The first order of the day was coffee, which I'd thankfully remembered to get at the store. I had not, however, remembered to get sugar. I like a little bit of coffee with my cream and sugar, so we improvised, soaking our milk in Cookie Crisp cereal before adding it to our mugs. It was delicious. Don't judge me.

Camille was in the pool by about 5:30 a.m. Granted, her body clock was two hours ahead of Costa Rican time, but it was still awfully early. The sun rises just after 5 a.m. and sets just after 6 p.m. We're told the Ticos (what Costa Ricans call themselves) are usually up before 6 and don't generally stay out late. Camille is a Tica at heart and is fitting in well.

Every day we go down to the beach a few times to walk on the black sand and explore the tidal pools. I love the coastline, with big waves crashing and thundering on the rocks, sending sea spray into the air. High on the beach the sand is powdery and fine. Closer to the water, the sand feels more like soft little pebbles and is dotted with many colors. In our three days here, I've seen a total of 6 people on the beach, one of them on horseback. It feels very private.

The rocks form wonderful tide pools, full of fish and snails and shells and so many hermit crabs. Camille has been collecting the shells, particularly a certain variety with holes in the middle, which she intends to use to make necklaces.

As much as I love the beach, Camille LOVES having a pool. If we are not at the beach or eating, she is in the pool. I check her nightly for gills, certain she will soon grow some. She's been learning to do flips, diving for shells and rings, and practicing with a snorkel in preparation for some future snorkeling trips. 

So far, every afternoon our blue skies turn grey and big thundershowers come roaring through. We sit on the porch or in the house, reading books or writing or painting. Then the evening sky clears again, and if the clouds part soon enough we get a nice sunset over the ocean.

Our second full day here, we braved the roads and headed out to the beachside surf town of Tamarindo. It's about an hour away, and is also home to a large grocery store (we were running low on Cookie Crisp for my coffee). We walked the beach and found a nice restaurant for lunch before stocking up on food to take home.

By now we were wanting to fuel up our SUV, and I used my limited Spanish to ask a local for directions to the nearest gas station. I caught bits of his response - the name of a nearby town, and "to the right of the cemetery." But fearing getting lost again, we just headed back toward the house to ask our property managers for directions to a closer gas station.

Oops. Turns out there is no closer gas station, and we would've been much better off to try to find one while we were in Tamarindo. With a quarter of a tank left, we should have just enough to get back to a major town. But that's it.

There are several small villages around here I'd like to explore, but they'll have to wait. The next time we crank the car, the mission will be to get gasoline in a bigger city, and I don't dare waste gas getting to and from these nearby villages. So we're stuck here until we're ready to make that trip.

Not a bad place to be stuck. Not bad at all.

The next 12 hours were a blur of airplane rides, sitting around in airports, standing in line for customs (where I snapped the picture below), and waiting for our rental car to be ready. But finally, we were handed the keys and let loose in Costa Rica.

After being herded around all day, it was exhilarating to find ourselves free in another country, left to our own devices to explore.

We still had several hours of driving ahead, winding our way across Costa Rica toward the Nicoya Peninsula and the Pacific Coast. The mountains around San Jose loomed tall, majestic and green. It is the start of the rainy season here, and the lush, emerald countryside is a terrific trade-off for the showers.

I'd heard stories about the roads in Costa Rica. Stories about rough conditions, river crossings and more. We'd been warned by the owner of our rental home not to drive at night - it was just too risky. We didn't intend to test her theory, but knew we'd be cutting it close.

For the first couple hours of our drive, the roads were in good shape, having been recently paved. They were all 2-lane however, and driving here is a constant game of chicken - gunning the engine to pass the car in front of you, with cars doing the same thing in the other lane. Lee handled the road well, although with white knuckles at times.

Armed with written directions and a GPS, I felt pretty good about finding the house. The farther we got into the rural Guanacaste region, the more picturesque the area. And the more unforgiving the road. It was still paved, but was a patchwork of filled potholes that made for a bumpy ride. Cows and horses grazed in the valleys between the mountains, and Camille yelled "Vaca!" or "Caballo!" each time she spotted a new herd. 

We had to stop in the small town of Santa Cruz to get a few groceries, because our house is rather remote and we knew we'd need at least a few basics until we had time to go to a larger city for major shopping. After picking up a handful of things (rather random things, in our now overtired, delirious state) we pulled back onto the highway, and tried to ignore the setting of the sun and what that meant for the remainder of our travel.

