy and 1 decoration for my children, I remain interested in ways to find the joy of the season as well as bestowing life-giving gifts to others. I will continue in my quest to make Christmas more meaningful and less material. Do you have any traditions along this line of thinking?

Today was one of those days when almost nothing went as planned. At 10am, the kids were finally buckled into the car along with almost 20 library items, grocery list in hand, and a fully stocked diaper bag. We were ready to go… only 15 min late. I put the key in the ignition, turned it only to hear a rapid succession of “clicks” and watch the lights on the dashboard blink a few times… then nothing. I tried again. This time not even one “click.” Hhmm – I hadn’t been concerned when I went to open the car door upon putting the kids in their seats and realized the door hadn’t been latched for over 14 hrs. Our car automatically turns off the interior lights after 10 minutes so as not to drain the battery. Apparently, I should have been concerned. “Oh well – Not a huge deal,” I thought as I began to recalculate the day. I’d call Daniel, tell him the situation. He may or may not be able to come home and jump the car. If not, I’d call my neighbor, the only other SAHM on the street that I know, and ask if we could use their car to run Alice to kindergarten after lunch.

Luckily for me, Daniel was able to come home and check out the car. I stayed outside and raked leaves while Daniel put his mechanical expertise to work, mainly to ensure my son didn’t stick his hands where they shouldn’t be since he’s extremely fascinated by engines, wires, fans, etc, but also to try to show some moral support and appreciation for my husband’s sacrifice of work time. We let the car run for a while to charge the battery; Daniel made a phone call to gather more advice on the situation. He then turned the car off, checked the voltage with a meter, was able to turn the car back on! and deemed it fixed. Excellent! So I finished raking leaves and went inside to get lunch.

We were easily ready by the normal time I usually get the kids in the car to take Alice to school. Sitting in the car, turning the key… “click, click, click.” My heart started pumping, and I flew into action. I’ve got 20 minutes to figure out how to get Alice to school – she’s the leader today. (This day is always met with great enthusiasm and excitement. Alice was so excited about her sharing time she told me she couldn’t sleep this morning.) I run inside and IMed Daniel while dialing my neighbor’s cell phone. She didn’t answer. Here’s the conversation between Daniel and myself.

Natalie: help – car won’t start

Daniel: oh man

Natalie: Mrs. T isn’t answering

Daniel: I’m not sure if I can be home in time

Natalie: getting there late is better than not at all…

Natalie: ? What do you think?

Daniel: can you walk? It’s not raining [pause!]

Natalie: sure… why not

Natalie: gotta go fast

[I dash back to our room to put on a pair of running shorts]

Daniel: are you being sarcastic

Natalie: yes and no

Natalie: I’m serious I need to leave NOW

Natalie: is she [Alice] going to walk too? [I'm processing thoughts in written form]

Natalie: I don’t have a double [stroller]

Natalie: alright… I’m leaving

Daniel: ok take the cell, call me if you have trouble

Now understand that I have tried to figure out ways to take Alice to school without starting the car, and Daniel is aware of this – hence why he suggested we walk. It’s about a 2 mile roundtrip according to mapmyrun.com. So it’s obviously not a huge distance; however, there are many reasons I haven’t undertaken this before. The roads for .8 of that 1 mile are pretty busy. I do not have a double stroller, and I haven’t learned how to hook up our bike trailer yet, which is now on my list of “must dos” very soon. We do have a roomy, sturdy wagon in which I’m able to pull the kids on flat and downhill grades; but I cannot pull them up steep hills, of which there would be 4 on this particular trip. The only option I have left is a single stroller, and Alice would need to walk. Now I love my daughter more than I ever thought possible, and I could write pages upon pages about her wonderful attributes; but the blatant truth is that she is slow as molasses whenever I’m in a hurry. Walking a mile with her would take 30 minutes, and we only had 15 mins left.

