Gummibunny

Forget that it's January. Forget that it's winter. It was 75 degrees and sunny today, so we took out a boat.

Lee and Camille wanted to try out their new fishing poles. We had a good time, but we also discovered that we don't know much about fishing. My dad took me fishing as a child and Lee's been fishing several times, but neither of us ever learned much about the tackle or technique. But I'm looking forward to learning.

No fish were caught, but I was just happy to be on the water, the sun on my face, the sound of the pelicans diving for all those fish we weren't catching. No complaints here.

Hello sweet bear and Happy 66 Months! I am feeling like this particular post should be renamed, as it might be more appropriate to call it Book to Camille. We've made some wonderful memories in this last month, and it's overwhelming to think about condensing them all into a single letter. That's why I'm going to split this into two instead.

Where to begin? First up - I've been making a list of some of the bits of wisdom you've shared with us over the past month. Like when we were at Mr. Glen's home in the mountains of Big Canoe and talking about the wildlife. Somehow we got on the subject of carnivores, and I was expressing sympathy for the prey. I keep waiting for you to feel sorry for the animals we eat (I often do), but you are so pragmatic about it.

You summed it up in one simple phrase. "Well," you said, "you gotta eat, you gotta kill." Where do you get this stuff?

I also laughed when, for what must have seemed like the millionth time to you, I used the phrase, "Just a minute!" when I needed your patience. You sighed, and to no one in particular you announced, "Sometimes 'just a minute' is actually a really long time." So true.

Another day we were in the car listening to a kids' radio show and the DJ was talking about his birthday. He said adult birthdays aren't as exciting as kid birthdays. To which you replied, "He just doesn't want to be one year closer to being dead."

Ouch. But true.

When I became an adult, I also thought that Christmas as an adult would never quite compare to Christmas as a child. But that was because I had not imagined how great it would be to celebrate Christmas with my own child. To be the person behind the scenes helping create the magic. Watching that magic unfold for you.

This year, Christmas Eve was balmy and bright, so we baked our Santa cookies and then sat at a table in our backyard to decorate. As usual, your cookies were 1/2 icing, 1/4 sprinkles and 1/4 actual sugar cookie - just how you like them.

That evening, we attended the Christmas Eve program at church - a beautiful service of candlelight and my favorite of the year. Your patience through the lengthy service was rewarded at the end, when you were entrusted with your own lit candle to carry out onto the church steps. The entire congregation gathered there, each person with his own candle, and we sang carols.

And this year, you really knew your carols. Earlier in the month we went caroling at the nursing homes of some of our church members. We got a booklet of songs for reference, and a few people were given hand chimes to play.

Last year, unable to read and not knowing the songs, you amused me by singing "Frosty the Snowman" as the rest of us sang carols. But this year, you and I had practiced some of the carols in advance and you could also read some of the songs.

And then - THEN - you were handed a chime.

You were suddenly so focused. You studied the booklet with a fierce intensity, trying to read the words and the cues for your chime. Our heads were bowed close together so I could help you read, which was dangerous because you played that chime with such vigor that you often hit me with it. But I couldn't be annoyed. You were just so committed.

Your clear favorite was "Hark, The Herald Angels Sing." So you were delighted when, on Christmas Eve, as we all stood on the steps of the church facing Chippewa Square, the congregation began to sing this song. And you sang too, sang as loudly as you could. I wanted to sing, but I couldn't because my throat grew tight as I watched you and as I tried not to cry. The candlelight flickering on your glowing face. Your voice ringing out so strong and clear. Part of me wanted to scramble for my phone, to get a video of this moment so that I could replay it. Instead I just tried to drink it in so I'd never forget how you sang that night. Your Daddy did manage to get one picture, and I treasure it.

After the service we had our traditional Christmas Eve dinner with oyster stew lovingly prepared by Boo, and soon it was time to chase you into bed so Santa could arrive.

Oh man, Santa had been stressing me out. I swore when I became a parent that I'd always try to be truthful with you, which has made Santa Claus a difficult story to tell. That's probably why we don't spend a lot of time talking about him. In fact, when you bring him up I start to get all nervous. What will I do when you ask me if he's real? I would want to tell you the truth, but age 5 seems too early to unravel that mystery.

This year I got lucky. Once, when we were going to see Santa at a party, you asked, "Will this be the real Santa or someone dressed up like him?" To which I replied, "Good question!" and then promptly distracted you.

Some time later, in the car, you made this announcement. "Some of my friends at school say Santa isn't real." I reached for your father's hand for moral support, and then you went on. "But I think Santa is real."

There was a pause during which I hoped and hoped you wouldn't ask for my opinion. And thankfully, you didn't.