Soon the sun had disappeared entirely and the rural routes grew very dark. Suddenly, our GPS and our written directions conflicted. Our GPS wanted us to turn down a tiny dirt road, and I wasn't keen on it so we kept going. And going. A few miles farther, our road ended at an intersection with another small dirt road and I knew in an instant that we were lost. This was not part of my written directions. The GPS still wanted us to turn around. We were in the middle of a tiny town, with small groups of locals sitting on their porches, riding bikes up and down the dark dirt streets, eying these wandering, out-of-place tourists.

I began to feel a rising bubble of panic. It didn't help that Camille kept asking questions - questions I was desperate to answer but couldn't. Questions like, "How long until we get there?" Her questions got under our skin as we tried to keep our cool, until we finally blurted out the truth.

"We are lost."

In my head, I added, "In the dark. In a foreign land."

This brought an unexpected burst of tears from the backseat. After a long day of travel, our girl was DONE. She was in a strange country with parents who were acting strangely because they were lost. It was too much for her. For all of us.

We back-tracked toward the tiny dirt road indicated by the GPS. We turned down that road, which was not much of a road, but more like two small ruts for our tires to follow. We crept along this path until our progress was stopped. By a river.

Was this one of those river crossings we'd been told to expect? I couldn't bear the thought of plunging our vehicle into that water in the inky darkness, when I couldn't see how deep it was. When I'd have no idea where to go for help if our car became stuck. Thankfully, Lee agreed, and turned the car around, all under the watchful eye of a cow munching grass by the riverbed.

We went back to the paved road and backtracked some more, hoping we'd spot the turnoff in our written directions that we'd somehow missed before. Gloriously, we saw a sign ahead that matched our notes, and turned. 

This was a dirt road - more of a road then the path to the river, but no easier to traverse. The road was covered in rocks we served to avoid, and rivulets of rain water had carved deep trenches perfect for trapping a tire. We'd already hit a bird on our trip that day, and now sent several frogs to their reward as they hopped back and forth in the beam of our headlights. The sounds of night creatures floated through our open windows, and winged animals would occasionally flit in front of the car (bats, perhaps?). Once, we had to stop completely as an owl landed on the road ahead, seemingly unconcerned by our approach.

It look us an hour to go 15 miles on this dirt road. I spent every minute of that hour gripping the paper with our written directions, tense and wide-eyed, Thankfully, Camille had given in to her exhaustion and was asleep.

We found the turnoff to the property for the house and I felt the beginnings of relief. But then, when faced with several intersecting pathways, we were again unsure of which way to go. We forked left and rambled along this nearly impossible path until we were blocked by a fallen tree. I was out of patience and needed a life preserver, so I turned on my cell phone and made an expensive call to the property manager who lives next door to our rental house. It was money well spent.

Thankfully, she was able to talk us through the roads until finally, I saw the beam of her flashlight up ahead and pulled in to the carport of our rental home. I could have cried with relief.

We carried our sleeping girl into one of the bedrooms and unloaded the car. I could hear the thunder of the surf, but could see nothing of our surroundings. The reveal would have to wait until morning. I slept like the dead.

At 5 a.m., I was awakened to the sound of my girl whispering in my ear, asking if it was time to get up. The sun rises early here, and daylight had already begun to brighten my room. 

I was as curious as she was about what lay outside. We opened the door. And this.

This beach that we have nearly to ourselves - this was worth the drive.

We ran 2 races together during those 2 years, and kept up with each other's training and race schedules even though we live many miles apart. So when Shay asked me to drive 11 hours to Cincinnati and run a marathon relay with her, I found myself saying yes. She's so persuasive, she even convinced Lee to sign up too.

Along with Shay's husband, the 4 of us formed a Brew Drink Run relay team for the Flying Pig Marathon. It's a fantastic race through the city that just so happens to be home to one of our best friends, Trent, and his family. (Trent is also Shay's brother. Have I confused you now?) 

The Flying Pig race series involves several different races, including a 5K which Lee and Trent ran together on Saturday.

Then Sunday, we were up before the sun to get in place for the marathon relay. Lee was runner #3 with a 7.5 mile leg, and he was handing off to me, the final runner with a 6.5 mile leg.

The bad thing about being the fourth runner is the wait. I arrived at the relay exchange point with approximately three hours to sit on the hard asphalt and wonder how my team was doing. And to wish I'd brought some darn water.

Thankfully, I could track Lee (stalker much?) via the Find My Friends app, so once he started moving I was able to gauge his ETA. I was thrilled to see his black hat and navy BDR shirt come running up the hill, relay baton outstretched with a good luck kiss on his lips.

I wasn't worried about the distance of this race, but I was nervous about the hills. I'd heard it had some challenging elevations, so I'd thrown in as many bridge runs as I could to prepare.

