Advent-ures

Everyone should have a three-year-old at Christmas-time!  Sarah is definitely into the spirit of the season this year.  She's focused on the festive activities, instead of the gifts, which Mom appreciates (and knows won't last forever).  When asked what she would like Santa to bring, she consistently replies, "A cow."  (Donkeys, goats, and chickens aren't enough for this Midwestern girl.) 

She is gradually warming to the idea of Santa.  When we passed him at the mall a few weeks ago, she gave him a wide berth and wouldn't even wave to him.  I printed a Santa Advent calendar off the Internet, and we've been adding a cotton ball to his beard every day.  On the first day, I explained that, when we get to #24, Santa will come that night and leave her presents.  "To our HOUSE???" she replied, horror-stricken.  I told her he would come downstairs, while she was asleep in her bed upstairs, and she wouldn't see him.  She was only slightly reassured.  Now, when she hears his name, she brightens and repeats it warmly.

We cut our tree last weekend and put it up Thursday.  I decided this was the year to bite the bullet and replace all of our lights with LEDs.  Our tree is a bit slimmer than usual, and it's packed with lights -- so pretty!  Sarah enjoyed hanging ornaments -- mostly on one branch, of course.

Sarah's favorite carol is Jingle Bells, which we listen to over and over daily.  For some reason, she's taken to a small book called Christmas Abundance, which I put out on the coffee table mostly for decoration.  It's definitely not a child's book, but she likes to flip through the pages and point to certain words.  The other night, she turned to the hymn O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.  I sang it, terribly off-key, and she loved it.  She now brings me the book, and I sing while she does a funny interpretive dance that looks an awful lot like Tai Chi.

We've been baking Christmas cookies, which she loves (the process and the product).  I decided to try P*anut Blossoms (my all-time favorite).  Yesterday morning, I set her up at the counter to unwrap the Kisses while I rolled the dough into balls for baking.  I told her she could have one Kiss, then naively turned my back.  After about the fourth time of her asking, "Can you see me, Mom?" I turned around to check her progress and found she had taken bites from most of the Kisses in the bowl.  She's a master of semantics already!

We start celebrating with family this week, when we visit Grandma and Grandpa in the Tw*n Cities for a day and spend the weekend with Omar, Emily, and Sophia near Madison.  Next week, Rachel is coming for a couple of days.  We're flying to Mass. on Christmas Day for a week with Grammy, aunts (plural, now!), uncles, and cousins.  Ho, ho, ho!!!

The "Looking for Santa" photo-- I took one like this last year and decided it should be an annual shot.

(That's straight peanut butter on the spatula, not cookie dough.)





Thanksgiving

Okay, I'm a little behind....

This year, we spent Thanksgiving at home and were fortunate to have some new friends join us.  Mary Ann, Martin, and 15-month-old Emmett brought just the right amount of warmth and excitement to the house.  Sarah stressed for days beforehand about Emmett playing with her toys, but, when he arrived, she was gracious and big-sisterly.  She showed Martin and "Baby Emmett" her field guides and read a book to Emmett.  It was a lovely afternoon.

Embracing Her Swedish Heritage

This morning it was time for my least favorite Christmas tradition -- making Swedish sausage.  As someone (Otto von Bismarck, according to Google) said about laws and sausages: it's best not to see them being made.  That goes double if you're a vegetarian. 

I grew up a hard-core carnivore.  My family raised all its own beef, pork, chicken, and turkey.  Many of the animals had names and were still referred to by them at the dinner table.  I have warm memories of my father butchering (that's cutting up, not killing) meat on the big cutting board that also served as our kitchen table, while my mom, siblings, and I ground hamburger and packaged steaks and roasts. 

Over the last 30 years, however, I have moved steadily away from eating meat, first because I didn't know its origins, the way I had as a child, then for health reasons, and finally, in recent years, for environmental and sociopolitical reasons.  So, I'm not crazy about processing it in my own kitchen.