I don't remember any details about the conversation I had with my parents when I was a child - when I learned the truth about Santa. But I do remember feeling like I had been let in on a big-kid secret. Instead of a disappointment, the knowledge felt like a privilege. I was old enough to know the game. I hope you will see it this way too, whenever that time comes.

This year, on the one hand your Christmas list was short. It's nice that you're not yet at an age where you've set your hopes on some expensive new "it" toy or gadget. But on the other hand, your main request was unusual. You wanted a stuffed pink narwhal with a shiny golden horn.

Of course, you don't know that Santa shops at Target and Target doesn't sell stuffed narwhals. You think his elves can make anything. Thank heavens for Etsy, the website for people making and selling handmade gifts. And thank heavens for the lady who makes stuffed narwhals to order.

You also wanted a unicorn pillow pet, but that completed your list. Santa picked up a few other small things too, and we had fun setting it all out in front of the fireplace next to the sugar cookie and egg nog you'd left for St. Nick.

Christmas morning, you were delighted with all your treasures. One of the biggest hits was your new batgirl costume, and I just love that you're wearing it in all of our Christmas morning pictures.

Here you are with your super narwhal, also in a cape.

Then you took two boxes and made a bat cycle with a narwhal sidecar.

Then you headed outside with your new fishing pole for some batgirl fishing lessons, after which you had stick fights with everything from your Daddy to the Evil Holly Tree.

Then we took a stroll down the street to check out a neighborhood church's nativity scene. I giggled while taking pictures of Batgirl riding a camel to Bethlehem, and then taking her narwhal to see the baby in the manger.

The day was full of moments like these. Wonderful moments. But our adventures for the month weren't nearly over, because one of your gifts was a trip to Disney World. And that, my love, I'll tell you all about in Letter (Book) to Camille: 66 Months, Part 2!

For now, sweet dreams to the best superhero of a daughter I could ever hope to have. I love you so very much.

It has been 10 months since my friend (now running partner) planted the idea of a half-marathon in my head. The preposterous, laughable idea.

Her primary goal was for us to run a marathon relay at Disney (split evenly into 2 half-marathons), and now we're just three days away from our attempt.

I don't feel nearly as focused on this race as I did the Rock n Roll half, and that's probably because I've had so many other distractions with the holidays and such. And also, I can now say I've done this distance before, so it's not as daunting. But it's still a long way to run and in unfamiliar territory, so those pre-race jitters are sure to begin sneaking in shortly. I'll just have to turn them into energy.

Lee and I are so looking forward to taking Camille with us this time. We've signed her up for a kids race Friday morning, and part of our Christmas gift to her was some running clothes to wear on race day. Last week we did some training at Daffin Park and she definitely looked the part!

Ok - one last run and then it's time to pack! (I will not forget my running shoes... I will not forget my running shoes...)

In today's political climate I hesitate to use Tea Party as a title for my post, but thankfully today's treat had nothing to do with the Iowa Caucuses and everything to do with getting all dolled up and drinking tea out of fancy china.

Our Christmas break is coming to an end and Camille is back in school tomorrow, much to her chagrin. But we definitely made the most of our final vacation day of the season.

Camille put on her fanciest dress (navy tulle adorned with silver glitter) and we met up with girlfriends at the Savannah Tea Room.

There were candles and flowers at the table, beautiful tea cups at every seat, and three excited girls trying not to talk too loudly while discussing who had put on lipstick and how they could get their hands on some more.

The tea we ordered for them was already sweetened, but they couldn't resist the rock sugar at the table and added copious amounts to each cup.

Camille enjoyed her lunch, but the biggest hit was the edible flower. It looked like an orchid to me, but the waiter said they were edible so she ate two of them. She won't eat a french fry, but an orchid? Give her seconds, please!

We said good-bye to our lunch dates and then I made good on a promise to take Camille ice skating in Savannah. I left my phone (aka camera) in the car because I didn't want to risk dropping it on the ice, but I do wish I'd been able to get some video of her skating today. In stark contrast to our last skating adventure, she spent very little time splayed out on the ice and most of the time really skating. We held hands as she zipped around the rink, and every now and then she'd say, "I'm going to skate by myself! Don't hold my hand!" And I was simultaneously proud, a little sad and terrified that she'd hit her head on the ice without me there to catch her. But we all survived, and I'm excited to take her skating again next year.

A pretty great day!

2011 was great. Really great. And I think it was fitting to cap off the year enjoying this great place where we live and the great friends who share it with us.

New Years Eve arrived with brilliant blue skies and warm weather, so we met up with the Gaddys to explore the McQueen's Island Trail. We had a chance to meet their sweet new pooch, Pepper, and let the kids and the dog wear themselves out on the trail while we enjoyed the setting sun and the breeze off the water.

And who knew palm fronds could be so fun?

