Lift Up Your Hearts!

It's been a long time since I've posted an update on Grace, which is of course very encouraging! But here's something Jon posted recently that demonstrate that "no news is good news" hides a life that is far from normal, even though you'd never guess it from a casual encounter. There's a lot they don't tell you when you begin a complex medical journey—or maybe they do, but it's just too overwhelming to be taken in. One cannot pour highly toxic substances into a growing body (or any body) and expect them to do no harm. And sometimes it's the (relatively) little things that have a surprisingly strong emotional impact; hearing that Grace is apparently condemned to flu and COVID shots for the rest of her life hit me very hard, though if pressed I will admit that if I could eliminate just one of the actual and potential side effects, that would be far down on my list.

Lest you think nothing has been going on, here was Grace's medical schedule since we last posted.

• 8 visits to primary care for vaccinations - she had to restart over as a baby, and get all of them over again - just one left, plus flu and COVID, which oncology told us yesterday they highly recommend for Grace since one of the chemos she received can cause long-term lung problems and she is more likely to have a harder time with respiratory illnesess.
• 3 visits to dermatology - this has gone really well, and it would have been good to meet with a dermatologist earlier, as the doctor changed out the skin meds she was on, and (perhaps in combination with figuring out thyroid dosages and lowering the Koselugo), her skin is 100% better, though as we enter into the drier winter season she'll need to use her lotions more often than she needed to over the summer.
• 1 visit to our dentist - nothing to report. Though oncology told us yesterday that one of the chemos she had causes long term teeth problems, and before pulling any teeth or major dental work, they need to check to make sure that the adult tooth exists and is in the right place, and is shaped properly, etc.
• 3 visits to endocrinology - mostly just to lay eyes on her; the doctor has been working on getting the dosage to get her thyroid levels within normal limits, and that has been a success. Oncology just said to keep an eye on it as she gains weight, as the dosages will need to change.
• 1 visit to opthamology - everything looking pretty good, though they have some concerns about "thickening" around one of her retinas, but is is good for now.
• 1 visit to neurology - we like to do combination visits with neurology and oncology to make sure we are covering the bases with NF1 and JMML.
• 2 visits to oncology - this is Dr. Santacruz at Dartmouth, who we love and who we basically consider her primary care provider, though after the conversation yesterday with Boston, we need to have some conversations with all of her providers, as it is depending a little too much on each individual to be thinking about the whole picture, and I'm not sure specialists are that good at thinking that way, and while I'm comfortable managing much of her care, it is easy for us to not connect the dots across everything.
• 1 visit to audiology - hearing is still good (even with the lower dose of the anti-tumor med, so that is good news!). There is always a question about one of the tests (air pressure/response), and from my view point, the test is greatly skewed by how the sensor is physically held into her ear, so I'm not entirely sure we are getting consistent tests to compare to each time, but the regular actual hearing tests are good, and the frequency responses are mostly normal.
• 1 visit to cardiology - this was just yesterday, so I haven't talked to anyone yet, but Heather said the report looked good. And the valves look good to my inexperienced eyes. I am going to ask someone to double check they aren't anything, as I don't remember those being there before. Gemini tells me bright spots can appear due to reflections of the ultrasound waves, so perhaps it isn't anything.
• 1 visit to pulmonology - also yesterday, and because she is considered too young for a spiromometer test, they just do a walking test while monitoring SpO2 levels, and she did fine on that. Prior to the appointment, I was wondering if they were going to have her do the spiromometer, so we practiced some in the car, and the oncologist was interested to try, partly just to get her to understand the test (everyone fails the first time they take it - I failed and the tech had to show me how to do it), but said typically they don't use that test until they are 6 or 7 years old.
• 2 visits to radiology: 1 "regular" MRI on her head/ears/eyes. Another one scheduled for November. She also got a bone density scan yesterday for the first time - the whole skeletal picture is pretty cool, so hopefully we'll get to see it in more detail than just me watching over the tech's shoulder. People with NF1 are susceptible to weak bones, etc. When Grace fractured her leg last year, they were concerned about whether it was due to NF1, but due to how it broke, decided it was due to being on steroids too long, so were less concerned about anything going forward, but she'll get a scan every year or two.
• Countless blood draws, which fortunately she doesn't mind at all.