Ironically, Swedish sausage is mostly vegetables -- 10 lbs. potatoes, 2 lbs. onions, 2 lbs. beef, and 1 lb. pork -- and I think it's the potatoes that make it particularly unappetizing and messy to make.  They also turn a disgusting gray when the sausage is cooked, lending it a putrefied look.  It's obvious the Swedes eat to live, versus living to eat.  If you need further proof, do a search on "lutfisk."

Our first Christmas together, Don hauled out the century-old sausage press passed down from his mom and cheerfully announced, "Time to make Swedish sausage."  He set about peeling potatoes and onions and running them through the meat grinder with the ground pork and hamburger.  Then, he pulled out the salted pig intestines (euphemistically called casings), washed them, and cut them to length.  Next, he filled the press with the mixture, slipped a casing on the spout, and asked me to turn the crank.  Soon, we had a pan filled with pudgy sausages, resembling a snake hibernaculum.  Thus, was I initiated to a Hultman family tradition.

Given my distaste for everything Swedish sausage, I was happy to pass the baton to Sarah this year, who accepted it with gusto.  She not only enjoys the process but also relishes the end result.  The bland sausages are about as far from the spicy food of her birth country as you can get, but she loves them.  She and Don were all smiles as they shared a fresh sausage for lunch.  Meanwhile, I savored my yogurt parfait and bran muffin.  :)

Doctors to Presidents, Kings, Sheiks...and Sarah

We drove to the M*yo Clinic in R*chester, MN, the day before Thanksgiving so that a pediatric opthalmologist could examine Sarah's eyes.  She was diagnosed by my eye doctor with intermittent bilateral exotropia in January.  Her pediatrician wanted her to see the opthalmologist in our regular health care system, but he happens to be the one with whom she had a terrible experience back in Fall '09.  (Since her dark eyes are hard to dilate, they had to do drops twice, and she was completely traumatized.  When the tech wanted to go a third time and said they might have to strap her to "the papoose board" to examine her, we said we were leaving.  The doctor took a quick look into her eyes and said they looked fine, and we high-tailed it home.  I felt HORRIBLE for doing that to my daughter, especially when it was totally precautionary.)

Fortunately, I learned last spring that one of the girls in our neighborhood has the same condition, and her mom connected me with the doctor she sees at M*yo.  Since he is in our Pr*ferred Provider Network, I was able to just make an appointment.  M*yo is only about an hour and a half from our house.  As you would expect, the M*yo Clinic is an impressive place.  It dominates the small city of R*chester, both physically and culturally.  The brochure I was sent said that it employs almost 2,000 doctors there.

We started in a large waiting room that reminded me of the DMV but were quickly escorted to an examining room by a technician named Bobbie.  Sarah was leery right away.  When Bobbie tried to put a patch over her eye for the examination, she absolutely refused.  She wasn't crazy about Bobbie holding a paddle to cover her eye, either, so I had to do it.  She did well on the eye chart, which had simplified graphics instead of letters.

We were then brought to another exam room and introduced to a young Asian woman who is a fellow in the opthalmology department.  I thought maybe Sarah would feel more comfortable with her, but she was still very nervous.  She wasn't wooed by the mechanical stuffed animals on the wall that lit up and moved or the wooden marionette-like toys that collapsed when the doctor pushed the button.  I had to hold the paddle again, this time while the doctor moved my hand from side to side to watch how Sarah's eyes responded.

Then it was time for drops -- three in each eye, no less.  Another technician came in to administer them while I did my best to hold Sarah still in my lap.  "Time for some raindrops in your eyes," the tech chirped.  After the first two went in, Sarah freaked and put up quite a struggle.  I was wavering and trying to figure out a way around the situation, but the tech just forged ahead and got the drops in before Sarah or I could react (smart move).

We were ushered into a tiny waiting room for the drops to take effect (and hope that there wouldn't be need for more).  Another family was watching 101 Dalmations (the original animated version I loved as a child) on the TV, which offered a welcome distraction.  The other mom did her best to convince Sarah that the doctor she was going to see was wonderful and lots of fun, but Sarah was unconvinced.