I will not tell you how I managed to get 2 kids on a single stroller (and I do mean “on” not “in”), but I’m sure a cop would have stopped me and told me I was breaking some sort of safety law had I been spotted. As it was, I knew I was making quite a ridiculous scene as I’m sprinting (yes – sprinting!!) down one of the aforementioned hills with 2 children in a single stroller that was NOT meant for running. I was literally laughing and smiling like a lunatic at the picture we must have made. Not only that, but there was the embarrassment of actually arriving at the school in this fashion as well. I totally felt like some ghetto parent. We got there with no time to spare as I told Alice to “Run!” to the teacher’s aide who is in charge of helping the kids get safely inside the building after being dropped off. The aide was about to enter the building, deeming Alice late; and I was going to be ticked if Alice was late after all my efforts – not to mention having to walk into the school office totally windblown, red-faced and sweating like a pig. Alice didn’t run, but thankfully the aide saw us and waited.

The bad news – We found out later tonight that the battery is not the problem. It’s most likely the alternator which our mechanic told us would be a “chunk of change.”

The good news – Ian got to watch the heavy equipment at the building site beside Alice’s school (which he begs me to do every single day!) while I stopped to catch my breath. Also I got in a workout I wasn’t planning by adding some more mileage to the route. Finally, Christmas shopping will be a lot easier this year – so far our gifts to each other have been a refurbished (but way exciting! – I’m serious!!) vacuum cleaner, a new alternator and possibly a new tire for the bike trailer so I can have a jogging stroller. Merry Christmas to us! And to everyone out there experiencing similar situations – Merry Christmas to you too – a little early! May you find joy in the little things (like really clean carpets and cars that work) this season.

A lot of people have asked me what I’m going to do now that the Hershey Half Marathon is over. What I’ve really wanted to say is “I’m going to Disney World.” Actually I would insert some other exotic place like “Alaska” or any warm, sunny beach – I’m not too hard to please. But I guess I could have said “I’m going to Hershey Park.” It’s no small surprise that half marathon participants received 2 tickets to Hershey Park in the Dark. Sadly enough Mother Nature was unaware of Daniel and my plans to use those tickets this past weekend. After a freak!! snow storm grounded all the coasters on Sunday leaving mostly only kiddie rides available, Daniel and I decided to spend the day at home instead of visiting the sweetest place on earth. As it was, we were planning to go to HP with another couple, and so they came to our place for a delicious feast of Annie Anne’s soft pretzels (made from their baking mix), assorted munchies, pumpkin pie, apple crisp and – of course – ice cream. We ate like kings and laughed a lot… just as sweet.

Mrs. T & I before the race - trying to stay warm

But seriously, many of you have inquired how race day went and if my future plans involve running. October 16^th was a great day in many ways, but let me back up a little before the big day. All experienced runners, which I guess I sorta am now, know that if you’re running with a partner in a race, you need to have a mutual plan. Mrs. T & I discussed our plan at length on several training runs. I tended to drag Mrs. T during our training runs (she admits to it), and so our plan was that I would stay with her at least until miles 7-9 at which time I would possibly go ahead of her.  Our goal – we were aiming for an 11min/mile pace, which would be our fastest pace for a long run together.

Fast forward to race day, the gun went off (not much excitement before that point except standing in long lines to use the bathroom). Mrs. T and I shuffled to the starting line where our real starting time was recorded. It’s A LOT different running with 5,000 people than just sharing the road with one other person, and Mrs. T and I actually spent a lot of the first 6 miles in silence (usually you can’t shut us up!). When we hit the halfway mark, our time was approximately 1hr and 10 minutes – a pace I was happy with. About this time Mrs. T started to get a runner’s high; and after miles 7, 8, & 9 were run at consecutively faster paces, I realized I was not experiencing the same runner’s high. In fact, that push had really worn me

Mile 10 - profile pics were more flattering than the pain on my face (yes, I'm vain)

down. I tried eating some swedish fish I had taken along at Mrs. T’s suggestion, but found out they weren’t a good source of fuel since I nearly choked on them several times. (Looking back now I wonder what in the world I was thinking!) Mrs. T was having a great run, and by 9.5 miles the mental game started to get to me as I watched the tables turn from what we had been planning for weeks. I slowly lost my incentive to stay with Mrs. T. At mile 10, I saw Daniel in the crowd of spectators, and Mrs. T was about 1/2min ahead of me. Right around mile 11 – the worst mile of the race, I decided to walk a minute or two and was able to fuel up a little on candy, which did help me through the last 2 miles. I was also surprised and discouraged that there was not a water station after mile 9. I’m a huge drinker when I run and was really feeling the effects of not having water at this stage in the game.