Then we took the party to one of our favorite restaurants, The Crab Shack, where we enjoyed low country boil around the fire pits.

And we had these guys for company at the restaurant's dock. Oh Tybee, you are so weird.

And wonderful.

Here's to 2011! And welcome 2012!

Happy 65 months big girl! As I type this, you are snuggled up on the couch with cousins Stella and Jane at Nana and Granddaddy's house, watching The Polar Express - a great holiday movie with great buddies at the end of what has been a great month full of cousins.

We kicked things off at Thanksgiving when Jones, Eli and the fam came to Boo's house. You and Jones were inseparable, enjoying walks to the playground, wheelbarrow rides and lots of monkeying around in trees.

One afternoon, we loaded up all you kids to go ride a tractor with family friends Tim and Pam. Not far outside of town, we turned down a dirt road flanked on either side by cotton fields, and I immediately felt like I was seeing an old friend. The bolls were bursting with the soft white cotton and dust from the red clay road swirled in the late afternoon sunlight. I was not expecting the nostalgia, or the pangs of grief I felt for my Grandmother and Poppo. Or the surge of thankfulness as I remembered the great times we spent on their farm. The dirt roads. The wide open spaces. The freedom to play. I was suddenly so happy to be on a farm with you, to give you just a taste of that life.

The tractor was a big hit, and you sat at the wheel with Tim's careful guidance and drove around the farm. You had foot races with Jones, and then convinced Boo to race too.

You explored the cotton fields, picking bits of soft tuft to poke in your pocket, but only after asking each stalk, "Could you spare a little?" (I don't know where you come up with these things!). My heart felt very full.

Then it was back on the road to spend the rest of our week-long Thanksgiving break in Tennessee. For some time you've been asking us to take you ice skating, and there is a rink not too far from Nana and Granddaddy's house. Your only other experience with ice skates had been "skating" on a hard plastic, synthetic ice sheet in the middle of Broughton Street as part of Savannah's Holly Days festival. That had worked well for me, because I could keep on my tennis shoes and basically pull you around the plastic on your skates.

But this time, the ice was real so that meant I had to lace up too. I've only skated on ice one other time, and what I remember most was falling. A lot. So I was a little nervous about being responsible for not only staying on my own feet, but helping you stay on yours as well.

You were ecstatic as we put on our skates and you eagerly approached the wall surrounding the ice to have a good look around. The zamboni was out smoothing the ice so we had to be patient.

As you surveyed the area, with wide eyes and a huge smile, you announced, "Mama, this is a dream come true!"

And I tried to stop and absorb the moment, knowing there would come a day when it would take more than a $9 skate rental and an hour of my time to make your dreams come true. I reveled in how happy you are at this age. How happy I am to be your mama.

Once on the ice, I think you were surprised how hard it was to stay vertical. There was a lot of this.

And a bit of this.

But some of this too.

In all, no one was injured and you seemed to have a good time. You're already asking when we can go skating again.

Once back home, the holiday season celebrations ramped up with school parties, parties with friends, parties at church, and - one of our favorites - the neighborhood Christmas party. Santa arrives in one of our neighborhood parks, and it's wonderful to have the great one-on-one time with St. Nick without enduring the lines at the mall.

After sharing your wish list with Santa, we boarded a trolley for a ride around the neighborhood and a Christmas Carol Sing-Along. You and Lola, without any advance planning, both showed up sporting Rudolph accessories and had a grand time together.

Your school Christmas break began Friday, and we were back on the road to Tennessee where Stella and Jane were waiting after traveling all the way from Oklahoma. I couldn't believe how well you and Stella played and how much you enjoyed each others' company. Three days and zero fights. And lots of fun.

Today our whirlwind tour will continue with a much-anticipated visit with Mr. Glen at his mountain home in Big Canoe. The mutual adoration between you and Mr. Glen is always a joy to witness, and I know we'll have fun playing on the hiking trails and looking for wildlife in the beautiful setting.

We seem to pack an awful lot into our days, don't we? But we sure do have fun.

I love you so much sweet bear.

The Talmadge Bridge is a Savannah icon, and when we travel, I love returning via Hwy 17 so we can go over the bridge. We're welcomed home with gorgeous views of Riverstreet, giving way to the steeples of churches in downtown Savannah, giving way to the lush, green tops of the live oak trees in nearby neighborhoods.

I always wish I could stop the car at the top and enjoy the view, but signs are posted everywhere forbidding it.

But last weekend, I finally had a chance to soak it all in, even though I had to work hard for that vista.

Every year Savannah hosts a Bridge Run. It's a 5K, 10K or 15K race that takes you across the Talmadge Bridge (once, twice or thrice!). For a city with no hills, it's a real challenge, but the view from the top is a real treat.

I signed up for the 10K and told myself that pace did not matter. I just wanted to make it to the top of the bridge and have a good look around.

