By Audrey Kletscher Helbling

I’m always looking for new books by Minnesota authors and/or illustrators to review in Minnesota Moments. And yesterday I read a children’s picture book that fit those criteria, and my day, perfectly.

My son picked up a copy of The Sick Bug, written by Susie Bazil of Orono (http://thesickbug.com/) and illustrated by Shawn McCann of Otsego (http://shawnmccann.com/), at our local library. I had requested the book, which was self-published through Beaver’s Pond Press, Inc. of Edina (http://www.beaverspondpress.com/).

Anyway, on Tuesday, I was a bit under the weather, either because of a negative reaction to antibiotics I took before dental work (necessary to prevent infection in my artificial hip) or because I had a bug of some sort.

So there I was, snuggled up in the recliner feeling not so well, reading The Sick Bug.

To my surprise, the book actually made be feel better. I couldn’t help but smile at Bazil’s take on a child’s literal interpretation that a sick bug really is a bug. Little Tess wonders: “What does it look like, this sick bug in me? Is it BIG like a beetle or small like a flea?”

Tess’s Mom humors her daughter with imaginative descriptions of sick bugs — “sticky and prickly with polka-dot ties” — and then explains how to return the bugs to Bugland. McCann’s colorful and creative illustrations playfully enhance the story.

Author Bazil, the mother of three young children, has successfully written a health-oriented book in a fashion that educates and entertains. The Sick Bug has even garnered an honor as a 2009 Mom’s Choice Award Gold Recipient, recognizing it as a “quality family friendly” media product.

So the next time you have a sick child, or you’re sick, check out The Sick Bug. Bazil’s story provides a healthy dose of laughter that’s sure to send the sick bugs scuttling away.

By Audrey Kletscher Helbling

How do you comfort a 20-year-old who has recently lost her boyfriend in an auto accident?

I faced that challenge this morning as I signed a sympathy card, struggling to find words that would bring some solace to Megan. Several weeks ago, while she and Scott were en route to his company Christmas party in Faribault, he lost control of his SUV, which slid, hit a curb and rolled, landing on its roof. Scott, who was not wearing a seatbelt, was partially ejected and died at the scene. Megan, who was wearing a seatbelt, was uninjured.

When I read about the December 7 tragedy, my heart lurched. Could this be the Megan I knew? Her surname is fairly common. I didn’t know Megan’s boyfriend’s name and I didn’t feel comfortable calling the family and asking.

But in my gut, I knew. I knew this was the Megan who, once a spit-fire of a little girl, had grown into a mature young woman and a caring nurse. I knew this was the Megan who had been struck by a car on Halloween night one year and escaped virtually unscathed. I knew.

On Sunday, my fears were confirmed when I saw Megan and her mom, Kay. I embraced them and told them how very sorry I was about Scott. I stroked Megan’s long hair. Tears rimmed my eyes. I hugged them again. My earring snagged on Kay’s hair and for a brief second we laughed.

Laughter. Megan found that in Scott. He was funny, she said of her best friend and the love of her life. Scott was planning to propose to her after 5 ½ years together.

Her sorrow runs deep.

I hope that in some small way, my hugs, my words and, yes, even my laughter, eased Megan’s burden, if but for a moment.

The Kletscher kids gather around the kitchen table and their Charlie Brown tree in 1964.

By Audrey Kletscher Helbling

I caught only the end of How the Grinch Stole Christmas on TV the other night. I was disappointed that I missed my favorite holiday classic. I tuned in just as the Grinch realized he couldn’t steal Christmas from the Whos by taking their presents, decorations and food.

As a kid, I faithfully watched The Grinch, Frosty the Snowman and A Charlie Brown Christmas each holiday season. Of all the Whos in Whoville, little Cindy Lou Who captured my heart, which pitter-pattered a bit faster when Frosty began to melt. OK, so I’m mingling two story lines. But if you’re a child of the 1960s, I’m pretty sure you have these animated cartoons embedded in your memory.

As for Charles Schulz’ holiday classic, of course, the forlorn Christmas tree tugged at my heart strings. The tree in my childhood home was sort of a Charlie Brown tree, standing maybe three feet tall and anchoring one end of our Formica kitchen table. Back in the days, that tree seemed big. But now when I see photographs, well, I realize it was pretty tiny.

That’s the thing about Christmas. You can choose to view Christmas from the perspective of wanting the biggest, the best and the most. Or you can choose, like little Cindy Lou Who and the other Whos, to focus on the joy of the season, celebrating with those you love.

I, for one, choose the spirit of Whoville.

I finally got around to holiday baking on Monday. I really don’t do much of that any more. I don’t need sweets in the house. (In other words, if the cookie jar is full, I can’t avoid the temptation.)

But Monday morning I baked a batch of peanut blossom cookies, basically peanut butter cookies with a chocolate star candy or chocolate Hershey’s kiss pushed into the center.

