W*unakee Weekend

We headed east to visit Emily, Omar, and Sophia last weekend.  The fun started at the Farmer's Market in M*dison, which surrounds the gorgeous Capitol Building.  We bought lots of yummy things, and Sarah and Sophia got the biggest cookies I've ever seen.  While they were enjoying them on the lawn, a group of about 60 naked cyclists rode by, unnoticed by the girls, fortunately.  Gotta love M*dison!  Sophia showed Sarah her favorite tree, and Omar helped her climb it.  She was rather proud of herself.

After some yummy pizza for lunch, we went back to W*unakee to relax and play with our new granddog Lola, aka the Best Puppy Ever.  Aside from the usual nuisances like sharp teeth and claws, she is wonderful -- relatively calm and remarkably obedient for her age.  We were quite impressed.

It was Emily and Omar's fifth wedding anniversary Saturday, so Don and I took care of Sophia while they went out to dinner.  Unfortunately, she was under the weather, with a fever and sore throat.  She was a trooper, though, and trekked happily along to a nearby playground.

The girls got into a couple of scuffles over toys this visit, and Sarah would not back down.  When I stepped in, she ended up in screaming fits that put a bit of a damper on things.  Have I mentioned that she has a will of steel?  When she's in unfamiliar surroundings, her need for control overrides all else.  If she gets "stuck" in defiant mode, all you can do is hold on and ride it out. 

With Don gone most of the week before, a new friend coming for a playdate on Friday, and then the trip to W*unakee, I'm afraid she was primed for implosion.  Of course, it's all clear to me in hindsight. 

She's regained her emotional equilibrium for the most part over the last week, but she is still sensitive to separation.  When Don or I leave the house for an errand or meeting, she asks us not to go.  She actually cried when he left yesterday.  I think all his travel this month has shaken her sense of security a bit.  Her world just isn't right when we aren't a unit. 

And you know what I just realized?  He'll be gone fishing the week that she starts school in September.  Not good.  I will certainly fasten my seatbelt for a bumpy ride (and expect to spend some time in four-year-old kindergarten).

A Special Season

Strawberry season has long been one of my favorites, but it took on added meaning three years ago, when I burned much nervous energy picking and processing berries while waiting for Sarah's referral.  I will always associate the red, ripe fruit with the sweetness of seeing her face for the first time.

The season is a couple of weeks early this year and will likely be over by the time the actual anniversary rolls around on the 22nd.  And, of course, Sarah now joins me in the patch and is an able harvester herself.  She checks carefully to make sure they're "red all around" and picks about a pint before indulging herself, then repeatedly asking, "Mom, can I have just one more strawberry?" 

When we're done each day, we have a "little picnic," either on the back deck or at her table under the Grandfather Tree (our huge, old silver maple).  Our patch is past its prime, and we should have put out new plants last year, but there's still nothing like enjoying a freshly picked strawberry, knowing it's been touched only by sunlight, rain, and your very own hands.

A Big Weekend

The last few days have been busy for us, with events both big and small worth mentioning.

First, Don and I continued our new ritual of playing chess on Friday evenings.  Instead of sitting in front of the TV and flipping between our three public television and two old movie channels (no cable), we now nurture our middle-aged noggins with a game that he loves but hasn't played in decades and I attempted in high school but never mastered.  This was our second week, and I awarded myself "Most Improved" since I was able to survive a full hour before he captured my king.

Saturday morning, we attended our first E*ster egg h*nt of the year.  Unfortunately, the balmy weather we enjoyed a couple of weeks ago was long gone, and hats and mittens were the order of the day.  Sarah was super excited and had a blast.  She was still in the 0-3 age group, so she had a distinct advantage this year.  After collecting about a dozen, she decided to leave the rest for the other kids.  She was pleased with her haul of T**tsie rolls, chocolate eggs, and a tattoo.  When we got home, she rushed to the bathroom to apply the tattoo all by herself.

Saturday was also "Date Night" for Mom and Dad.  Sarah adores her babysitter and was at least as excited as we were.  I decided it was time to try having Kelsey put Sarah to bed.  I wasn't optimistic it would work, but I figured we had to start somewhere, and just having her ready for bed when we returned would be nice.