Whew! 

Most doctors are starting to talk about longer time spans between the visits, so that will be nice to have those slow down a little. We did meet the "long term survivorship" medical team yesterday; when Grace heard about this, she said, "Oh good, more doctors!"

Nathaniel and Grace made brownies which we delivered to Boston Children's Hospital 6th West, where she stayed during the bone marrow treatment, and they were all happy to see her, both the nurses that we knew, who were especially happy, but even some other nurses thanked us for coming, that everyone likes to see success stories.

Boston oncology does want her to get a bone marrow aspirate, not entirely for chimerism, which they did via a blood test yesterday, but there are also some other things that are important to check that I didn't really understand.

And as I referenced above, there were a number of times yesterday that the oncology team said things like, "well, her <insert other specialist> will be keeping an eye on that, so we will defer to them..." Because of Grace's NF1, she gets seen more than the average JMML patient, and so the onocology team isn't as used to having so many other reports and so many other specialists watching over her. So, I just need to check to make sure that the other specialists are, in fact, actually thinking about the total picture and keeping an eye for something that might be pointing to a larger issue. Case in point, I hadn't realized that GVHD was still a concern at this point, and I think acute GVHD isn't likely, but chronic GVHD is more of a possibility, thought we've not seen anything so far that is particularly concerning. Her Boston oncology team was surprised to hear about her lack of hair growth and hair color changes, but now that she is through it, it appears it wasn't GVHD related, but I'm not sure anyone was actually thinking about that previously.

We also got some conflicting information yesterday compared to what we were told previously about the purpose of removing and freezing one of her ovaries, so we need to check into that. The nurse practitioner yesterday said that her ovary would definitely not be used for hormone therapy during puberty, but only for potential fertility later. I now know more about NF1 than I did, mostly due to being on Facebook groups with other patients and parents and watching them go through NF1 as an adult, or learning that they have NF1 after passing it onto their children, though I've attended some medical provider trainings on NF1 as well. My counsel to Grace would currently be to not have children, where previously I was thinking that would be okay, and we wanted her to be able to make that decision. The annual costs of freezing are going up, and we're now wondering if it is worth paying all that money each year if she won't eventually even use it. Apparently, hormone therapy/replacement for teenagers is reasonably well understood, so they have synthetic meds or whatever that can control and compensate for imbalances, so they are confident they wouldn't need/want her ovary for that. We need to ask some other providers about that, since if you recall, this journey started with bad information from a nurse practitioner who insisted she knew what was going on...

I know many of my readers still pray regularly and faithfully for Grace. Our gratitude is necessary but not sufficient. (If that last line is confusing to some of you, it's just me reverting to my math major roots. What I mean is, "Thank you so much!")

Let a man do right, nor trouble himself about worthless opinion; the less he heeds tongues, the less difficult will he find it to love men.

— George MacDonald, Unspoken Sermons

George MacDonald lived from 1824 to 1905, but he nailed one of the chief dangers of social media.

Our two-year-old granddaughter is a sweet, tender little girl. With four older brothers.

Recently she was overheard crooning this little lullaby while rocking her doll:

Little baby Jesus,
I love you.
Sing with me.
Rock, baby,
Will FALL!

At the word "fall," she chucked the baby across the room.

Undoubtedly she figured the baby enjoyed the ride as much as she enjoys playing with the guys in her life, who swing her around until she's dizzy, toss her high into the air, and give her rough, bouncy "horsey rides."

Such play is just what her developing vestibular system needs. My own aging vestibular system has a different opinion.