After school, my son and I baked cut-out cookies from dough I had mixed on Saturday. I use a recipe passed down from my Mom. And I’ve never tasted a better roll-out sugar cookie.

The secret lies in the title: Cream Cheese Cookies. Three ounces of cream cheese make these a delectable treat compared to the typical bland sugar cookie.

The recipe also calls for butter. Don’t substitute. I do, however, deviate from the original ingredients, which call for lard. A half cup of Crisco (or other shortening brand) works for me.

My Mom also taught me a few other tips: Chill the dough for several hours or even days. The dough is easier to roll. And roll the dough as thin as possible. (I think Mom did that so she would get more cookies from a batch. With six kids to feed, cookies disappeared all too quickly.) Even though I have half the number of children, I still roll the dough thin.

Because I don’t like to frost cookies (way too much work), I sprinkle colored sugar onto the cut-outs before popping them into the oven. In less than five minutes, the cookies are baked. I personally like these cookies a bit browned around the edges.

After the cookies cooled and my son and I had sampled them, I gingerly laid the cut-outs in an ice cream bucket and put them in the freezer for Christmas, just like my Mom did when I was growing up.

Later that evening, my son dipped his hand into the cookie jar. “Hey, where are the cookies?” he asked.

“In the freezer,” I answered. “They’re for Christmas.”

“It is Christmas,” he said.

Then I let him in on a little secret. “When I was a kid, we would sneak into the freezer and get cookies. Then on Christmas, when Mom would send one of us to the basement to bring up the roll-out cookies, she would wonder why most of the cookies were gone.”

With that, my 14-year-old bee lined toward the basement. No sense in waiting until I wasn’t watching.

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Cream Cheese Cookies

½ cup butter                                         1 egg yolk

½ cup shortening                                  ½ tsp. vanilla

3 ounces cream cheese                         ½ tsp. salt

1 cup sugar                                           2 ½ cups flour

Cream butter, shortening, cream cheese and sugar. Mix in egg yolk and vanilla. Then mix in dry ingredients. Form into a ball, wrap in plastic wrap and chill for several hours to several days. Divide the dough in half and roll out on a floured board. Use cookie cutters to cut out shapes. Bake in a 350-degree oven for five minutes or less. Baking time varies depending on thickness of the rolled out dough.

By Audrey Kletscher Helbling

We were hunkered down at home all day Saturday with really no reason to venture onto treacherous roadways until evening. That suited me fine. I mixed up a batch of dough for roll-out cookies, wrapped Christmas gifts and called my Mom.

She lives in southwestern Minnesota which bore the brunt of this weekend’s winter storm. With strong winds whipping snow into white-out blizzard conditions, plows were pulled from roads, no travel was advised and activities were cancelled.

There’s really no place like home on a day like Saturday or Sunday.

But Saturday evening, we warmed up the car and headed the mile to church for the Sunday School Christmas worship service. We live in town, so we only had to make our way along unplowed city streets. Not a big deal, really, but I wondered if many worshippers would show up for services.

What is typically a packed sanctuary was anything but full. We had a prime pew to view the little ones delivering their message, “He Makes All Thing Beautiful.”

As meaningful as the message was about God fixing the brokenness in our lives by sending us a Savior, I also thoroughly enjoyed the way in which that message of hope and salvation was delivered.

A children’s program always provides for numerous entertaining moments. Little Justin, who is either 3 or 4 (I can never remember which) started things off by poking and pushing at the boy standing next to him in the front row. Justin is one of those boys with an irresistible smile that just melts your heart. I wondered how long it would take the other boy to start pushing back. He inched away, but that didn’t stop Justin, who moved in closer. Eventually the teacher, I supposed fearing like me that this could become a real shoving match, stepped in and had a little chat with Justin.

Next, one of the narrators recited his lines and told us, “Please be seated.” Problem was, we already were seated. Just following the script, I suppose.

Then the preschoolers sang Away in the Manager. There was Justin again, not in the front row, but standing a step behind his classmates. I was just waiting to see what he would do next. To his credit, he behaved, even if he didn’t participate much in the singing or accompanying actions.

After the song, the littlest kids ran to be with their families. “Grandpa!” one little boy shouted.

Then there was the angel, oh, the angel, announcing the good news of Jesus’ birth. She was, however, a bit distracted. Her wings wouldn’t stay in place and she kept reaching behind her back to straighten them. That only made the situation worse. By that time, my husband was laughing so hard that his shoulders were heaving up and down. I tried to remain reverent and respectful. But pretty soon my shoulders were moving up and down too.

When a whole host of angels joined her, the leading angel finally quit trying to fix her broken wings. It was then that I realized how this unscripted action of the angelic little girl fit so well with the program theme of God fixing our brokenness.

Sometimes the unplanned moments are the best.