Don and I weren't enthused about our movie options but decided to give The H*nger G*mes a try, since it's gotten so much hype.  We figured, if nothing else, we'd be up on pop culture for a week or so.  We were pleasantly surprised and really enjoyed the movie, despite its dark premise.  The largely teenaged audience must have liked it, as well, as they were silent throughout.

After dinner at our favorite pizza place, we headed home to see how the big experiment had gone.  When the house appeared dark as we approached, I figured Sarah had kept Kelsey reading books in her room, which is on the back side of the house.  When we entered, however, Kelsey was sitting quietly in the living room, and Sarah was sound asleep!  Kelsey said she turned out the lights, and Sarah didn't make a peep.  That girl is full of surprises these days.

I feel as though a whole new world has opened to us.  We can actually stay out later than 8:00 if we want.  Not that we're night owls or social butterflies, but we do get invited to a party every year or so, and now we can stay as long as we want.  The upside for Kelsey is that she no longer has to entertain Sarah for five or six hours when we go out.  We can do "dinner and a movie" in that order, and Kelsey can spend half her shift relaxing.  The icing on the cake is that Kelsey just got her driver's license, so we don't even have to drive her home.  As long as she can make time for us once a month, we've got it made.

As if one milestone wasn't enough, Sarah had another surprise in store Sunday morning in church.  During the service, the minister spends a few minutes talking with the kids in the front of the church.  Sarah has always insisted that I come with her and sit in the front row, while she sits on the step with the other kids.  Yesterday, when the time came, she turned to me and said, "Mom, some day I'll just go up and see Pastor Betsy by myself, and you can sit with Daddy."  I said, "Do you want to try it today?" and she said, "Okay" and trotted down the aisle. 

As luck would have it, since it was P*lm Sunday, there more kids in church than usual, and Sarah couldn't find a place to sit when she got up front.  She ran back to me and said, "Where do I sit?"  I escorted her back up, got her situated, and decided to stay, just in case she lost her nerve.  Instead of listening to the minister, she spent the whole time telling me, in a stage whisper, to go back to my seat.  Once she sets her mind to something.... 

Watching Sarah march away from me was one of my proudest moments so far.  It's taken so long for her to feel safe in the world, and I am elated for her.  I'm not alone.  During coffee time, the minister and other members of the congregation shared their joy, as well (Sarah has a broad fan base).  I no longer fear 4K this fall.  It will be a big step, but I feel confident now that Sarah will be able to handle it just as every other four-year-old does.  What a relief.

After lunch, Sarah decided to take a nap during quiet time (her act of bravery wore her out).  When she got up, she was ready to help Mom and Dad spread bark mulch on the flower gardens.  She is such a hard worker!

All in all, a banner weekend for our little family.  This week holds an Easter party with our playgroup, another egg hunt, and the Big Day itself.  Next week, Sarah and I head to M*ssachusetts to visit my family.  The winter doldrums are definitely behind us!

Keeping Up with Sarah (It's Not Easy)

Sarah has changed so much in the last few months, and I've been delinquent in chronicling it.  It's time to try to catch up....

Her confidence has grown tremendously.  When we're out and about, she now responds when people ask her questions, and sometimes even initiates conversations.  She is comfortable staying in one spot while I go to the other side of the room.  She's happy to stay in Sunday School without me, and the teacher says she raises her hand and answers questions.  This may not sound impressive for most kids her age, but it's monumental progress for Sarah.

She's become much more physical and loves to jump, dance, kick, and run.  She's tall and slim and quite athletic -- it's hard to believe she was a chubby baby who couldn't sit up when she arrived home.  She can kick her foot as high as her head (I call her my little Rockette) and do the splits.  She's been practicing drop-kicking a ball and manages to do it sometimes.  She loves to dance to "Mom's music" (Ad*le's 21).  One of her favorite activities is hiking with Mom and Dad at our local state park.  She is constantly saying, "Mom, watch this" and showing me her physical prowess.