It hurts to have your name stolen.

I'm not talking about identity theft, horrific as that is, but something deeper, more personal. I think of all the Kevins in Europe, where "Kevin isn't a name; it's a diagnosis." All the women whose parents innocently named them "Alexa." My own husband, Porter, whose name precludes calling for him in an airport or train station.

And heaven help the many lovely people I know named "Karen."

Recently, heaven got a little assistance from Mikayla Hedrick, in her article "Get me the manager: In defense of Karens." Well worth the short read, and maybe sending the article to a beleaguered Karen you know.

The Millennial and Gen Z generations who adopted the term grew up with a “Karen” as their elementary school teacher, or the mom down the block, or, like me, as their aunt. Now, those Karens are middle-aged women, a thankless season in the lives of females everywhere, and the pejorative is hurled upon them ceaselessly.

They’ve been accused of racism, of being too quick to call the police, of caring too much about their neighbor’s lawn, and of being a causeless nag at a perfectly good restaurant.

And because I was not a Karen...I said nothing.

No one came to defend our mothers, aunts, or middle-school teachers. They were early victims of rising wokeness, and most of us fed them to the wolves without thinking twice. Conservatives who would later reject the labels of DEI culture said nothing while their wives subliminally imbibed the idea that to be a middle-aged woman who cared enough to join the PTA may subject them to internet bullying and character defamation: all hidden behind the label “Karen.”

That ends now.

Rather than perpetuating the stereotype that a “Karen” is a nuisance whose behavior should be avoided, it’s time to admit that it’s Karens who make the world go round.

While working diligently to resurrect a sense of perpetual racial tension, the label “Karen” has cunningly inflamed prejudice, not against women of a certain race, but against all women of a certain age.

It’s the rightful role of the middle-aged woman to guard her community — to ensure its safety, cleanliness, and standards. But standards aren’t cool anymore. If you care too much about such things, you’re mocked with the air of a middle-school bully taunting you for doing your homework.

And the middle-aged woman is the personification of standards.

She is the mother who has known you since birth and can tell you’re slacking off, even when no one else can. She is the neighbor who is tired of you driving into the cul-de-sac blasting loud music when you know good and well that the babies are sleeping.

She is no longer the gullible maiden you can charm with sweet words. She is a matriarch in training and can see right through your BS.

That’s her job in the neighborhood, and that’s her role in the country.

Don’t try to push Democratic Socialism on a real Karen. She will remind you that you still haven’t paid her back for that window you broke as a kid. Don’t expect her to toe the line on your new pronouns. And definitely don’t let her catch you looting a Walgreens in the name of “justice,” because she will personally escort your butt to prison.

She’s not here to play.

And that’s why she’s demeaned. Because she is a vanguard in a culture that wants to get away with everything.

No thank you.

I’ll take safe streets, good service, and the ladies keeping it all together for the rest of us.

This was my father's comment, from a 1993 letter, on the prevalence of creative wedding vows. I think that trend started in the 1960's.

I think the standard words are just fine if people would only listen while they repeat the marriage vows.

Guard with jealous attention the public liberty. Suspect everyone who approaches that jewel. — Patrick Henry

This week, the governor of Connecticut signed a bill (H.B. 5468) imposing serious restrictions on home education. Connecticut had long been one of the best states for homeschooling freedom, but with the stroke of a pen it has become one of the worst. If you can reach this HSLDA site, the front page is a good summary of the immediate problem.

Bottom line: There are other new requirements that are objectionable on their own, but the greatest threat involves the Department of Children and Families (DCF). I've lived through enough years of fighting for parental and child rights to get chills down my spine and knots in my stomach at the mere mention of such organizations. Their "better safe than sorry" excuse has been responsible for tearing even very young children from loving, stable homes, and separating nursing infants from their mothers—for days, weeks, or even months, while the system wheels grind slowly. So it's no wonder I get queasy at the thought of handing them the authority to take away a family's right to home education.

