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Today was a regular day, just like any other day. A perfectly normal day. Except that Lisbeth gave me a present as soon as I woke up (a really sharp dress shirt). And except that the guys at work teased me all day (I held the title as the oldest guy in the office for quite some time.) And that Lisbeth gave me another gift when I got home (two books that I’ve been wanting.)

But other than that, it was a perfectly normal day. Except for the stream of emails and Facebook messages from friends and family, wishing me well. And except for the fact that I was born exactly forty one years ago, at exactly one minute before midnight. (And, as my mother sometimes reminds me, after twenty four hours of labor.)

I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow a year has passed since Ellen came along. It went by quickly, and it seems like she’s been with us all along.

She’s not walking yet. She’s pretty confident standing though, and this weekend Frits coaxed her into taking a step or two. It won’t be long, but so far she doesn’t really seem to think it’s an option anyway.

The way that she’s changed the most though, is her comprehension. She catches on to things that she wouldn’t have figured out before. She’s not solving equations or anything, but you can show her something and she’ll try it herself. (more…)

There may be, somewhere in the world, a father that thinks his daughter is cuter than mine.

But he is clearly insane. Unlike me. Who is not.

Ellen is ten and a half months old now, and ever since she was born I’ve been telling Lisbeth, “I think this is it — maximum cuteness” and “She just can’t get cuter. It’s just not possible” and “I don’t think I can take much more of this.”

But then she goes right on getting cuter. So much so that when I look at pictures of her from three or six months ago I think, “Well sure, she was sort of cute, I guess… but look at her now!”

But, like house prices, Ellen’s cuteness cannot go up and up indefinitely. No. It must peak at some point, and then go down. It just must. It defies the laws of the universe, this.

Not that I’m complaining, especially since she has a personality to match her cuteness. In fact, there may be, somewhere in the world, a father that thinks his daughter is more charming than mine… poor fool.

Overall, Christmas in Denmark isn’t that different from Christmas in the US. There are differences, but they’re fairly subtle. Except for the tree. That’s not subtle. But in terms of Christmas being a special time, in which family gets together and eats entirely too much — that’s the same.

Naturally the food is different. I’ve gotten so used to the food that I don’t think about it very much anymore, but the Danes have a lot of of specific foods that they only enjoy on special occasions, so there were two dishes I hadn’t had before. The first was brunede kartofler, which translates to roasted potatoes, but are in fact caramelized potatoes. I’m of the opinion that you can’t improve on the potato, be it mashed or merely boiled, so I wasn’t particular impressed by the description, but they’re very good. (more…)

Up until now, no matter where I’ve been living, I’ve managed to get home to New Mexico for Christmas. But on this, my fortieth Christmas, I’m not going home. We’ll spend next year in New Mexico, but this year we’re spending Christmas with Lisbeth’s family.

It’s quite strange not to go home. It’s nice not to have to worry about airports and jetlag, but I miss my family, I miss the food, and going to my grandparent’s ranch.

But it’s not all bad. (more…)

Ellen’s preferences continue to emerge, and one thing that’s clear is that she has no interest in crawling. She takes real offense when I put her into the crawling position. She drops down to her stomach, starts whining, and looks to Lisbeth for sympathy.  “Look mom! Look at what dad did to me!”

Walking, on the other hand — now that’s interesting. If you hold her hands and walk her around the room, she makes her happy noises and looks up at you as if to say, “Look! I’m walking!”

Apparently not all babies crawl before they walk. Lisbeth never did. Maybe Ellen won’t either, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to stop trying.

Most of my experience with horses was with a horse named Shiloh that my grandfather had when I was a kid. Shiloh was barn sour, which basically meant that she wasn’t ridden very often and had grown to detest the idea. She wanted nothing but to stay in the barn.

To ride her you first had to catch her, which wasn’t easy even though she didn’t have anywhere to run. She knew what it meant when anyone showed up and took a bridle off the barn wall and she’d make it as hard as she could. Even after I’d caught her she’d jerk her head to the side and try to keep her mouth closed to keep that bridle bit from going in. (more…)

The highlight of this vacation has definitely been introducing Ellen to all the family members that she hasn’t yet met, like her great grandparents. Connie organized a get-together this weekend so we’d have everyone in the same place, which is where many of these pictures are from.

It’s  a good thing that she’s pretty flexible about who holds her, because she’s been passed around a lot in the last three weeks, and it’s a good thing that she likes the spotlight, because she’s been the center of attention most of the time.

The downside, however, is that she’s gotten accustomed to the attention, and she thinks it’s incredibly dull to have only the stale affections of her parents. We’re expecting her to be pretty unhappy when we get back to Denmark later this week.

Before this trip, the only members of my family that had met Ellen were mom and dad because they visited us in Denmark in May. Before they left, mom lamented that Ellen wouldn’t remember her. Sure enough, Ellen had to warm up to her again, but it didn’t take long.

We’ve been in New Mexico for two days. The jet-lag is starting to wear off, but it’s still not easy to stay awake during the day or asleep at night. Ellen, much to our relief, made the trip with very little fuss, but it’s a lot to ask of anyone, much less a seven month old. Luckily Lisbeth secured an infant bed on the long flight, and that helped a great deal.

It’s pretty strange to be on this side of things. For years I’ve been flying and I’ve been not infrequently annoyed by screaming babies on board. I think I was under the impression that the parents could do more to quiet the baby. But that’s silly. No one wants the baby to be quiet more than the parents, but there’s only so much you can do.

We traveled with Lisbeth’s parents, who joined us both to see where their son-in-law grew up, but also to visit the US, which they’ve never done. It really helped to have them on the plane because when we got tired we could hand Ellen off to them and get a little rest.

On Sunday, after introducing Ellen to my brother Ben and his wife Heather, we all went up to Sandia crest on the tram. Despite the fact that I grew up in New Mexico, I’d never been on the tram. It’s yet another example of things that tourists do and locals don’t. It was a pleasant surprise.

It’s hard to believe that we’ve had Ellen for six months. It seems like a lot longer.

She still keeps us busy, but less so now that she can sit up and play with toys for long stretches at a time.

On the other hand she’s eating more and more solid food (probably more than half of her intake is solid at this point) and that requires more preparation and more cleanup.

But overall things are smooth. Except for bathtime, which she hates for some reason.