I did end strong and was pleased with my time – 2hours 18 minutes and 48seconds, average of 10min 36sec per mile. It took me a couple days to be able to say and believe I was truly proud of this time. Yes, I had accomplished my original pace goal; however I was disappointed that I had walked a little and wasn’t able to stay with Mrs. T. She finished 3 minutes ahead of me. I felt like I had failed myself in some sort of unknown way. So I did struggle with post-race blues/crash for a few days; but in the end, decided to celebrate my accomplishments.

1. I completed a ½ marathon!! Eighteen weeks ago I thought running 3 miles was huge.

2. I learned some things for the next race – if there is one.

3. My pace for the second half of the race was faster than the first half… even if only marginally faster.

4. My average pace was below my goal – yeah!

Finish line in sight!! Airway constricting with emotion!

My plans to keep running? Yes – on what level will depend on what my knees can handle. Another half marathon is not out of the question. A full marathon? It’s still too close to race day to think about a full, but my Christmas list is looking pretty loaded with running gear. What I know without a doubt is that this adventure was part of my healing from the past 2.5yrs in ways that I’m not even sure I understand right now. It was time for this to happen, and I’m so thankful that Daniel supported me through this process, stepping up in so many ways so that I could do this. He was my #1 fan and supporter (and photographer). Love you Babe.

By the way, if you’re wondering if you can do it too – run a half marathon or start any new exercise program, believe me you can! I never would have dreamed this race was going to be part of my life story. And it’s so cliché to say it, but if I can do it – anyone can!

Dear Alicia,

Happy Birthday…

You had another beautiful fall day for your birthday. Fall always makes me a little nostalgic, and today was a day of memories. I made some new ones, but mostly I lived in the past. It started as I was staring into my closet, trying to part the morning fog which clouded my brain in search of something to wear for the crazy day that was scheduled. My eyes fell upon a wine-colored formal dress. Even as I fleetingly thought about donning that dress to wear to church today in honor of my nephew’s (my sister’s son) baby dedication, I was startled by the realization that I put on this same dress this very day 12 years ago and stood beside my sister and my brother-in-law-to-be. That was a fun day even though I was young and not the best maid of honor when it came to fussing over my sister’s dress; hopefully she wasn’t offended by my lack of awareness of how I should have helped her more. She was a beautiful bride, elegant and classic. A  memory I will treasure always.

But Alicia, these wonderful memories of the day I held my sister’s flowers and gained a brother couldn’t help but be clouded by the stark realization of how much life has changed since then. It was during a short walk after lunch at my sister and brother-in-law’s farm later today that I had the most vivid revelation of the day. Alicia, I’m sure you remember Daniel and I living in the apartment on that same farm for 3 years, which you and Cody also inhabited later on. As I walked down the farm lane toward my son, I saw those years play out before my eyes… years when life was much simpler with less responsibility and care – before kids, years when I didn’t know what LAM was, years when I spent time with you and Cody in that apartment – both when it was ours and when it was yours. Life was simple & sweet compared to the mess I feel today.

Alicia, the day kept marching on and by the fourth stop today, the craziness of the day was getting to me and my emotions were going a bit haywire as we planted a tree in your honor at the sight where we spread your ashes almost 6 months ago. Remembering back just 6 months… has anything changed since that day in early May when we stood at that same spot? Sometimes I wonder if I’ve made any progress in working out the new normal that I so desperately don’t want to engage, still clinging to every memory of you. The hole in my heart certainly hasn’t changed, except maybe to feel a little more final.

Alicia – happy 24^th birthday. You should have been here today to make another wonderful memory. I spent a bunch of time remembering birthdays of years past. I remember celebrating your birthday when you were younger gathered around the farm table. I remember celebrating at your parents’ house in town one year – eating pizza and being crazy. One of the most memorable times for me was the year we were rain camping on your birthday. Pouring down buckets of rain for hours prior to departure, and we still decided to go camping. Singing “Happy Birthday” to you in your mansion of a tent while we ate cream cheese brownies.

