30 Hours of Christmas

Eden is a wonderful baby.  Truly she is.  For about the last six weeks she goes to bed at 8 pm and sleeps through til 5:30 am, eats, and then goes back to sleep until 9 am.  Do you know what that means?  It means that for three whole hours in the morning I get to do WHATEVER I want (plus whatever housework intrudes on my solitude).  It's glorious.  SO what have I been doing with my glut of time?  Crafting, of course!  To be precise, I have made 9 Christmas gifts by hand over the course of about 30 working hours.  And I'm dying to post them; but that's problematic for obvious reasons.  Instead, I'll merely show you this:

My handcrafted wrapping job.  You'll just have to wonder what's inside. (As a side note, I am wrapping EVERYTHING this year.  My mom was and is the anti-wrapping nazi...and I quote, "I refuse the fill the landfills with unnecessary paper garbage."  In principle I agree, but there is still a pretty-packages-deprived child inside of me and this year I'm cutting her loose.  Sorry, mom.)

Oh, and I've also been doing some baking...

Anyway, it's been a lot of fun.  I love getting creative.  And it is amazing what Santa can accomplish if she takes advantage of one very "helpful" elf's sleep habits. 

She's Adopted...?

That's what I tell people.  Because it's true.  But it only really comes up with strangers in the following way, and I never can resist toying with them, just a little bit.  Here's how it goes:

Stranger: Awww!  Cute baby!  How old is she?

Me: She's _____ months. 

Stranger: Oh, my GOSH!  You had a baby ____ months ago?!  I did NOT look like THAT after I had my baby. You look great!  How did you do it?

Me: You want to know my weight loss secret?

Stranger: (Leaning closer, thrilled to have found the secret sure to engender skinniness, fortune, and fame.) Yes!

Me: She's adopted.

Stranger: (Confused, deflated, dreams of easy thinness gone, maybe just a little amused.) Oh. 

Of course those opportunities are rapidly diminishing.  When Eden is a year old, no one will be surprised to see me looking like I've never been pregnant.  So I'll enjoy the joke while it lasts.  Evil of me, right?  Why do I make my little joke at the expense of some nice stranger?  I could just say, "Thank you," and spare the complimentary individual.  For one thing, that just feels even meaner.  Like it's the equivalent of affirming, "Yes, that's because I'm better than you.  In fact, you're worthless. Anyone worth their salt looks like they never had a baby immediately after having a baby." (Guarantee I would not look any less beach-ballesque than the next postpartum lady if ever I was postpartum, pardon the offense.) So I feel pressured to rescue the stranger's self-esteem by explaining Eden's origin.  I guess I also do it out of revenge for making me choose between lying and telling the truth.  Apparently I have some form of mild resentment that a stranger can make me say that Eden is adopted.  I hate labeling her that way.  "Adopted" isn't an appropriate adjective for describing a person; it's the past tense verb for how some babies come to their families.  You know, basically equivalent to the word "conceived," and we don't call people that (Example: Johnny, the conceived kid, is really hyperactive.").   But lest you get the wrong idea, I'm not at all embarrassed about how Eden joined our family.  It isn't that.  I think adoption is a beautiful miracle and I WANT to share our story.  Just not in the checkout line.  I guess it's that people who birth their children never have to explain to a perfect stranger how that happened.  There is no "Cute baby!  Oh, thanks, I conceived her myself.  Let me tell you all about it..." conversation. (And I think we can all be thankful for that!)

Here's the other part...I often completely forget (but for these little reminders when buying milk) that Eden didn't come from the swirling spirals of my DNA.  Her birthmom was so awesome to let us go with her to every doctor's appointment and to be there when Eden was born, that it kind of just feels like WE were pregnant.  And certainly when Eden wakes up in two hours, all smiles and giggles to see me, I won't be thinking anything along the lines of "You sure are cute for an adopted kid!"  Nope.  She's just OURS.  And I love her completely.