Her language is developing rapidly.  I've been encouraging her to pronounce words more clearly (she often skips the "s" at the beginning and has a hard time with "th"), and she now corrects herself.  She loves to figure out what letter words start with ("Mom, what letter does egg start with?"  "I don't know, Sarah, what do you think?"  "E -- egg, elephant, Elmo.").  Like all kids her age, she comes up with some cute stuff:

• "A little bit, but not too much." 
• "Oh, my goodness, that's a big ice cream cone!" 
• "I made Mommy and Daddy's bed -- I'm a big helper."
• While looking at a map of Wisconsin: "Where does home live again?"
• When bored: "What I should do, Mom?"
• Snuggling in bed with Mom and Dad: "I'm all cozy with my family."
• "I love this outfit -- it's almost pink, but it's not almost pink."
• "I'm not tired. I will take a nap, but I won't close my eyes."
• "This is a crazy lunch!"
• "Mom, your music is pretty cool." (I'll remind her of this one when she's a teenager.)
• At bedtime: Mom -- "Good night, sweet girl." Sarah -- "Good night, sweet woman."
• Playing in her kitchen:  "I will make something delicious for you."
• "It's nice to meet you, Mom."
• "...if'n you want...."
• "Okay by me."

Sarah loves Mother Goose and has most of the rhymes memorized (she recites them as she falls asleep).  Her favorite story books these days are If You Give a M**se a M*ffin, the Biscuit series, and a set of very old S*same Street books we borrow from the library that talk about different careers (she says she wants to be a police officer, a firefighter, and a veterinarian when she grows up).  She also enjoys reading natural history field guides (including N*rth D*kota Plants, a highly technical dichotomous key) and dictionaries (see below). 

Temperament-wise, she is pretty easy-going these days (downright laid-back compared to a year ago).  She still wants her way, but many times she will acquiesce, ending the discussion with, "Okay, fine."  She's become a bit sassy, which Dad has more patience for than Mom (no surprise there), but, for the most part, she's a joy to be around.  She loves to cuddle and gives great, smacky kisses.  She is conscientious and polite.

She gave up naps almost a year ago, but we've continued with quiet time after lunch.  It took a little getting used to, but now she trots down the hall happily and spends an hour in her room, usually listening to music on her boombox or looking through books (she loves the family picture books I make on Sh*tterfly).  Very rarely, she will crawl into bed on her own and fall asleep.

Sarah has always been one for routine, and she's developed her own unusual rituals.  After she gets ready for bed in the bathroom each night, we return to her room, where I sit in the rocker and she climbs up on her bed. She then calls Dad to say goodnight. When he appears in the doorway, she jumps from bed and does an original dance/martial arts routine over to kiss him goodnight. She then repeats it over to me and crawls into my lap for a story. She comes up with something new every night.

Sarah watches S*same Street downstairs in the rec room each morning.  She spreads out the fleece blanket on the couch and arranges two dictionaries she carted down from upstairs (a full-size W*bster's and a paperback crossword puzzle edition) in front of her.  She then pages through the books while watching her S*same Street friends.  Every day, she acts exasperated when she sees that Mom and Dad messed up her stuff the night before.

With all the warm weather we've had, the plants outside are growing like crazy, including, of course, dandelions.  I introduced Sarah to dandelion digging last year, but she was still a little young to be of much help.  This year, she's an able and enthusiastic assistant, pulling the plants I pry from the ground, throwing them in the bucket, and stomping the loose soil back into the ground.  Every afternoon, she asks to dig dandelions, and she would keep at it for hours, I think, if I didn't call it quits when my hands get tired.  And I thought I was compulsive.

I think that's Sarah in a nutshell for now.  She has come so far in the last two-and-a-half years.  As I remind her when I turn out the lights each night, she is my precious little girl.  I'm such a lucky mommy.  Here are some recent random shots:

An impromptu nap

Playing on the iPad before dinner with Sophie looking on

Modeling the new sweater that Mom made (big enough to last a while this time, I think)

A basket of sweetness

My little gypsy

Reading an Aud*bon bird book while her pedicure dries

Her Story

We were standing in the long line leading from the sanctuary to the community room after church one Sunday in November, when the woman behind us asked, "What's her story?"

It's been more than six years since Don and I entered the world of adoption, and I've spent hundreds of hours studying how to be a good adoptive parent.  And, still, the question caught me off-guard.  I know the importance of handling intrusive inquiries with the proper balance of civility and succinctness, especially when Sarah is present.  I don't want to give the impression that her adoption is a tense subject, but I also need to guard her privacy and keep prying people at bay.