But I needn't have worried. While it is a hilly course overall, the good thing about being the fourth runner is that the final section is almost entirely downhill.

Sweet.

The race support was great, with plenty of official volunteers and aid stations, along with un-officials ones like the free gummy bear stand someone put outside their house.

I must confess, I felt a little guilty about my run. I was in the final stretch with marathoners - people who'd already run 20 miles before I joined up with them. I felt a little undeserving of the cheers from the crowd. Undeserving of the gummy bears. They weren't really for me. Not really.

Apparently, some of the marathoners thought so too. I heard some of them grumbling about "those relay people," coming in with fresh legs and messing with their psyche. Thing is, these people were cruising past me, something I was quick to point out.

"Yeah, I'm running a relay," I shouted, "but you've already run 20 miles and you're passing me! I'd say that should make you feel pretty good!"

Guilty or not, it was thrilling to run into the finish line (biggest perk of being relay runner #4). Or rather, the Finish Swine! Chuckle chuckle.

It was a fun weekend, and I was once again thankful for Shay's persuasive powers. Maybe that's why I keep saying yes - the girl has good ideas. 

I'm ready to see what she thinks up next. 

Because Camille's birthday happens during summer break, she was invited to have her birthday circle today.

On the one hand, it's great to have all her monthly letters as a resource, helping us dig up some fun memories from each year of her life. On the other hand - have you seen how many letters there are? And how long some of them are? I don't even want to tell you how much time I spent last night going over the letters, looking for tidbits to mention and favorite photographs. It was a fun task though, and brought back many good memories. 

I thought it might also be fun to share them here - a sort of retrospective of her seven years. What great years they have been. 

Camille Grace Heidel was born on July 19, 2006. This summer she will be seven years old.

In the first year of Camille's life, she saw the Atlantic Ocean for the first time on Tybee Island, and then took her first airplane ride to Oregon where she saw the Pacific Ocean. She loved to eat cheese grits, had her first taste of ice cream, and her first word was "bird."

In the second year of Camille's life, she loved coloring , listening to music and looking at books. We would often put her in her crib along with piles and piles of books, and she would sit and look at each one. She called her elbow her Elmo and called herself Mille. Her favorite place to visit was Oatland Island to see all the animals.

In the third year of Camille's life, she got her first comic book, began helping to cook in the kitchen, and got to play in the snow at her grandparent's house in Tennessee. She did not like to put her head underwater in the pool. She had her first pony ride, and wanted to wear princess crowns everywhere she went.

In the fourth year of Camille's life, she said she wanted to grow up to be a famous ballerina or a cowgirl. She began taking dance classes, got her first haircut and went camping in the north Georgia mountains. She broke her collar bone on a trip to Florida. She traveled to Chicago and visited the Field Museum, where she saw the dinosaur skeleton of the T-Rex Sue, still one of her favorite dinosaurs.

In the fifth year of Camille's life, she traded dance classes for gymnastics. She loved playing with superheroes. She had her picture in the newspaper holding a snake. She went to Disney World and met Rapunzel. Pink and purple were her favorite colors. She did not like French fries, but loved jelly beans.

In the sixth year of Camille's life, she got her first pet, a guinea pig named Piglet, and ran in her first race. She started kindergarten in Ms. Jen's class at Ellis. She liked collecting arrowheads, went to her first UGA football game, and dressed up like a cat for Halloween. She went ice skating and we had a snowball fight.

In the seventh year of Camille's life, her favorite restaurant was the Crab Shack, and she jumped off the diving board for the first time. She began taking horseback riding lessons. She took a train to Washington, DC and toured the White House. She loved playing Star Wars. She rode a camel and went sledding, and this summer will go to Costa Rica right before turning seven years old.

Just see how grown up you look here - stretched out on the beach with the long legs of a not-so-little girl.

I still manage to convince you to wear skirts and tankinis. I blame it on sunscreen - I mean, who has time to put sunscreen on exposed stomachs? But really, it's just my way of trying to keep you covered up for as long as I can, because soon enough I know you'll be asking for a bikini and sneaking on the roof to sunbathe like I used to do (horrors).

But for now, you're blissfully unconcerned with tan lines, and much more keen to jump the waves or go searching for seashells.

These pictures were taken last weekend on Cumberland Island - what a magical place. We went camping with the Gaddy family at a campground in St. Mary's and took a ferry over to Cumberland for a day trip. And oh, we will be back.

The trees on the path to the beach were simply unreal, forming a spiderweb of thick branches and spanish moss overhead. As we trekked toward the ocean, we had to stop to spend some time on the Best Climbing Tree Ever (no research was needed to verify the claim - seriously, there just can't be a better one). The branches swept so low they had literally grown back into the ground, like a natural jungle gym just begging to be explored.