H.B. 5468 would ... require that families seeking to withdraw their student to homeschool be checked against the DCF registry. The registry includes not just confirmed abuse, but a wide range of “neglect” findings, some of which are minor, disputed, or entirely unrelated to a parent’s ability to educate their child. The bill also bars homeschooling for any family that shares a household with someone who has an open DCF case—even if the case has not been substantiated.

This expansion sweeps in an enormous number of families. Research cited by the National Coalition for Child Protection Reform shows that 25% of all Connecticut children, 34% of Hispanic children, and 42% of Black children will, at some point in their lives, live in a household with an open DCF case—overwhelmingly because of reports later found to be false or unsubstantiated.

Connecticut’s definition of “neglect” is broad and subjective. A parent can be placed on the DCF registry if a caseworker has “reasonable cause to believe” a child was neglected—a standard well below even the preponderance of evidence threshold used in civil court.

Our litigation counsel has reviewed the bill and concluded that it raises serious constitutional concerns under both the Due Process Clause and the Free Exercise Clause of the First Amendment.

This isn't just about homeschooling. These weapons have been used in issues related to breastfeeding, to COVID vaccine compliance and a variety of other health issues, to nutritional choices, even to controlling a child's access to television. And parents will submit to almost anything to get their children back. This law puts families at the mercy of disgruntled neighbors—and vindictive ex-spouses. There is no "bail" for these families, no right to a speedy trial, no protection against cruel and unusual punishment, and certainly no right to be considered innocent unless proven guilty.

For too long we've taken our hard-won homeschooling freedoms for granted—all our freedoms, for that matter. What just happened in Connecticut is a grim reminder of how easily the most basic of human rights can be taken away under conditions of complacency.

The condition upon which God hath given liberty to man is eternal vigilance. — John Philpot Curran, 1790

In a letter from my father, 6 April 1985

You mentioned some time back that so many of the AT&T fathers, and mothers too, seemed to have minimal interest in doing things with their children and seemed almost to regard their children as an unwanted product of their marriage. I can only comment that I can think of no activity that pays better dividends than the time spent with the children.. I can comment from experience that whatever time you spend can be returned many times over.

I can attest that his life was in perfect alignment with his words.

Forevergreen is a new, short, animated film.  I know nothing about it except that a friend recommended it, and I found it enjoyable and moving.  I belive this preview (of the entire film) will only be available for free for a week, so if you're interested, watch it soon.  It's 13 minutes long.

I had an idyllic childhood. Not perfect, but as close to that as anyone I know. And one of the best parts, I now realize, was growing up with engineers.

Schenectady, New York, where I spent the first 15 years of my life, was the home of the General Electric Company. As it did the skyline, GE dominated our lives, night and day. My father was an engineer, as was his father, and his father's father, and he worked in GE's General Engineering Laboratory. My parents met there, where my mother, a mathematician, also worked. Many of our closest friends were engineers or employed in related fields. Schenectady in those days was a hotbed of science-and-engineering-types, and as far as I could tell, everyone I knew was smart. Smart was normal, and not just among the scientific folks. I suspect that living in Schenectady in its heyday resembled what I imagine living in Silicon Valley or the Seattle area is today.

I'm not talking about genius-level, though there were certainly some of those, but rather down-to-earth people with practical experience and skills, who also read a lot and loved to have discussions about ideas and on just about any subject.

Not that I appreciated it at the time as I should have; I took it for granted. But my recent "archivist" work with my father's journals and other writings has made me realize what a blessing it was to grow up in such a community. They even had their own way of speaking: their conversations were filled with jokes and wordplay, exaggerated and understated language, and what I realize now was an advanced everyday vocabulary. It wasn't until I had had much more experience outside of our parochial bubble that I realized that there are many people who find what I consider a normal vocabulary to be a sign of arrogance, who take the exaggerated/understated language literally, to the point of misunderstanding or even offense, and who either don't understand or don't appreciate the humor.