Perhaps it's a function of how little we get out, but we haven't had many instances where people have asked inappropriate questions.  I've read about some unbelievably stupid, rude things people have said ("How much did she cost?" "Couldn't you have children of your own?" "They kill girls in China, don't they?"), but I haven't been subjected to them myself.  I consider myself fortunate, but also inexperienced.  No matter how much I've read, until I've put my knowledge into practice, I will make mistakes.  And, I did.

The conversation went something like this:
L: Sarah was adopted from China.
PW (Prying Woman): Oh, how old was she?
L: 12 months
PW:  Do you know who her parents are?
L:  Her biological parents?  No, she was abandoned.
PW:  Oh, my gosh, I just can't imagine giving up my children.
L:  I'm sure it was a very hard decision for her mother; she probably felt she had no choice.  The one-child law in China makes things difficult.

I don't remember what happened at this point, but, fortunately, the conversation was interrupted, and we moved on to enjoying cookies and coffee with other acquaintances.  Sarah, who was standing in front of me the whole time, seemed not to notice any of it, but I know how good her hearing is, and I know how smart she is.  She was probably taking it all in.

I analyzed that episode for days, ridden with guilt.  I felt as though I'd betrayed Sarah's trust by divulging her personal information.  Even though I knew better, once I'd started down the road of politely answering the woman's questions, I didn't know how to stop.  I didn't want to be rude, and I didn't want Sarah to sense I was uneasy, so I tried to politely educate.  That might have been okay, if Sarah hadn't been there, but to discuss the details of her early life in front of her, with a virtual stranger, was not.

It's not that Sarah doesn't know her story, because she does.  She can tell it quite accurately.  "I was a baby in my birth mother's womb, then I was born.  My birth mother couldn't take care of me, so she took me to a place where she knew someone would take care of me.  My foster mom took care of me when I was a little baby, then Mommy and Daddy came to China and adopted me.  Now, we're a family at home." 

I have avoided using the term "abandoned" with Sarah because, first, it's a pretty big word for a three-year-old, and, second, I don't think it accurately describes what happened to her, even though she has a "Certificate of Abandonment" from the Chinese government.  It is a cold word that implies a lack of responsibility and caring.  Sarah was placed where whoever left her knew she would be found right away and cared for.  It may have been a desperate act, but it was not an irresponsible or uncaring one.  There will come a time when she'll need to understand the term and all of its connotations, but not yet, and I shouldn't have used it.

This incident reminded me that I need to be prepared at all times to handle intrusive and inappropriate questions.  It's far too hard for my middle-aged brain to finesse an answer on the spot, taking the circumstances into consideration (Is Sarah with me?  How well do I know the person?  Why do they want to know?).  I've decided that it's best to politely shut down the conversation as soon as possible.

After much brainstorming and wordsmithing, I think I've devised a reply that I can deliver quickly and kindly, and that will end the conversation comfortably for all parties.  After I've shared that Sarah was adopted from China, if someone asks any further questions, my response will be: "We keep that information private.  I'm sure you understand."  I've practiced it like a mantra, hoping that, the next time the situation arises, I can walk away feeling that I protected my daughter's privacy while setting a good example for her.

Given the emotional energy I've spent on this over the last couple of months, Friday's dustup between Presidential candidates Ron P*ul and Jon H*ntsman hit close to home.  In case you missed it, there is an Internet ad that accuses H*ntsman of being "the M*nchurian candidate."  It shows him speaking Chinese (he was ambassador to China) and with his daughters, adopted from China and India.  It is a disgusting ad, no question, but it was H*ntsman's response that really disturbed me.

He began by objecting to the use of his daughters and the implication that "there is some sinister motive there."  I wish he had stopped at that point.  Instead, he went on to share that one was abandoned in a vegetable garden when she was two months old and the other was left to die on the side of a road the day she was born ("Luckily, she was picked up before the animals got her," he continued.).  My stomach flipped as I heard this on the radio.  To me, disclosing this personal information painted his daughters as victims and himself as the hero who rescued them.  His statement didn't respect their dignity and privacy and appeared to be politically motivated.