Then, over the sand dunes we went to picnic on the unspoiled beach, to harass conchs in their shells and to karate chop the waves.

We love camping with the Gaddys because they're just darn good folks and we like their company. Added bonus - Ashley is such a talented photographer, and captures images like these. I foresee a longtime friendship with you and Lola, and I think these are pictures you will cherish in years to come. I know I will.

I also created a Facebook page for Cooking With Camille so people would have access to her previous episodes and an easy place to comment on the videos, share them with friends or suggest recipes. You can check that out at www.facebook.com/CookingWithCamille.

Enjoy!

Rewind 2 weeks. As part of Lee's birthday celebration, we headed to Atlanta to see Gaslight Anthem play a show at the Masquerade. One of those dark, dank venues with the pot smoke.  One of those places where you make sure to spot your nearest exit lest the place catch fire. It's not a bad venue at all, but it's a rock club so that's what you get.

I'm actually more at home hearing live music in a place like the Masquerade, although now we're usually skewing the age in the opposite direction. We're not the youngest ones in the crowd, not by far.

I found myself thinking about my age during that Gaslight show. I found myself remembering all those nights in college, spent sweating and swaying in the 40 Watt Club.

I remembered borrowing a friend's ID - not to drink, but because I was only 17 as a freshman, and couldn't get in on my own. I remembered memorizing her license data, even her zodiac sign, in case the bouncer quizzed me. Which he didn't.

I still had to show my ID at the Masquerade 2 weeks ago, but it was a formality and we all knew it. I stood there listening to the band and thinking about how things have changed, when I realized with a warm happiness that some things are unchanged. Many years ago, Lee and I developed a concert stance. I don't even think I'd recognized it until now, but I do believe it has always been this way. 

I stand in front. He stands protectively behind me. I lean back a bit, maybe because my feet are tired from standing. Mostly to be closer to him. He has one hand on my hip, and his fingers are tapping out the beat of the song. It is intimate. It feels natural.

We stood this way then, when I was 17. We stand this way now.

So maybe we're skewing the average age in the club. Maybe I have a hard time staying up so late these days. Maybe I bring earplugs because the music is too loud.

But we're still there. Still enjoying the music. And each other.

How much longer will we want to keep doing this? How many more years will we pay good money to stand up all night, way past our bedtimes in a dark, musty bar to listen to music? 

Who can say. I do remember taking my parents to the 40 Watt Club when I was in college. I wanted them to see my favorite band. Were they suppressing their yawns? Longing for bed? For earplugs? Maybe. But I sure thought they were cool to come along with me.

Maybe I'll go to shows with Camille, if she'll have me. Then I'll really be skewing the average age. But maybe I won't care as long as Lee comes with me, stands behind me and taps out the rhythm on my hip.

Hello sweet girl - my 80-month-old, snaggle-toothed girl. Or perhaps I should say "thnaggle-toothed," because your missing front tooth has given you a little bit of a lisp. It's adorable. 

Oh how you loved to torment me with your loose tooth this last month. You'd already lost two others, but this top tooth was particularly stubborn. You could twist it in all sorts of unnatural ways without dislodging it. Your favorite move was to poke it outside of your lips, all by itself. It was a look that your cousin Jones called, "Grandma Tooth," as if you were an elderly lady with only one tooth. 

May I present: Grandma Tooth.

That tooth finally succumbed to the official Tooth Puller, a saint who works in the Media Center at your school, and who all school children visit when they need assistance with wiggly teeth. God bless her, because loose teeth give me the heebie-jeebies.

Jones had a chance to see - and name - your Grandma Tooth when he and Eli and Auntie Erin came to visit during their winter break. They couldn't take the Boston snow one more minute, so we enjoyed a week of lots of outdoor time in the grass.

Jones even got to accompany you on a riding lesson, where Ms. Linda was sweet enough to invite you to "help" care for the animals. She even let you give Jones a pony ride. You felt like SUCH a big girl. 

Spring is simply glorious in our city, with a sudden explosion of colorful flowers. It's even better because it coincides with the biggest party of the year in these parts - St. Patrick's Day. Boo made you a special St. Patrick's Day dress, and even made one for your doll Addie. Fantastic! And check out that awesome snaggle-toothed smile.

We joined the hundreds of thousands of parade watchers descending on downtown, and were thankful for a comfortable, elevated spot to watch from the front portico of our church.

Now that Boo is a Savannah resident, we absolutely had to bring her to watch her first St. Patrick's Day parade. I do believe you were quite glad for her company.