Rain Camping - Oct 23, 2009

But the birthday that taught me the most was last year’s – your golden birthday. You turned 23 on the 23^rd of October. I had never heard of a “golden birthday” before you introduced the concept to me. Celebrating that certainly wasn’t part of my upbringing. And I must admit that when you invited us to your place to celebrate your golden birthday I thought it was a little silly to make such a big deal about it, but I was definitely game for spending an evening with family around food anyways. (Last year, we even eliminated the idea of the yearly applesauce canning day happening on your birthday because we all know how much you “enjoy” that day!) I honestly don’t remember much – if anything about that evening. In fact part of me feels like I’m making this evening up because you had so many parties at your house. I really don’t remember any one specifically – except some superbowl parties. (I have a really bad memory with details – movies, books, experiences, people’s lives. I need pictures as proof.) But it wasn’t the actual evening that speaks to me the most since you’ve been gone. It was your excitement about your birthday, something so ordinary – you had already had 22 of them, and yet you wanted to celebrate. I have thought about this so much since your death – how you wanted to celebrate life in general, maybe to a fault at times (Christmas music!!), but much more than I tend to do. But the difference is now I want to.

I want to learn to celebrate too. In fact, sometimes I’ve needed to give myself permission to celebrate, especially since your death. Today I celebrated my nephew’s miraculous! birth, another little life that I can be an aunt to. I want to be remembered as someone who was excited about life, not only about the special moments of life but also excited about the mundane moments of life which far outweigh the special ones in number. And I’m hoping that in celebrating those mundane moments, they become special too. I’m not 100% sure this happens, but I do want to find out, thanks to you, Alicia. I just wish you were here to find out with me.

I miss you so much, your sweet smile and contagious laugher. There are no words that can express it.

Natalie

A FUNDRAISING EVENT & RAFFLE AT

HOMESTEAD FURNISHING & GIFTS

161 South River Street (Route 743)

Maytown, PA – (717) 426-1800

Monday, November 7, 2011

6PM – 8:30PM

Everyone is welcome! Bring your family, friends, neighbors & co-workers

The perfect time to Christmas shop and contribute to a great cause!

25% FROM THE EVENING’S SALES WILL GO DIRECTLY TO

LAM RESEARCH & AWARENESS

Event Coordinator: Rebecca Nissly

For more event details, to read Rebecca’s story in her own words or to donate to LAM research go to

www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/rebeccalampage/give24

To read the back story and why I care about LAM read Breath of Hope 

I hate going to the doctors – absolutely dread it. It ranks among the top 5 things I hate doing. My reasoning behind this is somewhat long and boring. I wrote it out and deleted it because I was falling asleep re-reading it. But you should note I did NOT say I hate doctors. I think they are wonderful, knowledgable people for the most part. In fact, sometimes I wish we had a live-in doc to tell me what needs to be medicated or seen by a professional; thankfully we do have Daniel’s Grandmother who is a nurse. We call her any time, day or night; and we always receive sound medical advice. She is pretty laid back about most things – usually saying it’ll run its course while dispensing advice about how to care for the patient in the meantime. And she’s been right every time. There was even a time I felt strongly we should go to the ER for one of the kids; she advised us to stay home, giving us things to do here instead of spending hours in the ER with nothing but a huge bill to show for it. Daniel, who is altogether more laid back about medical problems than I am, almost had to tie me down; but once again – she was right and we were saved a lot of headache and hassle.

Best type of doctor's visit

So when I called her the other night about a problematic infected sore that was obviously spreading at a “decent” rate and she told me to go to the ER if it got any worse, I was a mess – to put it lightly. As I sat on our vanity putting the hottest washcloths I could stand on the sore I realized something that I’ve been subconsciously struggling with for a while. It literally hit me a like ton of bricks… Would God care if I died tonight? (not that I was in any imminent danger of dieing! but I was thinking worst case scenario, something I tend to do altogether too much with medical issues) And if He does care, how do I account for all the senseless deaths in the world due to freak mishaps, whether it be by man’s doing (a drunk driver causing a fatality), but more importantly by nature – like a sore that gets infected leading to blood infection, etc etc, or the young child who gets the flu and dies from complications. Maybe this is why I have always been so tense when my kids get sick. There’s no guarantee he/she isn’t going to be the one in one million when an ear infection leads to hospitalization. It just seems so senseless when a person, young or old, dies from something that generally isn’t life threatening. How do I make peace with this all while believing in a God who loves each person so much that He knows the number of hairs on his/her head? (Seriously – that is mind blowing!)

