Finally on Monday we decided to venture out for gasoline, this time driving in the opposite direction to the seaside town of Nosara, which only recently got its first gas station. We were eager to give them some business.
With a full tank of gas, we made our way to nearby Playa Pelada, a beach so picturesque it took my breath away. Cliffs encircled the beach in a crescent shape, and the sand was white and coarse with beautiful broken shells from the waves that pounded the shore. Perhaps most charming was the addition of small wooden boats, with hulls painted a brilliant aqua color that matched the bright tops of the thundering waves.
One of the rock outcroppings formed what’s called a blowhole, sending water shooting up into the sky with each incoming wave. Camille and I sat next to the blowhole, screaming and carrying on each time the water blasted in our direction. It was great fun.
After the beach, we had lunch at the nearby restaurant Marlin Bills. Nosara has a big ex-pat community, and our waitress and the owner were American. As we waited for our food another couple sat down near us, also American. The gentleman wore a “Volcano Brewing” t-shirt, which is one of only 2 craft brewing companies in the country. Of course Lee had to strike up a conversation.
Turns out Joe and Helena are from Boston, but moved to Nosara 8 years ago. They live up on a mountain, where he’s built an honest-to-goodness English pub. The pub doesn’t keep regular hours, but opens for parties and special occasions. And if you call and ask to come up, that’s special occasion enough.
So Wednesday we found ourselves in the mountains outside Nosara, putting the car in 4-wheel-drive as we climbed the gravel road up to the pub where we’d be the only guests. The road was steep and it was raining and I’m not sure I was breathing the whole drive up. But once we reached the Black Sheep Pub and I began to breathe normally again, I realized we were in for a treat.
Joe has taken such great care to build a beautiful pub, complete with imported, antique pub tables from Boston and ambiance oozing from every surface. The bar was dark and warm and cozy, and he had local craft beer on tap. Lee was in heaven.
As much as I liked the bar, my favorite spot was the Beer Garden. The outdoor covered area boasted a beautiful view over the mountains which were swirling with clouds and mist from the afternoon shower. The Black Sheep Pub felt like a very refined bit of comfort in the midst of a beautiful and wild land. These people felt that way too.
Joe and Helena couldn’t have been nicer, and we hung out for several hours hearing stories about their lives in Nosara and sharing tales of our own. They were charmed by Camille, even letting her behind the bar to work the (decorative-only) taps.
It was a rich experience, one of those great moments that won’t be listed in a travel book and can’t be arranged by a tour guide. It just happens, and you say thanks when it does. And cheers.
What do you say to a runaway horse in a foreign country? I tried it all. “Whoa.” “Despacio.” “Alto.” I pulled back on the reins.
When all those failed, I held on for dear life.
A horseback ride was one of the excursions we’d considered for our trip here in Costa Rica. As much as Camille loves horses, it seemed a great way to see a bit of the countryside. But all of Camille’s riding experience has been in the confined and controlled environment of the riding ring. Even THAT makes this mama nervous sometimes, so I wasn’t sure about taking her on a trail ride here.
But I talked with our property manager and she assured us that Fernando, one of the locals, has great horses and leads a beautiful trail ride through the local rivers and mountains. To sweeten the deal, our property manager had a helmet that would fit Camille’s head (helmets aren’t typical on rides around here).
So this morning we found ourselves meeting Fernando to mount up and head for the hills. Fernando speaks no English, but we made our introductions just fine with my bit of Spanish. I explained that I wanted a slow horse for Camille.
“And you have some riding experience?” he asked me.
“Some,” I said. And then he assigned us to our mounts.
My horse wanted to be the leader, and she headed off at a quick walk. When I don’t know where I’m going I’d rather follow the guide, but he was close behind and my horse seemed pretty sure of the path, so I told myself to relax.
Pretty quickly we found ourselves at the edge of a river.
“Across?” I asked. He nodded. And into the muddy waters we went, with me feeling giddy about the new experience and the adventure. Camille chatted as we rode and I could hear the giddiness in her voice too – she was having a blast.
We headed up the mountain following a washed out gravel road, crossing several more rivers, listening to the howler monkeys in the trees and occasionally spotting a few. The air was humid but cooler up there, with a nice breeze making for a very pleasant morning ride.