The grade was steep and if I'd been serious about it, the race would've been difficult. But I walked when I wanted to, ran when I wanted to, and stopped at the top. I took my phone out of my arm band several times to try to get some good pictures. Here's one on the way up.

I never got a great pic from the top - the city was far enough away to look hazy from my phone camera.

But in person, it was stunning. Oh, and I have this dorky pic from the race photographers. Me and Mr. White Hair behind me - we are just so happy to finally be heading downhill after our second trip up the bridge! And yes, I'm only slightly faster than him. Don't judge.

It seems every year I pledge that this will be the year with no Christmas tree drama. Lee would like a drama-free artificial, pre-lit tree, but I just love a fresh tree. In an effort to bolster my case, these past several years I've been determined to make things easy. To visit only one lot, to be decisive, to not choose the tallest tree imaginable.

However, the last couple of years we haven't been too pleased with our trees, despite my best efforts. So when Camille's gymnastics coach was handing out brochures about the gym's Christmas tree fundraiser, I paid attention. You pre-pay for a tree, and the day before it's to be delivered, they cut it fresh from a farm.

And did I mention they deliver it straight to your front door? I don't think it gets any easier.

I was a little hesitant to buy a tree without seeing it, but it couldn't be worse than last year's scrawny tree from the charity lot, right? So I ordered a 5-6 foot tree, knowing that Lee is 6 feet tall and thinking that sounded about right.

And then came Friday - delivery day.

The tree is beautiful. It's fresh and fragrant. It's green and full.

And Camille was able to put the star on top all by herself without a ladder or a lift.

That is one short tree. Maybe - MAYBE - five feet tall if you measure to the tippy-top of the top sprig.

Sigh.

When I saw it I wanted to throw myself on the floor in toddler-tantrum-style, but that wouldn't be drama-free, would it?

Hey, at least it's not going to fall over this year because it's too tall for the tree stand, right? It's so small it's comical. We call it our Oompa Loompa tree. Santa's elves are sure to love it.

Running for almost three hours gives you lots of time to think. Three weeks ago, during my half-marathon, I spent some of that time thinking about ... well ... running. Thinking about how much I used to dislike running, and thinking about why that was and how that changed.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a great athlete and never have been. Growing up, I enjoyed sports because I enjoyed being physically active and I especially enjoyed the social aspect of group sports. But competitively, I was always the weak link on the team.

I played church softball where they put me in right field because they knew I didn't like to catch. If a ball was hit my way, I was more likely to duck and run than open my glove. In middle school, the tennis team coach needed one more person to fill out her team roster and asked me to join. I did, and that entire season I scored ONCE. Not won once, scored once. And that one score came when the other player double-faulted.

The thing is, I still enjoyed playing softball and tennis, but at some point with each sport I would get tired of feeling like the weakest player and move on to other pursuits.

Running was nowhere on my radar. I've never been fast on my feet and had zero endurance, so I counted myself out. But as I have now come to learn, you only have to be really good at running if you expect to win. However, if all you want to do is run a race, and if you're willing to put in some training time, you can be a runner. You can compete. You can be slow, and you can still be awesome.

Once I picked a reasonable training plan, running became pretty simple for me. There was no racket to swing, no ball to hit (or more likely, miss) - there were just my feet and the pavement. As long as I stuck to my training plan, I just had to put one foot in front of the other and will myself forward.

And for someone who likes the social aspect of sports, running is a perfect fit. Runners are generally a supportive, positive group. Because most of us are competing with ourselves to attain a certain goal (distance, pace, etc.) and not competing with or against each other, there are no adversaries. And best of all, there are no weak links.

When I ran the half-marathon, I felt like I was part of one giant team of 23,000 runners. Except for the elite few who actually expected to win, the majority of runners were just happy to be there and hoping for a good race. They didn't care if I was fast. I wasn't going to let anyone down if I wasn't good enough. We just had to put one foot in front of the other and will ourselves forward. And for that, we cheered each other on.

I think I finally found my sport.

This Thanksgiving we had a rare treat - an entire week off from school! We took advantage of the extra time and hit the road.

Up first, Fitzgerald where Erin and her family were visiting. Eli changes and grows so much each time we see him, but he still loves to flash that heart-melting smile.

And as always, Camille thoroughly enjoyed horsing around with cousin Jones.

Then we moved the party north to Tennessee, where we got to spend several days, including Thanksgiving itself, with my parents. Camille had her first real experience ice skating and her first camel ride (not at the same time, thankfully). Always an adventure.

Now that Turkey Day is behind us, I'm ready to dive into Christmas. The tree goes up this weekend - let's hope it's less traumatic than last time, when this happened.

And this.

No trees tipping over this year, mkay?