I realized the other day that we haven't heard too much lately about your "boyfriends." When you were in Pre-K, you had several boyfriends. The first was Billy, but the longest-lasting was Quinn. But in the last 6 months or so, there has been no talk of any significant others.

But that doesn't mean you're not still noticing boys. In fact, you've recently begun identifying certain boys as "cute." Actually, the way you pronounce it, the word has two syllables and is more like, "key-OOT!"

Currently, you have a crush on Obi-Wan Kenobi from Clone Wars.

And Seth Avett of The Avett Brothers.

And James Franco from a picture you saw on a movie poster.

Do you know what all these men have in common? Beards. Wonder why you like that? 

Oh, hello there Daddy-O.

You even made the connection for yourself when you saw James Franco's picture. "Oh, he is key-OOT. He looks like Daddy."

Well you're right. He is cute, and you two are key-OOT together.

Lucky, lucky, lucky. That's what I am to have you two. I love you so much, snaggles. With all my heart.

Leading up to the race, my training runs had been ho-hum. Nothing bad, but nothing spectacular either, and fairly slow. So I went into the race with zero expectations. I didn't even have a plan. I ALWAYS have a plan. As we lined up in front of the starting chute, I still hadn't decided on my strategy. What run/walk interval would I use? What was my time goal? I finally gave up and decided not to set any intervals. I'd wing it. As for a time goal, not a chance this would be a record for me. I was just going to run this for fun. Nothing else.

My running companions had much loftier goals, so when the start horn blasted they were soon out of sight. But as I trotted along, suddenly up ahead of me I spotted a chihuahua. A chihuahua? With a race bib? 

Ok, so that is not a picture of the racing chihuahua. It's a picture of a random chihuahua, but I like the visual impact. For a dog with such short legs, he could boogie. Suddenly, I had a race goal. I was going to beat the chihuahua. I mean, I had to, right? How hard could THAT be? 

So I slowly, very slowly began to gain on him. It probably took me a good 3/4 mile to pass that dog, but I have to say it felt good. I ran along, continuing to wing it. Should I take a quick walk break? Nah. I felt fine. Keep moving. 

Suddenly, my phone app told me I'd finished the first mile in under 10 minutes. You guys, I don't run sub-10-minute miles. I just don't. I tried not to panic. Panic might seem like a strange emotion when you realize you're running well, but I just didn't want to get my hopes up. "Just keep moving. Don't think about it. Beat the chihuahua, that's all you have to do."

I kept moving along, not stopping at the aid stations, not stopping to walk. By the last half-mile, I was beginning to fade when suddenly I heard a jingle. The little jingle jangle of a dog collar. Or was it my imagination? 

Then I heard people in the crowd. "Look!" they shouted. "Look at that cute dog!"

Oh no he didn't catch up to me! I broke into a sprint. I could NOT be humiliated by having that chihuahua pass me in the last quarter mile!

Soon it was my name I heard being yelled from the crowd as Nicole, Lee and Andrew had doubled-back to cheer me on. I flew through the chute - before the dog. VICTORY WAS MINE.

And wouldn't you know it? I had a personal best 5K. For a girl with no plan and no expectations, it was a pretty cool thing. It was only the second race I'd ever run without walking, and I hadn't even meant to do that. It just happened.

Lee, Andrew and Nicole all had personal bests too, so it was a pretty epic night. We celebrated - as we did last year, and as I hope we do every year - with post-race beers and pizza at Huc-A-Poos.

Is it race time yet? I'm ready to do that again.

Hello sweet girl and Happy 79 Months! As I type this, the three of us are on the couch, and you're snuggled up to Daddy watching an episode of "Star Wars: Clone Wars." You are several months deep into a Star Wars obsession, and your Daddy couldn't be more pleased.

You've inhaled the movies, TV shows and books. You're 8 chapters into a fairly complicated Star Wars book, and nearly fainted with joy when I informed you that on Saturday morning you could stay in bed and read as long as you'd like. I nearly fainted with joy at the thought of sleeping in while you sat in bed reading books. It remains to be seen if this will actually happen.

But by far, your favorite Star Wars activity is playing with your Daddy. On a warm day the two of you can usually be found in the backyard with all his old Star Wars toys, re-enacting favorite scenes or making up new ones. He's a kid again when he plays with you, with boundless energy and imagination.

A couple of weeks ago, one of your best pals Nate was in town, and he also happens to be a Star Wars fanatic. I am so thankful that when I saw Jedi costumes on the post-Halloween clearance rack at Target, I grabbed two just in case you had a Jedi buddy someday. Seeing the two of you together was ABSOLUTELY PRICELESS.