As we got higher up in the mountains, my horse began to quicken her pace. More alarming to me was the fact that the guide’s horse was also going faster, and soon we were all at a trot. Camille, who didn’t even have the security of stirrups because her legs couldn’t reach, only occasionally trots in her lessons. I hadn’t really expected this, since most trail rides in the US don’t even allow trotting.
So then imagine my fear when Camille’s horse began to canter. Thankfully, the guide rode quickly to her and strapped a lead rope between her horse and his, and I relaxed a bit. But not for long.
Even though she was joined to the guide, we continued trotting, and I could tell my horse was eager for more. I kept pulling at the reins, asking her to go slower, but each time I did she’d angrily toss her head and grow more tense. I could feel her energy building underneath me and I worried that if I kept pulling at her, she’d get mad and either buck or run.
Turns out, she’d run.
At first it was a canter and I still tried to slow her down, but then she lowered her head, reached out her neck and started to gallop. Her hooves pounded on the gravel path as we flew up the mountain. My thoughts were a jumbled mess of:
“Wow. I am galloping up a mountain in Costa Rica. I am actually riding this gallop quite well! Heels down, seat light … My old equestrian team coach would be proud!”
“My old equestrian team coach would not be proud because I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE GALLOPING. How can I get her to stop? Why am I in front anyway? Are we even going the right way? Am I going to be lost in the mountains on a runaway horse? Should I drop my stirrups and bail?”
“I AM NOT WEARING A HELMET. I think I should just hang on.”
“I’m glad I bought that travel health insurance.”
But most of all, my thoughts were on Camille. What on earth had we gotten ourselves into? Was her horse galloping too? Could she hang on? Was she never ever ever going to get on a horse again (would I)? I was worried about Lee too, but his horse had been pokey and slow so I didn’t think he was likely to be in much trouble. But my little girl, was she on a runaway horse too?
My horse was working herself into quite a lather, breathing hard as she roared up the hill. Finally as we crested the top, she slowed and then stopped. And before she could catch her breath for the next sprint, I dismounted and could’ve kissed the ground. I turned and watched the road we’d just run up, looking for signs of my family.
Finally around a bend I could see Camille and the guide trotting up the mountain with Lee not far behind. I was flooded with relief. Camille was grinning hugely.
Apparently my horse had stopped because this was a point in the ride when we all dismount and take a break. The area offered an incredible vista, with mountains in one direction and an expansive view of the sea in the other.
We could even see some of the buildings around our rental house far in the distance. I looked at those buildings and I ached to be back there. As much as I had enjoyed the first part of our ride, I had not enjoyed the experience of being on a runaway horse. And worst of all, wondering if my child was safe. I didn’t want to get back on. I didn’t want to ride off this mountain.
I tried to talk to the guide about my horse, explaining that she wanted to run and wouldn’t stop. He told me to pull back on the reins, and I said she seemed very nervous.
He laughed dismissively. “Caballo loco!”
Thanks, I thought. The crazy horse.
I told him for Camille’s sake I really wanted to go slower. On the way down the mountain we still trotted a few times, but my horse seemed less eager to run, havin
g apparently gotten that out of her system. Before long I could see the village ahead and knew we would be ok. Relief.
g apparently gotten that out of her system. Before long I could see the village ahead and knew we would be ok. Relief.
And what did Camille think of the ride? She said it was her favorite experience here so far. And she says the best part was when her horse “went out-of-control fast.” The only time she felt nervous was when her horse walked too close to a thorn bush.
A thorn bush?
Where does she get this from? My brave cowgirl. I’m just so glad we all lived to ride another day.
My sweet girl. My Costa Rican pipa. What adventures we have had this month, and are still having!!
First of all, this was the month all your Jedi dreams came true.
Disney World’s Hollywood Studios hosts a series of Star Wars weekends each spring and we just knew we had to go. Who knows how much longer you’ll be a Star Wars fanatic? But you are right now, so we were thrilled to be able to feed that fantasy.
You’d been wanting to cut your hair short, but held off because the length was necessary for perfect Princess Leia buns. And oh my word, did you look adorable, dressed in your Jedi outfit, light saber in hand, buns in place.