It takes all sorts and conditions of men to make a world, many of them wonderful. If you understood the "sorts and conditions of men" reference, you are part of a different distinct community, one I did not come to recognize and love until some 30 years ago. Appreciating other cultures and especially loving one's own are not mutually exclusive conditions.

What chiefly concerns me is that we seem to have entered an age when differences are being replaced by diagnoses. The other day, a new friend was telling me about her son, who in high school was triply exceptional: He excelled in academics, in music, and in sports. It's not uncommon to see people who do very well in two of those areas, but three is a rarity. At one point, he was moved to express the concern that he might be "on the spectrum." What social pressures drive an obviously intelligent, capable, and well-rounded child to label himself with a diagnosis? Why do teachers and doctors (and even parents) put so much effort into finding boxes into which they can squeeze children?

As I told my friend, in my day, in my world, we used another term to describe being "on the spectrum."

We called it normal.

It often pays to find the story behind the headline—or the social media post.

The Facebook blurb from our local library was annoying. Here's how it began:

1000 BOOKS BEFORE KINDERGARTEN: A round of applause for A----, who has read another 1,000 books before kindergarten—for the third time! On her way to becoming a young, brilliant scholar, Seminole County Public Libraries is proud to be part of A----’s journey as she grows her vocabulary, boosts her critical thinking, and enhances her cognitive development. 

I was annoyed, but looked further and discovered that our library has a program to encourage parents to read aloud to their preschool children. It's a little sad that adults need stickers as an incentive to read to their children, but we've all been there with some good habit we're trying to acquire. So it looks like a good thing.

What bothered me about the Facebook post was the implication that the achievement belonged to the child, and that she had actually read 3000 books. I've known a few kids who taught themselves to read before formal schooling, but that's not what is meant here. Maybe I'm being pedantic, but I don't think so: As valuable as being read to is, it is not the same as actually reading the words on the page.

I have a similar problem with adults who claim to have read a book when actually what they've done is listen to someone else read it to them. Don't get me wrong; I enjoy audio books and find them invaluable for absorbing content while doing repetitive work, exercising, and driving. But that's a different experience from reading, even for adults, and especially for a child who hasn't yet developed the skill of decoding print.

And I'm not sure it's a good idea to let a child believe he has done something worthy of great praise when the effort was on the part of his parents. Sort of like getting an A on a homework assignment done 95% by your dad. Or getting a Pulitzer Prize for something written by ChatGPT.

Curious about the quantity of books, I looked up my own reading tally. I have been keeping track of the books I read since 2010 (making note of the few that were audiobooks). I consider myself an avid reader, but it took me until mid-2024 to reach the 1000-book mark. So I commend all the parents who achieved that in reading to their preschool children.

Then again, from what I can tell, my just-turned-two granddaughter is probably nearing the 750 mark with Sandra Boynton's Barnyard Dance, including many repetitions of turning the pages herself and telling the story as she remembers it, complete with stomps and claps.

And no, I don't include books read to grandchildren in my own reading list, even though I don't limit myself to adult-level reading.

It is usual to speak in a playfully apologetic tone about one's adult enjoyment of what are called "children’s books." I think the convention a silly one. No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally (and often far more) worth reading at the age of fifty—except, of course, books of information. The only imaginative works we ought to grow out of are those which it would have been better not to have read at all. — C. S. Lewis, On Stories

When was the last time you were threatened by a gang of thugs wielding spiralizers? Apparently that is a danger in the United Kingdom. Either that, or the chefs' union is lobbying hard to keep teens from trying to break into their business. Or possibly Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber have more power than I thought.

This story, posted by a woman in the UK, popped up on Facebook, and I quickly copied the text. I regret not catching the image, too, as that would have shown how small, unpowered, and insignificant the device in question is. But you'll get the idea.