The episode reminded me that Sarah's story is hers alone.  I need to safeguard it until she is old enough to decide when and with whom to share it.  I've discussed parts of it on this blog, as I've felt my way along as an adoptive mom, and I think that's okay.  I like to believe that I do so in a respectful, nongratuitous way that may benefit others, without harming her.  My posts will likely change as she ages, however, and perhaps I'll make the blog private, as a fellow adoptive mom did recently.  At any rate, I will do my best to remember that, although we are part of each other's life stories, we each have our own to tell, or not, as we choose.

Collecting Pieces of the Past

I wrote in March about my frustrated attempts to contact Sarah's foster mom in China and get more information about Sarah's time with her (Searching for One in 1.3 Billion).  I was communicating with a man in China who had located the FM last fall, then discovered she'd left Sarah's hometown of Y*feng to take care of her grandchild in another province, then learned she was back for Chinese New Year, and finally, found out that she had left again because her grandchild was sick. It was an unnerving roller coaster ride of events that left me doubting we would ever make contact.

Then, on the way to our China family reunion in July, after Don and Sarah were tucked into bed in the hotel room, I checked our email and found a message from Bruce, my contact in N*nchang.  He had learned that Sarah's FM was back in Y*feng for a visit and wanted to know if I still wanted him to go see her.  He had the list of questions I'd sent him in February, but he needed some recent photos of Sarah. 
While Sarah and Don slept, I spent an hour trying to give him the go-ahead and send a couple of digital photos I had with me.  I had retrieved his message from our C*nturytel email account using my iPad.  I re-typed the message numerous times, with the onscreen keyboard, which is no easy task, and it failed to go through each time.  I finally decided to try my Gm*il account.  After a few attempts, that finally worked.  I went to bed and slept little as I wondered whether we'd be able to move quickly enough this time to connect with the elusive FM.

Once we arrived in T*nnessee, I used the hotel computer to check email.  Bruce confirmed that the FM was still in Y*feng, and he was eager to travel to meet her.  He wanted me to wire the fee to him using W*stern Union.  Between reunion events, I set up an online account and repeatedly tried to use our credit card to send him money.  The transfer failed each time.  My anxiety grew.

I told Bruce I would be able to wire the money once I was home at the beginning of the week, and he made arrangements to travel to Y*feng the following Wednesday.  Given our history, I was worried about putting off his trip even a few days, but I tried to have faith that things would work out this time and did my best to put it out of my mind while I enjoyed the reunion.

The next day, I remembered hearing about other families who had hired people to get copies of their children's orphanage files, even though, technically, the parents are the only ones allowed to see them.  I asked Bruce if he could also do that, and he quickly replied that he'd called the orphanage director and made arrangements.  I would need to add the $250 fee that the province charges parents for that service. 

When we got home on Monday, I tried the money transfer again, and it was denied again.  A split second later, the phone rang; it was our credit card company asking about the unusual transaction.  I imagine that happened each time I tried to wire money from T*nnessee, but, of course, there was no one home to answer the phone.  Those credit card companies -- they're always looking out for the customer.  :)  Once I cleared it, the money went, and all systems were go.

Lying in bed Tuesday night, I knew it was already Wednesday morning in China and Bruce was in Y*feng collecting pieces of Sarah's past.  I wasn't sure what to expect, but I knew that even the tiniest detail might prove profound to her in the future, and it was a weight off my shoulders to be doing all I could to help her know her story.

I eagerly checked email Wednesday morning but found nothing from Bruce.  It was a little soon, after all.  Wednesday evening: still nothing.  Thursday morning, I turned it on, and messages from China started filling the screen.  One, two, three...ten, eleven, twelve...sixteen, seventeen, eighteen emails, all with attachments!

The first ones contained photos of the FM, her husband, and her family.  There were shots of her in her home holding one of Sarah's favorite toys (a little pink bear).  Unfortunately, since Sarah was with her, she has moved, so the photos don't show where Sarah lived as an infant. 

According to Bruce, the FM is 54, uneducated, and has worked at a local resturant washing dishes.  Her husband is 57 and works in a factory.  They have two grown children and rent a small house in town.  Bruce sent her temporary mailing address and said she promised to send him her permanent address once they buy a home. 

My impression is that the foster family is not well off.  They don't have access to email, so we won't be able to communicate easily.  I had hoped the FM might have photos of Sarah from their time together, but she did not.  She probably doesn't own a camera.