The park was full of costumed characters – some stationed in specific points so you could wait in line for photographs and a chance to meet them. Others roamed the park, like Storm Troopers and Clone Troopers, Greedo and the like. They were all in character, and for a girl who loves to play dress up and play pretend, it was a dream come true. They all interacted with you as if you were a real Jedi, and you loved every minute of it.
We had hoped and hoped that you’d be able to make it into the Jedi Training Academy, which is filled on a first-come-first-served basis. We knew there would be extra kids clamoring for a spot and that it might not happen. But happily, you did, and after a quick light saber lesson with some of the Jedi trainers, you volunteered to be the first kid to take on Darth Maul. You were so fun to watch.
Your favorite character is Ahsoka, and you were able to spend some time with her as well as several other favorites from The Clone Wars animated series. Anakin even gave you a one-on-one light saber lesson. The whole day was pretty magical.
Once back home, you were ready to lose the long hair – something that made me nervous because it was such a big change. However, you were nothing but excited sitting in that salon chair, ready to reinvent your look. And of course, you are just as adorable with a shoulder-length cut as you were with long locks, and you love having fewer tangles.
Another big moment this month was your graduation from being a first grader to a second grader. Fewer things of greater importance happen from the viewpoint of a child than moving from one grade to the next. When you’re young, all you want to do is be just a little bit older. That’ll change in good time, but for now, you are ecstatic that next year you’ll be moving upstairs with the older kids. You celebrated the last day of school by continuing our tradition of froyo with buddies.
To make the day even better, the Leonard family arrived, meaning a weekend full of sleepovers with four of your favorite kids. We spent that whole weekend in swimsuits between Wassaw and Tybee Island. It was the perfect way to start summer break.
Just a few days later, we were up before the sun to begin our month-long adventure in Costa Rica. Pipa is the name we’ve given you while we’re here – and we like it so much that it may stick.
We’ve been discovering new beaches, exploring tiny villages and enduring the craziest roads I’ve ever traversed. Our car lurches and bounces and dips in stomach-twisting ways; yet somehow, you often sleep in the backseat as we rumble down the rural route. I think you’re just exhausted from swimming – constantly swimming – in the pool or jumping waves at the beach. Searching for sea glass. Taking walks to look for monkeys in the trees.
You are such a trooper. You’ve always been a good traveler, but this sort of trip can test anyone’s limits. We’ve gotten lost. In the dark. We have to travel pretty far to get food or gas. We are muddling through sometimes – showing up for tours at places that are closed for vacation. Coming up with a plan B and then a plan C. Learning to be flexible.
Through all of this, I love that you’re becoming a citizen of the larger world, seeing things that are unfamiliar and stepping out of your comfort zone so soon.
I wonder what this is really like for you. The first time I traveled out of the country I was already in college. I remember very well the feeling of arriving in the city of Sevilla, Spain. Of the unfamiliarity of it all. The shock of being unable to speak the language or even read the signs. Disliking the food. And that was Europe for goodness sake – really not all that different from home.
But when you’re six, do you have that same feeling of unfamiliarity? Do you even notice the dirt-floor houses with corrugated tin sides? The open-air, one-room school houses? The slower pace of life? Or are you quicker to adapt, having had fewer years to form your own perceptions of the world?
I hope you’re loving this experience as much as I think you are. Your Daddy and I want this to be good for you, because we hope you will love travel as much as we do. We want you to grow up to be someone who is aware of life outside her hometown and her circle of friends. Who is not afraid to try something new. Who knows what it feels like to be the outsider, and therefore has empathy for other outsiders when they show up on her own turf. We want you to be an explorer, someone who appreciates that the world is enormous and will always have something new for us to discover if we’ll keep looking.
We’ve been here a week already. You’ve picked up on so many Spanish words. You’ve plowed through several books. You’ve walked on black sand beaches and white sand beaches and snorkeled in tide pools. You’ve learned to do flips and handstands in the swimming pool. You’ve charmed the owners of a local pub so completely that they let you pretend to be the bartender. You’ve adapted beautifully.