After about 15 minutes, we returned to the exam room.  Sarah squirmed nervously in my lap.  The door opened, and a man in a suit and brightly striped tie strode in.  He greeted Sarah and said, "So, who are these people you brought with you today -- your cousins?"  Sarah gave him a half-smile and her characteristic, "Nooooooo," which she uses to answer ridiculous questions.  "Oh, is this your brother?" he asked, pointing to Don.  He went on to ask if she had come to have her ankles checked.  When she shook her head, he said, "Oh, your knees."  His silly questions broke down her defenses, and she warmed to him quickly.  "This," I thought, "is why we came to Mayo." 

Sarah let the doctor do a few quick tests (although the others had done most of the technical work) and was rewarded with a lollipop.  The doctor said on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst, her exotropia is about a 3.  It is not affecting her acuity.  He said patching and eye exercises haven't been proven to help and recommended monitoring until either one eye remains out constantly or kids start to tease her about her eyes (break my heart!).  At that point, we should consider surgery to correct it.  Surgery successfully treats the condition in 85% of patients; 12% have to have it done again; and 3% become worse.  He wants to see her again in six months, then once a year.

After he'd answered all of our questions, the doctor turned to Sarah and said, "Well, should we call it a day, or do you want to do a few more things?"  Without missing a beat, she said, "Call it a day," and we were out the door.

As I tucked Sarah into bed that night, she said, "Mom, the woman said she was putting raindrops in my eyes -- those weren't raindrops; raindrops are outside."  "I know," I said, "She was trying to be funny and make you feel better."  I remember thinking when the tech said it, "Does she think Sarah is stupid?  She knows they're not raindrops."  Don't try to put one over on this little girl....

I feel very lucky to have access to some of the best medical care in the world.  It's such a relief to not worry every time I see Sarah's eyes move outward.  Since the last doctor told us we should do something when it was happening a third of the time, I've been obsessed with trying to estimate the frequency.  I asked the doctor at Mayo how I should go about that, and he said, "You don't need to do anything; it doesn't matter.  We can learn everything we need to know when we see her here."  Whew! 

These Boots Are Made for Striking a Pose

Wednesday, Sarah and I went to the mall for lunch and a little shopping.  We rarely do this, as I'm kind of a stickler for healthy food and not much of a shopper, but we had a play date in the morning, and Sarah needed new shoes, so I figured it was the most expedient plan.  Sarah loved the treat, of course, and I'll have to say I was impressed by the quality (not to mention quantity!) of the chicken tenders I bought her.  Fried, yes, but relatively unprocessed.

She needed some basic brown Mary Janes to wear to church.  JCPenney had a great sale, so we headed there.  Unfortunately, it was on the opposite end of the mall from the food court, and the walk just about wore her out.  We passed Santa on the way, and I couldn't even get her to wave to him from 20 feet away.  By the time we reached the store, she was not in a shopping frame of mind.

The one pair of brown shoes they had didn't come small enough for her, so I looked for other options.  I saw a pair of Ugg-like boots in a natural color and decided they'd work with dresses and leggings for winter, so I had Sarah try them on.  I thought they were adorable, but she didn't like them.  The saleswoman asked her, "Which ones DO you like?" and Sarah quickly pointed to the same boots in hot pink.  They hit her feet, and her face lit up.  Never underestimate the mood-altering powers of footwear....

Today, I told Sarah I wanted to get a picture of her in her new boots, and she willingly obliged.  She's turning into quite a ham.

And, finally, a sweet pose....

"Grandma Has People in Her Head"

On Halloween, Don's 84-year-old mom Dell had an acute subdural hematoma and needed emergency brain surgery.  Fortunately, she came through the surgery well and is now in rehab in the hospital.  We are praying that she will continue to improve and go home at the end of the month.