What kinds of frustrating questions do strangers ask you about your kids (or about not having kids yet)?  Do you ever play jokes on them in response?

Happy Halloween!!!

Dear Eden,

I want you to know something that you won't remember, but which I will never forget:

There once was a time when my smile (nothing more complicated or expensive than that) brought you pure joy. And me the same of you.

Paradise

Several years ago Sierra and I discovered that the BEST apples and cider are found at Paradise Valley Orchard.  It was an accident the first time, a whim on the side of the road during a fall leaves photo shoot.  Oh how quickly a whim becomes an addiction! 

This year I visited Paradise twice.  The first time (with Sierra, naturally!) we didn't get any photos or cider because the apples weren't ready yet.  The second time happened as an accident while trying to locate a pumpkin patch with friends.  True story. And it was the most gorgeous day!  The sky was grey but not cloudy, the air cool but not cold.  And it just felt like the most wholesome, pure thing to do, snapping apple after apple from their perch.
 

That's what I call quality family time!

 Eden wasn't too sure what was going on, but I think she liked it.  Even if she was dressed like a hobo, since the change in weather caught me a wee bit off guard (after a summer of onsies...sigh).

This is my great friend Stephanie and her adorable son (i.e. the man that Eden will marry one day, whether they like each other or not, but of course they will since she will grow up to be the nicest, prettiest woman around and this little chap will be the handsomest, nicest gentleman around...).

See?  They already have a thing for each other. ;)

And here is our friend Mark with the apple barn where you go to purchase the cider.  Um...cider!

I simply adore fall and this was one sublime day. Thanks again, Sierra, for discovering Paradise with me lo those many years ago!

Four Months!

Eden is on the cusp of being a big, 4-month-old baby.

 
Sometimes we both cry about it.  She's just growing so fast and changing so much every day!

She's as shocked as I am about the way her cankles are now Michelan Man-esque. At all of 10.5 lbs., Eden has more than doubled her homecoming weight and nearly tripled her lightest measurement.  But don't worry...sheis still only 22" long.  She'll never catch Kris in height.

But Eden does follow in Kris's footsteps by adoring his wife.  Morning is Eden's best time of day and she wakes up happy every time, thrilled to find that we still exist.  Her current super-powers include sleeping for eight hours in a row at night, splashing in the bathtub, chatting up a storm, and wiggling her bum in prodigious efforts to roll over. 

We can't get enough of her big blue eyes and infectious grin.  How DID we get so lucky?

First Ride

The Christmas I was five, my mom scrimped together the money she made from substitute teaching and bought me a horse.  He was a scrubby colt coming on two in the spring, all beggar lice and ringworm.  You know, the kind of horse you can get for $200.  I didn't care.  I named him Bug because the star on his forehead made him "cute as a bug" in my eyes.  (Incidentally, this is what comes of allowing a 5-year-old to name a horse.  I often repented of this juvenility during my more mature tween years, wherein I would alternately call him names better suited to the racetrack or romance novels, appellations like "Night's Shadow" and "Chestnut Glory.")

He was my best friend.  During summers, my sister and I spent every day but Sunday (a horse's day of rest too) bridling Bug and Baby (the long suffering bay Sierra inherited from Dad) and then "driving" them from playhouse to playhouse.  Other little kids had Barbie Ferrari's and electric G.I. Joe Jeeps--not us, we had horses and that was far better. 

When I got old enough that college was looming over the horizon, I cooked up all sorts of schemes for taking Bug with me so we wouldn't be parted. They all cost way too much.  So he stayed at the ranch and I went on my academic way.  But one day, I determined, I would have a little girl who would ride Bug too and love him with my same love.

Well, owing to infertility's delays, I don't know that this last dream is realistic:  Eden is so young and Bug so old.  But during the two weeks we just spent in Colorado, I did get to give Eden her first horseback ride.  And it's Bug who had that honor--I'd trust no other horse with such precious cargo as that.  I think she liked his softness on the soles of her feet and the smooth rhythm of his gate.