We still have much ahead of us, including the two things that have been at the top of your Costa Rican to-do list: visit a volcano and tour the Sloth Sanctuary. That’s all coming up in the next week, and I can’t wait to share these things with you my pipa. My explorer. My very best girl. I love you so much.
I don’t remember which of us had the idea first, but a couple of years ago Lee and I started talking about taking a trip. A big trip. A trip somewhere overseas.
But we didn’t want it just to be a vacation. We wanted to settle in, to pretend to be locals even if just for a few weeks. We can work from anywhere with an internet connection, and while we knew it would be a challenge to mix vacation and work, the idea of traveling abroad for an extended period was enticing.
Our first plan was Rome, but after looking at rental properties, flight prices and crunching some numbers, it just wasn’t in the budget. And while I’m sure there are many things in Rome that Camille would enjoy, I feel she’ll enjoy them a lot more when she’s a bit older. When she’s more likely to appreciate fine architecture, art and history.
Right now, Camille is a nature junkie, loving anything having to do with animals (the more exotic the better) and delighting in the idea of volcanoes. After a bit more research, Costa Rica emerged as the perfect fit. Lee and I knew that we’d love the beach and the natural environment as much as she would, so it was a win for us all.
Next we began researching rental properties. We didn’t want to rent a condo in some gated tourist resort. We wanted to be closer to the locals. We found a gorgeous oceanfront home in the Guanacaste region of Costa Rica, a home that promised wi-fi and offered a great monthly rate, and we booked it.
And now here we are, in our jungle office.
The vacation part of our vacation is going very well. The working part – we’re still ironing out some kinks.
First of all, I knew the house would be a bit remote but holy moses I did not know how deep in the jungle we’d be. It seems a miracle that we have electricity and clean running water. Internet? Seems impossible.
And apparently, sometimes it is impossible. It’s the start of the rainy season here, and what we’ve learned is that when it rains and the communication lines get wet, our phone and internet often go out.
It rains pretty much every afternoon. So guess what that means for our internet? And therefore our productivity?
Wah wah wah, I know, I sound like I’m whining. But owning your own business means there are no paid vacations, so it is a bit stressful.
The phone company has been out once already and is coming out again tomorrow to see if they can get us a better connection. Meanwhile, we’re trying to work when the Internet is up, and hope our clients have patience when it’s down.
Then, to add to the challenge, a spilled cup of water has fried my computer. Do you know how many Apple repair shops there are in this area? Zero. So we’re down to one computer, and I’m without some of the files I’d hoped to have while I’m working.
But I’m trying to take it all with a grain of salt (from the rim of my margarita glass) and keep some perspective. No, the work portion of our trip is not going perfectly, but it’s temporary. The memories we’re making and the experiences we’re having will last us a lifetime. We are here, in this moment, and life is good.
Our first full day in Costa Rica, we went absolutely nowhere. We’d spent so much time traveling the day before, and were in no hurry to get back on that horrendous road to the house.
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.
Wednesday, my alarm was set for 4 a.m., so naturally I was up at 3:30. Camille, who is like me in many ways, was up at 3:59. It is difficult to sleep when adventure awaits.
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.
I’m really not sure how she does it, but my friend Shay is one of the most persuasive people I know. Shay is the one who got me into this running business to begin with, when 2 years ago she managed to talk this total non-runner into a half-marathon.
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.
Camille’s classroom has a tradition of celebrating each child’s birthday with the “Birthday Circle.” The birthday child builds a sun out of 12 wooden slats surrounding a candle, with each ray representing a month of the year. The child walks around the sun once for each year of her life while her parents share memories and photos from each year.
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’s Birthday Circle
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.
Hello sweet bear, and happy 82 Months! Or rather, happy SIX-AND-THREE-QUARTERS, as you are quick to remind us. Your seventh year is quickly coming to a close, and I’m not too keen to let it go.
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.
After a weekend away, we were glad to spend this weekend at home, though it was not uneventful. You participated in your first-ever end-of-year gymnastics showcase. This was an opportunity for you to demonstrate some of the skills you’ve learned in class this year. You had to memorize various routines, and all your practice paid off as you executed the steps without prompting from your teacher.