Before we traveled to China, we sent a book of questions to the orphanage, hoping someone would help us gather information about Sarah's first year.  The book was returned to us on Family Day, and many of the blanks were filled.  We were given the name of Sarah's FM and the person who found her at the gate of the orphanage on the day she was born.  We were also told that another baby lived with her FM at the same time Sarah did.

I'd like to find the other baby, so that Sarah can be in touch with her when they're older.  Bruce asked the FM the baby's name, and she said it was Lu Ning.  I've posted messages on the various China adoption Yahoo! groups, but no one has responded.  It's possible Lu Ning's adoptive parents aren't in those groups.  The search is compounded by the complexity of the Chinese language.  "Ning" is the PinYin (anglicized) translation for a number of Chinese characters with various meanings.  Without the written Chinese character, it's hard to know the name for certain, and the FM's memory seemed a little fuzzy.  I'm not optimistic we'll locate this girl.

The rest of the emails contained photos from the orphanage.  There were shots of the grounds, the director and his assistant, and one of a staffing chart with photos.  This last one is precious, since the woman who found Sarah on the day she was born works at the orphanage.  Bruce was able to identify her on the chart, so we have a photo of her.  The grounds shots are interesting, but, with the exception of Sarah's finding spot (the front gate), I don't think they're too important, since Sarah lived with her FM and only visited the facility for check-ups.

Then there are the documents.  We received hard copies (with English translations) of many of them (medical and growth reports, immunication records) with our referral, but there were some we hadn't seen before and didn't know existed.  I hope to have our local Chinese friend translate them for me sometime, but I've already been able to glean precious tidbits from them, including a tiny footprint and a color version of the earliest photo of Sarah we have (the one published in her newspaper finding ad).  It's hard to say how old she is, but it's possible she's wearing the clothes she was found in.

I've been pulling together information for Sarah's lifebook since before she arrived.  A lifebook tells an adopted child's story, from birth through finding a forever family, and helps her understand the events that have shaped her.  I had envisioned creating a unique, beautifully laid-out book that Sarah would treasure.  Early this summer, though, I realized that, if I waited until I had time to learn the scrapbooking software and obsess over every design detail, Sarah would be a teenager before the thing was done.  Knowing how important it is that she learn her story at a young age, I gave in and bought a Shutterfly lifebook template and pledged to complete the book before I started grad school.

The foster mom and orphanage info arrived just in time to fill in some holes in the book.  I was able to complete and order it in early August, and it was waiting for us when we returned from vacation.  Sarah was delighted to see it.  I've made a book for each of the past two summers and "Best of Sarah" books for the last two years, and she loves looking at the photos of herself, friends, and family. 

I was a little anxious about reading the book with her.  We've talked a lot about her foster mom, and Sarah knows that she spent her first year with her, but I haven't talked much about her birth mother.  With no photos to help tell the story, I've felt as though it would all be too confusing for her.  Now that I had a book to follow, with a graphic of a Chinese mother, I thought it might be easier.

Sarah liked the book, but she flipped right past the birth mother pages to those with photos of herself.  I couldn't even get her attention to try to explain that piece.  After a couple of times through the book, she seemed to lose interest and didn't want to read it anymore.

Fortunately, I had tracked down a picture book called Motherbridge of Love and borrowed it from the library.  It is based on a poem about a Chinese girl and her two mothers, biological and adopted.  The poem is a bit contrived, and some of the vocabulary is above Sarah's head, but the artwork is wonderful -- flowing, warm, vibrant, and full of love -- and tells the story well on its own.  The book talks about the gifts the girl has received from each mother ("The first one gave you life; the second taught you to live it.") and shows a pregnant Chinese woman who then is holding a baby, along with a Caucasian woman playing with and comforting an older girl. 

The pictures have worked perfectly for explaining to Sarah how she came into the world and how she came to be our daughter.  We've read it before bed every night for the last month or so, and she started trying to tell the story about a week ago.  When she gets stuck, she says, "And what else?"  She now can cover most of the high points:  "I was a little baby in my birth mom's tummy, in her womb, and I was born and she couldn't take care of me, so my foster mom took care of me when I was a little baby, then Mommy and Daddy came and got me and we're a family at home."  It's very sweet.