At Alicia’s visitation we shook hands with/hugged approximately 500 people, but the one comment that I remember from that whole evening was someone – I honestly don’t remember who – who said to me “It was God’s plan.” (Funeral etiquette note – that is NOT a comforting comment to make to someone grieving the loss of a loved one, no matter how much the bearer of such sentiments believes it!) Really… do you really truly believe that? Maybe you haven’t had anyone close to you die a senseless death. God’s plan to let a toddler die and leave his parents aching to hold him and hear him laugh just one more time. God’s plan to let both my and Daniel’s grandpas die at a relatively young age, leaving behind teenage and young adult kids who would have benefited from their wisdom and godliness? God’s plan to let my intelligent, young sister have LAM – a disease that only 1500 women in the world are diagnosed with? God’s plan that someone should feel so hopeless and distraught that ending it all appears to be the best answer? Really? God’s plan? Really?

Someone else may say “Maybe you haven’t/didn’t pray hard enough.” That’s another area I’m completely struggling with right now as well. So many times I can look back on my life and say I prayed about X, Y & Z, and it was answered – even really big things like my marriage surviving serious issues. I can even acknowledge those times when I prayed for something to happen, and it didn’t; however I learned so much more by getting a different answer than the one I thought would be best. But even in those times of “tough love” answers, the ability of my loved ones to continue living and breathing wasn’t at stake. Let me tell you how much I’ve prayed that my sister’s disease would be slow moving – presently it’s not. Let me tell you how much we prayed for Alicia. And where did that get us? Possibly the biggest heartache we could fathom from the situation. How is it that God’s plan feels so random and many times altogether so uncaring? Is it just that life this side of heaven really means absolutely nothing in the long run? Just a test to see if we will remain faithful?

And yet as I struggle along this shattered road, I’m not ready to give up on God. I know He’s with my sister. She will tell you He is faithful and about the miraculous! birth of her son. I can still sense Him in the thunder and lightening of a summer storm, in the rustle of the leaves, in the faces of my children, while holding my husband’s hand and listening to a beautiful piece of music, when visiting my parents’ farm, during choir practice, in the hearts of so many people who continue to send us cards and let us cry on their shoulders. I can even sense Him walking this road beside me although sometimes I don’t know how to respond to that. While I continue to question this God of “mine,” I’ve also been filled to overflowing with a new gratefulness for all that He has given me. A strange and quiet peace I’ve never known before has filled my soul even as I deal with relentless physical tension from the chaos of my emotions that leaves me unable to breathe deeply at times and my shoulders in continuous knots.

It’s been a long walk with no end in sight; but I’m not giving up on You, God, please don’t give up on me either.

Someone asked me on Sunday if I’m nervous about the upcoming half-marathon on October 16th. “Should I be?” I wondered. No, I’m not nervous at all. But maybe that’s because of some snafus that have come up along the way that will make race day a lot different than I originally imagined. In fact, there are a lot of things about training for this half-marathon that are different than I originally imagined. For those of you who have never trained for one, let me fill you in on some things I’m learning along the way.

Cat Calls – Yes, believe it or not I have been subjected to cat calls while running. The most popular place for this to happen is in front of Hempfield high school – usually when sports teams are out practicing. While I guess this is supposed to make me be disgusted that men are still whistling or using other “demeaning” language in order to show their “appreciation,” I must admit that I really don’t find it overly degrading. In fact, if I get such a reaction from a guy probably about ½ my age, I guess it just goes to show Daniel didn’t get the worst looking girl in the world. Of course there is a line to be drawn when a cat call gets out of hand, but thankfully I haven’t had to deal with that.