Every student was awarded a medal at the end of the show, and you simply beamed from that medal stand. I was very proud of you – proud of the way you practiced, proud of your good attitude every single week at gymnastics, and proud of how you performed.
I put together a video of your routines, including a little extra footage of your first-ever gymnastics class when you were barely four years old. My how you’ve grown.
Sometimes growing up is so much fun. Sometimes it’s not.
One day last month, we pulled up into our driveway and your Daddy noticed something unusual. A little bird was hopping around in our grass, stretching its wings but unable to fly. His dutiful mother swooped down from the nearby holly tree to bring him a berry, but otherwise he just hopped and squawked. It seems he’d left the nest a bit too early and wasn’t sure how to get back home.
We all stood in the yard for a while, watching him as he watched us. He still had a tuft of fuzzy down on his head, so you named him “Tufty.”
Eventually we went inside, but continued to watch Tufty out our window. You desperately wanted to pick him up, either to put him back in his nest or at least comfort him, but we explained that you couldn’t. That his mother might not understand, and might abandon him. So instead, you grabbed your sketchbook and began drawing pictures of Tufty.
Tufty finally hopped his way toward the holly tree, and then jumped onto one of the low-hanging twigs. From there, he hopped higher and higher from twig to twig until he was happily reunited with mama bird. All while we cheered him on from behind the glass of our living room window.
It’s not hard for me to draw a parallel from the plight of poor Tufty and his distraught mama to what’s it’s like being your mama, too. Or any kid’s parent for that matter. Every week I seem to find myself asking this question about one thing or another – do I keep you close and protect you? Or do I let you try out your wings this time? Last month I told you about the incident at the water-covered bridge, where I let you jump over the water even though it made me nervous. And you fell. As a parent, had I made the wrong choice?
It happened again this month. We met up with good friends at a Sand Gnats baseball game. Two of the girls were going on a reconnaissance mission to see what concessions they could get for $3, and invited you to come with them to check out the price of Dippin’ Dots ice cream.
Of course I thought of saying no. The umbilical cord just doesn’t stretch that far. But these are good girls, and girls we know well. And they’d already been walking around the stadium that night and coming back to us unscathed. So I said yes, but with strict orders that you three stick together.
Fast forward about 5-10 minutes, and your Daddy was the first one to spot you. Alone, walking in panicked circles, sobbing, clearly unable to find us. I lept down the stairs toward you, nearly knocking down another kid in my haste. When you finally saw me, the wailing started anew, but this time they were cries of relief.
When you were finally able to talk, we learned that after visiting the Dippin’ Dots stand, the girls wanted to explore some more, but you wanted to come back to us. Why you didn’t ask them to walk with you I don’t understand. But when you got into the stands and realized you couldn’t find us, you were terrified.
And of course, I was terrified thinking of all the things that could’ve happened if someone else had spotted you first. Someone unkind. And again I had to ask, did I make a bad parenting choice? Or was this one of those lessons you learn as part of growing up? Of leaving the nest, squawking and hopping for a bit until you learn how your wings work? I honestly don’t know.
You cried and cried for the longest time, clutched tightly to me in the stands. But then, you lifted your head from my wet shoulder and said, between choking sobs, “THE DIPPIN’ DOTS ARE THREE-FIFTY! CAN I GET SOME?” I knew you were ok.
After a few more minutes of crying, you were ready for some ice cream. You walked with me to the Dippin’ Dots stand, gripping my hand like a life preserver in a tumultuous sea. And I was gripping yours, fearful of ever letting go again.
I know I’ll have to let go again someday. I know the next twelve years will be fraught with this same dilemma, over and over again. I will make mistakes. I’ll get it wrong. I’ll shelter when I need to give you space. I’ll let go when I should keep you closer. Just know this – what I do, I do out of love for you, and in the hopes that when it’s time to fly, you fly with strong wings that carry you wherever you want to go.
I love you so much, little bird.
Happy 81 Months to you, my best girl! You’re upstairs in bed, and it wouldn’t surprise me if you’re tossing and turning, trying to solve a most interesting dilemma: how to best safely transport your beloved deer skull to school for show and tell? It was on your mind as we tucked you in – should it be carried in a box? A bag? The skull is small and fragile, and you cannot wait to show it to your classmates.