I know many things are going nuts in the UK, though I don't know anyone personally who can vouch for them. But the following story, if it is true—and at least it has the ring of truth and not clickbait—shows that at least in one area they are even crazier than America, which is saying a lot.

What I want to know is… When did the world go completely mad? Did I miss it?

Let me explain…

Yesterday, I was shopping in a well-known store with a red and white logo With my 10-year-old son.

Among the impulse purchases were a red nose day Tshirt for my son, a gift for the teacher and this lovely spiralizer/vegetable grater for me.

My helpful son unloaded the items onto the checkout desk while I removed my purse from my handbag, at which point the young lady on the desk said “I’m sorry, I can’t sell you that.”

She proceeded to explain that as the spiralizer was not to be sold to anyone under 18 and my son was the one who placed it on the counter, it was deemed that the vegetable cutting device was for him.

Bewildered, I said ”but it’s a spiralizer, and quite obviously it’s for me.”

She refused the sale.

I asked if I could purchase it separately.

She refused the sale.

I asked if I could speak to the manager and they could make allowances for such an obvious fault with the rules.

The manager refused the sale.

I told the manager it would probably be a good idea to put some sort of signage up to let customers know that minors should not be unloading shopping to help their parents.

She obviously misunderstood as she pointed out the signage on the packaging that clearly says “Do not sell to under 18s”.

I left the store confused and a little perturbed and resigned myself to a lifetime of chunky vegetables in my recipes.

You can however all rest safe in the knowledge you will never be faced with a vegetable shredding 10-year-old wearing a Feathers McGraw T-shirt roaming the streets of Cumbria… all thanks to the vigilant staff of the West Cumbrian store.

You can't sell a spiralizer to a 17-year-old in the UK?

I'm assuming a much-more-potentially-dangerous kitchen knife would meet with similar restrictions. At what age are people allowed to cook on that side of the Atlantic? How about to wash dishes, which would undoubtedly include knives.

I don't remember when I started helping in the kitchen, nor when our own children did, but I know that most of our grandchildren started learning how to use kitchen knives at the age of two (well supervised, of course), and by four were reliable helpers in cutting up vegetables for a salad. I know that's early, even for America, but if David Farragut could command a ship as a pre-teen (there is some difference of opinion as to whether he was 11 or 12), surely it is a bit excessive to restrict the use of sharp objects to those 18 and older.

Here are the top people in line to succeed to the office if the President is unable to perform his duties. The list goes on for quite a while, but I'm only listing the top six.

1. Vice President (JD Vance)
2. Speaker of the House (Mike Johnson)
3. President Pro Tempore of the Senate (Chuck Grassley)
4. Secretary of State (Marco Rubio)
5. Secretary of the Treasury (Scott Bessent)
6. Secretary of Defense (Pete Hegseth) (I know it's "Secretary of War," but hey, I'm a Conservative now. I still think of the body of water west of us as the Gulf of Mexico, and sing all the old words to hymns instead of the modern, bowlderized ones.)

Why is this interesting? It makes it obvious what a nightmare Charlie Kirk's memorial service must have been for the Secret Service and others responsible for safety concerns, and why security to get into the stadium was so incredibly strict. Trump, Vance, Johnson, Rubio, and Hegseth were all there. The president, and four of the top six in line of succession. Not to mention a fair number of other political figures, and many others who now know they are at risk of assassination for speaking their opinions out loud.

For some reason this makes me think of a couple who both worked where Porter did when we lived in Boston, back in 2001. They had a standing policy that whenever they flew out of town, they took separate airplanes. That may seem excessive, or make you ask if they never rode in the same automobile—but it is the reason why in September of that year their children were bereaved, but not orphaned.

The full list can be found here. If, like me, you wonder about the order of the Cabinet officers—for example, why the Secretary of Education is considered more likely to be a good president than the Secretary of Homeland Security—it's because the order is determined by when the agencies were created. Or maybe because educators are more experienced with herding cats; I don't know.