It will take years for Sarah to understand and process all of the details, known and unknown, of her first 12 months of life.  I'm relieved to help her start with all of the information available to me.  My job now is to tell her her story and answer her questions as honestly and openly as I can, so that she feels comfortable talking with me about it.  I hope we can share as much of her journey as possible.

Winnie 2011

We're nearing the end of our annual week-long "vacation" at B*wen Lodge on Lake W*nnibigoshish in northern M*nnesota.  I'm going to start calling it a get-away, because there isn't a whole lot relaxing about it, at least for Sarah and me.  There's something about this trip that pushes every emotional button she has, resulting in the most controlling, difficult, downright belligerent, behavior she's capable of.  I feel as though I've spent a week with an alcoholic, constantly bracing myself for the next angry eruption. 

It's hard to say whether this year was better or worse than last year, although after she threw her plate across the table at lunch, my money's on 2011.  I had conveniently forgotten how rough things were in 2010 until the trouble started this year.  Upon reviewing my blog entry from last summer, it all came back to me -- Winnie and Sarah don't mix well.  Our smooth trip to Tennessee last month had given me the impression Sarah is a seasoned and secure traveler now, but I was sadly mistaken.

That's not to say we haven't had some fun.  I've got loads of photos that belie the volatile atmosphere.  The highlight for Sarah has definitely been the resort shih-tzu, Fluffy Muffin.  She fell in love with the little dog last summer and has talked about her ever since.  Fluffy joins Sarah in the B*rley stroller for our morning walks, and we go up to say goodnight each evening.  She even let Sarah walk her on a leash, which is quite out of character for the mild-mannered but independent pooch.  Sarah takes it hard when she sees FM consorting with another child, and I'm afraid it's going to be hard to say goodbye this year. 

We've had wonderful weather (upper 70s and sunny for the most part), which is a big improvement from last year.  Sarah and I have spent a lot of time at the beach, and she likes to wade in the water to fill a watering can, but she doesn't want to actually get wet.  She likes to watch other kids playing in the sand but refuses to join in when invited.  There's a 3 1/2-year-old girl staying in the cabin next to ours who keeps making overtures but has mainly been rebuffed.

Sarah enjoys being out in the boat and is a patient angler, for her age.  She caught her first fish this week -- a small perch.  Her response was textbook:  she panicked, shoved the pole into Don's hands, and ran to me for safety.  After the fish escaped the hook and was safely (for its own sake and for Sarah's) back in the water, she proudly proclaimed, "I caught a fish!" over and over.

Don has had some luck this week, so we'll bring home five meals of fish, in addition to the yummy one we had here.  He brought in a 34", 11-lb. northern pike, the biggest fish he's caught in about 15 years, but of course it was too big to keep.  I caught a 19" walleye, which is notable only because I'm not known for my angling prowess, or even interest.  We were all out on the water Sunday night as the sun set and the full moon rose, pelicans soared past, and loons called -- it was postcard-perfect Northwoods.

About 3:00 a.m. last night, a strong thunderstorm moved through, with 70 MPH winds.  The lake was encircled by lightning, revealing large rolling waves.  Thunder growled all around.  Leaves and twigs pelted the cabin.  I worried about the dead limbs on the oak tree beside our cabin.  This morning, we discovered a larger oak was toppled across the road about 100 yards away.  I'm glad we weren't camping at our old remote site.

Today we're packing up, and we'll head home first thing tomorrow morning.  I wish I could say I'm sad to see our vacation end, but I'm not.  I'm ready to return to our structured, secure routine and to have Sarah happy and relaxed again.  The reality is that we have more fun together at home than we do anywhere else.  I guess that's not such a bad thing, really.

Ready to go, Mom!

Nice bluegill, Dad!

Sarah and Cadi fishing

The serious angler

Returning to shore at night

Okay, I caught a fish, now can I put the pole away?

Tickling the ivories in the lodge

Trying to get the hang of making a sand castle

Watering the beach

The view from our cabin

Sarah using her Sesame Street app on the iPad before dinner

The head camp cook

Showing off the anklet she made

With her BFF Fluffy Muffin

In front of the carved eagle on the lodge front porch

Goofy

Go fast, Daddy!

Ready for bed

Making felt cupcakes

In Mom's seat in the boat



Sarah and Fluffy out for a walk