We discovered it a couple of weekends ago, when we spent some time with friends who have a place on a pond in rural South Carolina. It was a perfect weekend retreat, and we enjoyed many outings on a walking trail through the pines and around the water.
There’d been a big rain the previous week and the water level was high – so high that it partially covered a bridge on the trail.
“Can I try to jump over the water?” you asked me.
My initial instinct was to say no, because my initial instinct is to always protect you, and what if you missed? But I’m a helicopter mom who is trying to let go, so I said “Sure.”
Here you are, in mid-leap, moments before your shoes hit the wet bridge and slipped out from under you.
You fell on your back, soaking your shirt and your hair on a particularly cold day. We were out in the woods, a bit of a walk from the house, and you were inconsolable.
As we trudged toward the warmth of the house and the promise of dry clothes, I spotted something on the trail. A skull of some sort – we’re guessing either a small deer or dog.
When you saw it, the tears stopped. You held it in your hands like a trophy, and said, “Well, at least this makes me happy.” You walked the rest of the way to the house with a new bounce in your wet step. Funny girl.
As much as you love this skull, you still prefer communing with animals that are alive. Your love affair with horses has not dulled, and you are particularly smitten with Cassidy, the sweet mare you ride most often during your horseback riding lessons.
You are quite certain the feeling is mutual. We often bring carrots with us to the barn so we can give the horses a treat, although you usually eat half of the carrots before we get there. The other day, on the way to a lesson, you sat in the backseat crunching on a carrot and came to a conclusion. “I like carrots,” you said, “and that’s why Cassidy likes them. She likes what I like.”
You like Cassidy so much you wanted a t-shirt to prove it. Since the stores seem fresh out of Cassidy t-shirts, you improvised and made your own. You drew a picture of yourself with the horse, cut it out and taped it on a shirt. Voila!
I admire your resourcefulness!
One of the highlights of this month – rather, one of the highlights of our whole year I’m sure – was a visit from Will and Sam. They’re two of your best buddies who moved to DC a couple of years ago, but happily came with their mom to spend Spring Break with us this year.
I can’t tell you how many times you declared, “I wish Will and Sam were my brothers!”
We got to spend Easter weekend together, which I now think should be a tradition. We dyed Easter eggs at Boo’s house, and went on several egg hunts. We got dressed up for church.
And we went to the beach with a group of friends – another Easter tradition I’d like to repeat. It was sunny but windy and cool. We told you that you could just wade in the water, but soon the waves proved too enticing and you “accidentally” fell in. You kids were practically turning blue with chattering teeth, but Sam in particular could not be kept out of the surf.
We toweled you kids off and thankfully had a change of clothes, because then we were off to dinner at the Crab Shack. A perfect ending to a perfect week.
My sweet girl – this month you have made me so proud. Not because of some achievement at school or in sport. But because of your heart. As your mother, one of my greatest hopes has always been that you would grow up to be a positive force in the world. A person who thinks about more than herself, and who lifts up her fellow man.
I got little glimpses of that this month. They were small things, but they were sweet things and they showed me you’re making that mature shift from being the center of your own universe to a consideration of others.
One morning last week I came downstairs to make you breakfast, but instead found that you’d beaten me to it. Not only had you made breakfast for yourself, but you’d made mine too, even setting the table. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t been in the mood for a bagel – that was the best-tasting nutella bagel I’d ever had. My favorite coffee mug sat on my placemat. “I didn’t know how to make coffee, so I put water in your favorite cup,” you explained.
One afternoon, your riding teacher let me hop up on a horse during your lesson. Each time I passed you in the ring, you were quick with a word of encouragement. “How’s she doing for you today mom? Is she being a good horse?” Or, “You’re lookin’ really good up there Mom! Nice job!”
And today, do you know how you wanted to spend your Saturday? Biking around the neighborhood, picking up trash. It was your idea, unprompted by me. Your class discussed Earth Day at school, and you wanted to do your part.
What a precious girl you are, and I feel so lucky to watch you grow into this sweet, loving, person. Thank you for being you – I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. I love you so much.