I'd never heard of the Church Dog books nor the church that they're associated with, but family is family, and our choir family is so proud of the young daughter of two of our singers. Our director knows a lot that's going on in the Central Florida music, church, and theatrical scenes; he recommended that she audition for the Church Dog music video that's just been released—and she won the solo part! I don't think her parents would mind my mentioning her by name, but I'm not taking any chances. If she becomes famous, I'll link to this in an "I knew her when" post.  

It's not exactly my kind of music, but she's my kind of kid.

I didn't play a lot with dolls as a child, nor with trucks either. I had both, and enjoyed both, along with sundry other toys: blocks, Tinker Toys, laboratory equipment, tools, toy guns, childhood games, stuffed animals, a (real) bow and arrow set, a hula hoop, a baton for twirling—normal childhood stuff. I was eclectic in my tastes with no overwhelming preference for anything, except I suppose for reading books, climbing trees, and exploring in the woods. So, as I said, I didn't play much with dolls.  But the dolls I did have were babies or young children, and they were simple, the better to encourage imaginative play.

So my heart skipped a beat when I saw what one Australian mother has done to "rescue" old, worn-out dolls of the more recent type. I never liked Barbie dolls, certainly not the Bratz and other strange-looking creatures that passed for dolls when our daughters were young. This woman brings beauty from ashes.

This seven-minute video will warm your heart. Not only watching twisted ugliness turned normal, but especially listening to little girls with much more heart and common sense than the jaded, angry toy manufacturers.

This is another post I've pulled up from my long backlog. I wrote it in 2015, when the story was new, but for some reason it languished for more than 10 years! I don't know why; the post was complete and I still love the story.

The inevitable question is, "Where are they now?" What has happened since that bright beginning? Tree Change Dolls has an Etsy site, which appears to concentrate on helping others revive their own dolls, but occasionally offers some of her own creations, which she announces on her Facebook site.

As with any good thing, there are detractors, such as the doll collectors who think she is ruining the dolls, some of which are collectable and worth money in their original form. (Though probably not when found worn-out and broken.) More disturbing are those who say they hate the Tree-Change dolls because they promote the idea of natural beauty instead of heavily made-up and sexualized children's dolls. (That's the impression I got; I didn't spend much time in that unhappy land to find out more.)

"Where does the name come from?" is the other question that intrigued me. Google Search brought up this AI answer:

A tree change is a move from an urban or city environment to a more peaceful, nature-focused rural or regional area, often inland, to embrace a simpler and healthier lifestyle. Unlike a sea change, which involves moving to a coastal area, a tree change focuses on reconnecting with the natural landscape, such as rolling hills, mountains, or countryside, to escape the pressures and fast pace of city living. 

Well, that fits, but it struck a discordant note for me because that's not what "sea change" means. Here's the interesting story of the term, from Merriam-Webster:

In The Tempest, William Shakespeare’s final play, sea change refers to a change brought about by the sea: the sprite Ariel, who aims to make Ferdinand believe that his father the king has perished in a shipwreck, sings within earshot of the prince, “Full fathom five thy father lies...; / Nothing of him that doth fade / But doth suffer a sea-change / into something rich and strange.” This is the original, now-archaic meaning of sea change. Today the term is used for a distinctive change or transformation. Long after sea change gained this figurative meaning, however, writers continued to allude to Shakespeare’s literal one; Charles Dickens, Henry David Thoreau, and P.G. Wodehouse all used the term as an object of the verb suffer, but now a sea change is just as likely to be undergone or experienced.

So, a sea change is a transformation, but not specifically moving to the seaside to escape city life. However, "sea change" and "tree change" are apparently used in that way in Australia (at least on the one real estate site I checked), so the name of these dolls that have moved to a simpler, happier life makes perfect sense.