My Manly Appetite – Seriously, I’m hungry 24/7. I’ve never experienced this before, not even when I was pregnant. Before registering for the half-marathon I considered whether or not our grocery budget could handle the fact that I would need to eat more due to the increased activity. In my naivety, I decided that my eating habits most likely wouldn’t inflate our bill enough to deter me from training. It’s good I didn’t know how much I would be eating. While I don’t have firm statistics on how much our bills have gone up, I know I’m eating pretty much everything in sight, all day long; and my will power to say “no” to sweets except for dessert has gone completely out the window. I’m quite surprised that I haven’t gained any weight during this training season. So if you see me sneaking fruit snacks and granola bars during church, I’m NOT pregnant, just really hungry.

Half-Marathon Camaraderie – I have been greatly encouraged by meeting other individuals who have completed half-marathons. Since not everyone can say they’ve trained for a half, when I find someone who has, I automatically feel connected in some strange, mystical way. One woman I think about a lot is a-friend-of-Mrs. T’s who was injured early in training for her first half (never ran more than 5miles at a time before race day), but she still was able to meet her goal on race day even though all her workouts took place using an elliptical machine. I haven’t ever met this woman; but all the same, I get my motivation from her story after particularly bad workouts. Also I was super excited to find out my uncle will be running his first half at Hershey too. My uncle Wendell was the cool one. He drove a motorcycle and enjoyed being with the kids when we were little… probably because he didn’t have any kids of his own at that point. I remember making pizza and sleeping over at my uncle and aunt’s apartment at least once when my parents went away. It was tons of fun. To be journeying “together” into this territory is kinda surreal. (It also makes me feel old.) Also I found out my cousin-in-law will be running that day – we could have a Musser get-together at the Hershey Hotel afterwards, that is if any of us could afford it.

Motivation – I guess I thought once I started training, I would automatically love going out and running 4-5 days a week. And while my motivation has been pretty good until recently, I also have those days when I wake up, look out the window and decide it’s too dark to go out… or too wet or too cold or too fill-in-the-blank. Then I find myself trying to get in a workout at 9pm after I’m already totally spent – ugh, motivation killer.

knee braces & shoes just waiting to go for a run

Physical Ailments – I wish I could say my hands falling asleep while I run was my worst problem. I’ve had carpel tunnel symptoms off and on since high school, especially early in the morning before my hands “wake up.” However, my worst problem – and almost a show stopper – has been my knees. Since early-July I’ve been experiencing knee pain. First in my left knee – figured out how to manage that by wearing a sexy, awesome knee brace. Unfortunately, after my 8 mile run in early August, my right knee started up too. After much experimentation of how often and how far I can run without aggravating either of my knees since what they really want is rest right now, I’ve figured out I’m able to run 2 days a week, 5 miles each time on a flat, non-macadam surface, wearing braces on both knees, applying ice and taking Ibuprofen after every workout. For the rest of the 5+ weeks of training, I’ll do the majority of workouts on a bicycle, which I do not enjoy as much as running (sorry Daniel and Dad-in-law. But yes, Eric – I hate to admit it, that archaic exercise bike you rescued from the side of the road which found its way to our basement before it ever got to yours earlier this summer has come in handy recently, especially with all this rain.)

The inability to run as I would like to has really dampened my motivation to keep training – bad thing; however it has also provided a way for me to be able to escape the nerves and pressure I would put on myself if I were able to train as I was hoping to – good thing. I can no longer exercise in the manner which I feel will leave me in the best shape for the race, so it really won’t be a true estimate of what I’m capable of doing – that is seriously disappointing because my earlier training was going way better than I ever expected. I’m not sure how to even go about setting a goal for myself – any suggestions would be helpful. I’m trying to tell myself that this “no pressure” attitude I’ve taken is probably for the best. I didn’t want the race to become a day I dreaded and just wanted to get over with. In fact, I’m actually looking forward to it. It’ll most likely be the first time since early August when I get to run with Mrs. T. I haven’t even talked about the scheduling complications of trying to run with Mrs. T, that was something of a nightmare before my knees made it a total impossibility. I’ve missed our time together – our great conversations, our silences, our laughter and pain together. So to have a block of time to run 13.1 miles with Mrs. T will be close to heaven. Can’t wait until that day – bring it on.