On Thursday, Don, Sarah, and I drove to St. P*ul to visit her, when she was still in the ICU.  The day before, Sarah made her a picture and wrote her some notes, which she carefully put in an envelope, sealed, and labeled.  She wouldn't let me put it in my purse for safe-keeping and carried it around the house, panicking every so often when she realized she'd left it somewhere.

I was a little uneasy about how Sarah would react to seeing Dell in such serious condition, so I did my best to prep her on the drive up.  I told her that Grandma had an owie in her head, so doctors cut her hair really short and went in her head to fix the owie.  Sarah listened intently and seemed to grasp it all.  Every few minutes on the drive up, she asked, "What happened to Grandma?"  I patiently repeated the same simplified story each time, thinking I had covered all the basics in language a three-year-old could understand.

When we arrived at the hospital, we headed into the ICU, only to be stopped by the desk nurse, who told us that children under 11 aren't allowed.  Ooops!  My heart sank as I wondered how I would explain to Sarah that she couldn't see Grandma, after the big build-up.  She and I headed to the waiting room, while Don went to see his mom.

After a few minutes, I decided to give it one more try and appeal to the nurse's sense of compassion.  We went back to the desk.  I explained that we had driven three hours to see Dell and that her three-year-old granddaughter had her heart set on seeing Grandma.  I took the blame for not knowing the rules and asked if there was possibly a window somewhere where the two could catch a glimpse of each other.  Fortunately, a second nurse had arrived on-scene.  She agreed to ask Dell's nurse for permission, and Sarah was granted three minutes with Grandma.

That was more than enough.  Sarah was a bit shocked by Dell's appearance, but she put up a strong front and handed her the envelope.  I think it meant a lot to Dell to see Sarah's sweet face.  We headed back to the waiting room and played Sesame Street dominoes and iPad while waiting for Don come out.  Sarah continued to ask, "What happened to Grandma?" and I patiently repeated the story word for word.

At bedtime, when Sarah asked for the umpteenth time what happened to Grandma, I said, "Can you tell the story now?"  She replied, "Grandma had an owie in her head.  The doctors cut her hair short, then she had people in her head."  It seems the story I had so carefully crafted was no match for a three-year-old's literal thinking.  It makes me wonder how she interprets the many things I say without thought every day!

Late Fall Fun

It's been a busy week.  First was Halloween.  Sarah wanted to be a ladybug again, so we headed to Goodwill.  I was hoping not to spend much because first, I'm cheap, and second, I knew she wouldn't get a lot of use out of it.  Halloween isn't a big holiday for the reticent.  Fortunately, Goodwill had a relatively inexpensive costume that I finished with a black turtleneck and jeans.  She was happy with it and loved the black spots on her cheeks.

She wore her outfit to our play group's potluck, and I managed to get her to keep the vest on until after we ate.  After that, she looked more like a cat burglar than a ladybug.  On Halloween night, she was eager to get dressed up again and posed happily on the front porch.  We visited two neighbors' houses on the cul-de-sac behind us, and she managed to mutter "Trick or treat" each time.  After the second, she said, "Let's go home."  She had probably the smallest haul of any trick or treater, but she was happy, and I was thrilled.

I can't resist throwing in a shot of her first appearance as a ladybug two years ago.  What a change!

Later in the week, I got her her very own rake. In typical Sarah style, she went right to work in the front yard and spent about 30 minutes making a pile, even though the breeze was working against her. She chased after her irreverent quarry constantly yelling, "Hey, come back here, leaf!"

Friday night, we attended a National Ad*ption Month celebration at the La Cr*sse Children's Museum. We had never been there (again, the cheap factor) and were pleasantly surprised by the variety and quality of the exhibits. Sarah had a ball. She was the most relaxed and carefree that I've ever seen her in public. I don't know if it was because Don was along, which is unusual, or because of the uncrowded conditions, but she really enjoyed herself. It was a joy to watch. We may have to buy a membership! 

The juice pouch and cookie at the end capped off a perfect evening!