Our backyard became a Jedi training academy, and epic light saber battles ensued. There were only minor injuries, and lots of great photo ops.

I've had plenty of occasions this month to ask myself, Nature vs. Nurture? It's something I'm sure you'll hear about in a psychology or science class one day, but the basic question is this: were you born this way? Or did we influence you? Because right now, your two biggest passions just happen to be two of our biggest passions. Star Wars from your father, horses from me. We never tried to push these things on you, but I'd be lying if I said we weren't thrilled.

You've loved being around horses as long as I can remember, and in the last year or so began begging for riding lessons. They're not cheap so we held out, not wanting to invest too much if it would be a passing whim. But as it became increasingly clear this was a lasting desire, we started the hunt for a riding program.

The day of your first lesson, we were both so excited. I adored horses as a child and never grew out of it. I still love them, and the idea of being around them again made me giddy. The thought of watching you ride made me simultaneously afraid and ecstatic.

I figured they'd assign you a small pony, but no - your first lesson was on the beautiful and amiable Cassidy, a full-fledged horse. You looked so small on her back, but you were so fearless (a little too fearless for my taste!). 

I don't ever want to forget the moment when the teacher instructed you to give Cassidy a squeeze and tell her to walk. She meant to squeeze her with your legs, but being the big-hearted novice you are, you leaned down and hugged the horse's neck for a different kind of "squeeze." I melted.

One day, you may decide to move on from horses to something else, and that will be ok. But for now, we are having A BLAST. 

I'll leave you tonight with one more set of pictures - sweet, sweet pictures of you and your favorite man as you both got dressed up and headed out to the annual Daddy Daughter dance at school. You wore your fanciest red and white dress, and he donned a matching red tie. He got a red rose corsage for your wrist, which you called a "croissant."

He says you two danced for a bit until you ditched him for your classmate Laney. That's ok, I don't think he felt too threatened. After all, tonight you told him, "Daddy, on a scale of 1 to 10, I give you 100." I think his place in your heart is pretty secure.

Thanks for another great month, my Jedi equestrienne. My sweet daughter. I love you so much.

You know what else they are? They are a mess. They are little walking tornados leaving great swathes of mess in their wakes. They drive me crazy.

Today I was a classroom helper during Camille's school Valentine's Day party. I momentarily lost my senses and agreed to supervise the finger painting station. We might as well have renamed it a "full body painting" station, because I think there was as much paint on their entire bodies as on their fingers. The table was better decorated than the paper. Paint brushes were discarded on the floor rather than placed back in the paint.

Worst of all. THEY MIXED THE PAINT COLORS IN THE BOWLS.

Horrifying, right? I wanted to cry.

The bathroom, where they were supposed to be washing hands, was a disaster. I should've taken a picture. Instead, close your eyes. Imagine a crime scene in which the bodies have already been removed, but there is sign of struggle. Of great struggle, and ultimately, defeat. Now you know what that bathroom was like. Paint on the sink, the mirror, the toilet. Red and pink paint everywhere.

I always wanted to be one of those moms. You know what I mean - the kind who celebrate messes, and regard them as proof of joy. The kind who don't wince when glitter gets on the floor. Who flippantly dismiss the sticky glue in the hair. The kind who allows - nay, encourages - the mixing of playdough colors.

These things make me hyperventilate. 

The thing is, I don't keep a tidy house. I am far from a neat freak. I live in fear that someone will drop by unannounced and see how messy I actually am.

I can tolerate clutter and dust bunnies and mountains of dirty laundry. If Camille wants to get muddy or sandy outside, then that's fine. But I simply can't handle sticky, sandy or gritty messes in my living space. I don't know where this comes from or why, but there it is. And it is just one reason why I wouldn't last two weeks as an elementary school teacher.

God bless 'em.

My kid did well on her projects though, didn't she? They may be messes, but they're worth it.

At the time, the idea of running with strangers terrified me, mostly because I was self-conscious about myself as a runner. Also, I didn't know too many other people doing run/walk interval training, so I figured I wouldn't easily find a good match.

Then Nicole told me about a national running club called Moms Run This Town, with a chapter in Savannah. It's a free club for moms who want to get together for very informal group runs, and generally support each other. Joining simply requires liking the local group's Facebook page - so easy that I had to give it a try.

The first time I went for a run with them, I was worried about embarrassing myself. But as most runners are, these ladies were welcoming, enthusiastic and made me feel like I belonged. I've now done several runs with them - sometimes with just one other runner, sometimes there are a dozen of us. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we put our headphones in and just run. Some of them run intervals, some don't, but I can usually find someone running my pace. 

