Fancified for Five

Yesterday was your five month birthday and we marked the occasion by getting all dressed up in your new, hand smocked dress and heading to the mall for a photo shoot. This dress was commissioned by Lemur (your grandmother) and designed by your Pa and me. There are thirteen primroses on the dress --a very auspicious number promising good luck -- and beautiful details all over. The hem lets down which means you'll be wearing this dress for a good number of years.

You were stingy with the smiles yesterday which was okay with me even though I did bark like a dog and shake my hips like Elvis to prompt you to give us one of your gummy ones. You weren't buying.

So here are some of the highlights. You'll notice we don't own these. They're officially copyrighted by the Portrait People so we're just borrowing a few...

This Time of the Year

Fall is my favorite season. I love the bursts of color where there was only green before and the reds and yellows against a bright blue fall sky can bring tears to my eyes. It's nice to bring those light sweaters and zip-up fleeces from the back of the closet and the jeans I've been wearing all summer suddenly seem seasonably appropriate. When you throw in the high-holidays like Thanksgiving and my birthday (you wore your cupcake outfit for me this year, which I considered very thoughtful), pecan pie, apple cider and butternut squash the season is just bursting forth with goodness.

There's simply no better way to celebrate the season than a walk in the woods. On November 10th you logged your first hike on the Appalachian Trail. As a way of marking one year of missing Poppa Joe the family decided to hike up to one of his favorite overlooks on Blood Mountain and sprinkle some of his ashes. Fall was Poppa Joe's favorite time of the year too and he usually marked the season with a week long hike the third week of October somewhere in the Smoky Mountains or the A.T. It was fitting to spend the one year anniversary of his death in the mountains. You absolutely loved the hike, I know Poppa Joe was smiling to see your engaged, giggling, curious face watching every tree and rock go by.

Nothing says fall like Thanksgiving at the cabin. You spent your first Thanksgiving charming the Ramke clan with your gummy smile, solid sitting skills and your obsession with drinking water from a glass. When your dad opted for tent sleeping, you and I curled up on the fold-out bed and cuddled ourselves to sleep by a dying fire. You slept like a log and woke with a big smile on your face every day. Perhaps next time we'll join your Pa in the tent.

On Saturday the three of us went on another extended hike through the Cherohala Forrest. Typically, we had a hard time finding the trail head and then started out walking exactly the wrong direction but our mistake paid off. We saw three wild turkeys take flight. You seemed unmoved by the turkeys but registered your displeasure at the sound of your mom and dad gobbling at the birds as they flew away. It was the first time we'd really heard you cry in fear; granted, we were making an unholy racket. But the rest of the hike you spent in a state of pure delight. You gabbed almost the whole three hours and did a little grass pruning in one of the two balds we came across (pictured above).

I love this season and I love sharing it with you. I love the sound of the leaves underfoot when we take our daily walk. I love bundling you up against the cold and finding (at least most of the time) that your fingers and toes are still toasty warm when we get home. I love the red in your nose and the smell of chimney smoke in the air. And to think, next Thanksgiving, you'll actually get to try some of that turkey feast you were so intent on banging your fist into this year.

What's in a Name

Marian--
It's a gorgeous fall afternoon and we're sitting on the sidewalk at the top of the street stealing wireless internet from a manicure/pedicure shop. You've been a tad fussier than usual after your four month check-up yesterday (two shots that you handled like a pro) and the only thing that seems to make you feel better is being naked or going outside for a walk. Imagine the joys of walking naked...

At any rate, I had some business to attend to and since we don't have a wireless connection at home I had to go hunting for one. Thank goodness for unsecured networks. Of course, the whole world will be wired by the time you're ready to get online and this hunting for wireless will be as passe as gathering nuts and berries for supper. Of course, if it was up to your dad, we would be out gathering nuts and berries for supper.

I haven't picked up on your birth story again; I read what I have written the other day and it already seemed like something that happened years ago. I was relieved that I could mentally pick up where I left off with the story. There are no major chunks of memory missing so I'll get around to it again soon. But while I was doing that I realized that we'd never explained the etymology of your name.

You are Marian Katherine Ard Waller

Your birth certificate is currently sporting a hyphen between Ard and Waller. We are getting that fixed as Ard-Waller sounds a bit like HogWallow and we are not mean enough to wish that on you.

Marian was the name of my great, grand aunt, Marian Hine (that's your great-grandmother's aunt) that lived in Atlanta until I went to college and she went to live with relatives in Alabama. Almost every week of my growing-up years she took our family out to eat on Friday night, and then when Friday started to interfere with my evolving social life, we switched to post-church brunch on Sundays. I can still remember the smell of her--a combination of hair spray and Listerene. Aunt Manie, that was our name for her, had a spirit of generosity that I've never found matched in another person. After living through the death of her daughter (also Marian) and her husband and a terrible accident that left her son who was in medical school with the cognitive abilities of a young child, she found her way to joy and peace. Instead of harboring animosity at a world that had most certainly dealt her a raw hand, she only seemed to grow in her capacity to love.

You and I share her name, my parents named me Amy Marian, probably with the hope that I would resemble her in some way. In naming you Marian I hope to honor her and to challenge myself to raise you well. Calling you Marian is a reminder that living at peace in this world, with grace and hope and abundant love, is a choice we make daily. Aunt Manie made the choice to live with a joyful spirit when it would have been easy to go the other way. I hope we can both take a page from her book.

You are ready to walk now. We'll continue the story of your name another day.