This month, the national chapter sponsored a virtual race, meaning that all members could participate by running a 5K, 10K or half-marathon at some point during January. There were even medals!

The Savannah chapter organized a day for us all to run together, so yesterday I lined up for a 10K at the imaginary start line and struck a silly pose with several other women.

I ran with people I'd met before. I ran with new people. The miles flew by. As I came down the street toward the finish, the organizers stretched a streamer across the imaginary finish line for me and for every racer who finished. That was almost certainly the only time in my life when I'll be able to break the tape across a finish line, so I hammed it up and enjoyed it.

And I didn't realize until a bit later that I'd just run my thousandth mile. I'm not a runner with a  high weekly mileage, but I've stuck with it, and have now run the equivalent of a route from Savannah to Boston.

It makes that 10K medal even sweeter. Cheers to the next thousand miles!

Happy 78 Months my sweet girl! This is one of those letters. One of those, "where do I begin and how do I fit it all in?" kind of letters. 

So I'll just start at the beginning. When I last wrote to you, we were in the car headed to Tennessee for a Christmas weekend with Nana, Granddaddy, my brother and his family. And of course we had fun. There were s'mores by the fireplace, foot races on the golf course, and general goofiness with cousins.

And there were zebras. And llamas. And the pouring of food onto a slobbery buffalo tongue.

We loaded everyone up onto a tractor one day at the nearby Briarwood Safari for a ride through the woods and a chance to be bombarded by to meet the creatures who live there. We fed deer and llamas and zebras and ostriches. We fed a "zorse" (part zebra, part horse naturally).

But I think the buffalos were the biggest hit. They're so slobbery that it's recommended you just pour the food onto their tongues. They've learned to approach the tractor with eager purple tongues already hanging out, at the ready.

We also opened presents at Nana and Granddaddy's house. As soon as you ripped the first bit of paper off your gift from them and spotted the red box with the stars on the side, you screamed out "It's an American Girl Doll!" You tore off the rest of the paper and flipped the box around to see the front. "It's Addy Walker! My favorite!"

You'd been talking about Addy Walker for several months, ever since the first American Girl catalog appeared at our house (we didn't ask for one - how did they know?). 

You read and re-read her back story, and then read it to me, and then read it again. Addy Walker is from the historical line of dolls, and in her story she is freed from slavery via the Underground Railroad. 

Slavery is a subject that has interested you since learning about it in school last year. I had not broached the topic, wanting to keep you colorblind as long as possible. But we were at the library last year when you saw a book about Jamaica that had a dark-skinned woman on the cover. 

"Mama, is that Harriet Tubman?" you asked. 

"Nope," I said, and we kept walking. But then I really thought about what you'd just asked me.

"What do you know about Harriet Tubman?" I asked. 

And the story poured out of you. You talked about slavery. You talked about how terrible it was. You talked about how the slaves would try to escape. How they would have to hide. How people would help them as part of the Underground Railroad.

A few days later, you brought home a drawing you'd done in school. The drawing was of your bedroom. There was a rectangle in the middle of the floor. "That's where I would hide slaves if I lived when there was slavery," you explained. "In a room under the floor. We'd have a ladder and a lantern down there."

"What would you do with these slaves?" I asked. 

"I would hide them until I could help them get to the Underground Railroad," you said.

Even though I hadn't been sure you were ready for the story of slavery, I was pleased that once you heard it, you wanted to be on the right side of history.

So I wasn't surprised that you were drawn to Addy Walker. You were so thrilled to receive her, that for a little while you wouldn't even let me touch her. You took her to a nearby room and sat alone with her, looking at her, talking with her. You call her your "little sister," and you have already enjoyed her very much.

You and Addie both had a big Christmas, with matching clothes from Santa Claus and an Addy-sized horse. Your buddy Lola got a doll and horse too, and the two of you have had grand playdates.

Boo provided another big hit of the holiday season - a Wicket backpack. Your love of all things Star Wars continues to bloom, and you can often be seen running around the house with this furry ewok on your back.

After a few days at home, we were on the road again for our annual trip to see Mr. Glen at his home in the mountains of Big Canoe. I cherished the time we spent on the trail to the lower falls, with spitting rain turning to little flakes of snow as we enjoyed going deeper and deeper into the woods.

From Big Canoe, we continued on a path north to see Uncle Trent's family in Cincinnati. We were excited to visit with them, and we were THRILLED that mother nature had also provided several inches of snow for our amusement.

You and I share many things, and an obsession with snow is surely one of them. Neither of us can get enough, and we're both ecstatic at the prospect of playing in snow.

Uncle Trent secured several sleds and helped us scout some excellent hills for our adventures. By the way, in that picture above - that crazy face you're making is your tauntaun face. You spent the day pretending to be a tauntaun on the planet Hoth. We threw snowballs. You and your Daddy made an R2D2 out of snow. And we went sledding - lots. 

I put together a video of our sledding shenanigans, complete with a wipeout reel of course.

Soon it was time for the long trip home and a return to our routine. But I can't complain - we sure managed to pack a lot of fun into a month. And after all, even routine life is pretty great with you to keep things interesting. Your mama loves you so much sweet girl.

Hello sweet girl and happy 77 months! Right now you're in the backseat of the car, playing Scribblenauts on the iPad while we make our way across South Carolina, then North Carolina, and finally into Tennessee. We're headed to Nana and Granddaddy's house for some Christmas fun, and meeting up with Jeff and his family.

We're in the throes of the holiday season, which is always a busy time for us. When I last wrote to you, we were flying to Boston for Thanksgiving. The time with family was precious, and a highlight for me was the afternoon we spent exploring a sculpture garden with your Daddy, Erin and Jones.

The grounds are an incredible way for anyone to encounter art, but especially children. You got up close to the sculptures, you ran circles around them, you climbed under and through them.

There was a man blowing the most fantastic bubbles, so enormous yet light, swirling with rainbows of colors. You and Jones chased the bubbles across the grass, poking them with little fingers and then being showered in liquid as the bubbles burst.

Then the bubble master let you two have a turn blowing the magnificent bubbles. It was a happy sight I won't soon forget.

This month you took your first out-of-town trip without a member of your family - what a big girl thing to do! Best buddy Lola took a birthday trip to the American Girl store in Atlanta and invited you and another friend to come along.

You'd be gone for two nights, and as we packed your bag and prepared to send you on your way, I wondered if you'd be nervous or homesick. But when the moment of departure arrived, you were nothing but giddy. I gave you a hug and told you good-bye, to which you replied, "Ok! Good-bye whatever your name is!"

Clearly, you were not worried about missing me, your nameless mother.

And according to Mrs. Ashley, you had the time of your life.  You girls went back and forth between the hotel pool and hot tub, and even ordered room service both nights (pizza of course). The hotel had a special American Girl package, and your room was decorated completely in pink, with matching pink terry bathrobes for you and your dolls, pink beds for the dolls, a pink bean bag chair - Ashley says you girls nearly fell over with joy upon entering the pink room. There was much happy screaming. Ashley did an excellent job of documenting your adventures, both in her blog and in these photos she took.

Another highlight of the past month was the Festival of Lights on Hutchinson Island in Savannah. After winding through a beautiful display of roadside Christmas lights, the road terminates at a festival with all sorts of animals. You and buddy Lilly got to ride atop a camel before we headed over to the petting zoo where you split your time between feeding the animals, and wrapping yourself around the mini pony, declaring you needed one of your own. (I agree).

Then we capped off the event by making smores at one of the fire rings while a machine blew fake snow at us. Hey, in Savannah that's all the snow we're going to get, so we'll take it!

Festive though it was, there was a cloud hanging over the activity for me. I've felt that cloud over all our holiday activities since last Friday. Over everything, actually.

You don't know anything about what happened last Friday. One day I'm sure you'll hear about it - maybe tomorrow, maybe in 10 years. Last Friday, a very sad, very sick man killed 20 children in an elementary school, and several of their teachers. Twenty children in first grade. Twenty children very much like you.

School violence is always horrible, always devastating, but this hurt me in a new way. As one writer eloquently explained, there is just something special about a 6-year-old. In many ways you still have the dependence and innocence of a much younger child, but you are old enough and aware enough to be so engaged in the world around you. So alive. So curious. So full of promise. The kind of person who enthusiastically decorates a Christmas tree in a leotard and one sock, because she can. Because it's fun.

This week, as I do every week, I've snuck into your room after you're asleep to watch the comforting rise and fall of your chest.  But this week, my thoughts have been troubled. I don't understand how someone could look at a child, a child like you, and pull a trigger. You are a happy, healthy child, one with a bright future. And as your mother, your future has become my future. To imagine a future without you is to imagine a cold darkness. A place I cannot go, not even in my head.

I have to remember that the man who did this was just one man. And despite the horror, the story is full of heroes. Of good guys. When and if we talk about this, that is what I will try to help you see. That is what I need to see too. People are overwhelmingly good.

But for now, don't be surprised if I ask for more hugs. If I hold you a little closer, a little longer. I am always thankful for you, but perhaps this month even more grateful for each day we have with one another. I love you so much.