When I woke yesterday, the bedroom was already bright, and I was groggy and confused. I was alone – no husband, no little ones, no cell phone, not even the dog. I found pants and glasses, and shuffled out to see if the world had ended and I had somehow been forgotten.

It turns out I had been remembered. It was eight o’clock, practically afternoon in this mama’s eyes, and I had been left to catch up on sleep without interruption. My littles greeted me with a chorus of “Happy Birthday Mama!” as their daddy and doggie watched them play nicely in their room.

It was generally a quiet day. I rode along to drop our big girl at school and get water at the spring. On our way back into town, we waited while two pickups in front of us finished their country road conversation, stopping traffic and chatting out their windows to each other. As the one truck continued toward us, we realized we knew the driver and waved. He stopped and said, “Oh! I do know you!” and so we became the other vehicle, blocking the road to chat.

On to the library, where we visited with Ms. Alice the librarian and Beans showed off her purple apron smock, an art-time favorite that had been incorporated into her attire for the day. I promised to email Alice the apron pattern to use for her granddaughter, and we left a coffee can on the counter to collect Box Tops from our neighbors (because part of searching for my place in this community has included joining the parent/teacher group and taking on the role of Box Tops Coordinator).

Home again for lunch and an afternoon at my computer for work, trying to hammer some things out while ignoring the sister spats in the next room. Because life doesn’t stop just for birthdays!

J suggested dinner out, and so we trooped to a family-friendly place for burgers and fries, a much-deserved beer for mama, and a BIG mint brownie milkshake to share, four spoons. No cooking, no dishes. A lovely gift.

With the temperature dropping rapidly, we skated across the parking lot carrying babies and balloons on sticks, and headed home once again. J quickly plugged in to his online seminars as I snuggled full bellies and guided gangly arms and legs into jammies. A late night movie with my love, and the day was over.

I’ve been expecting 35 to feel monumental. To feel depressing, if I’m being honest. It puts me very decidedly into the “adult” category and I’ve wondered lately if I’ve accomplished enough to have earned that label. A friend texted me last night that 35 has been a really great year for her, and that was encouraging because instead of melancholy, I’ve been feeling this sense of…potential. As if my lifelong affliction with impostor syndrome is slipping away. I’m ready to do some things. Maybe they’ll be GREAT. And maybe they’ll be great. But I’m going to do them this year, and I’m not going to let myself get in my way. Once I figure out what they are, of course.

Thanks for the birthday wishes, my friends. I am grateful for you!

One thought on “35

  1. Happy Birthday! I think hitting 35 (reaching 35?) was the time where I also realized there was so much potential, so many things I wanted to do, and got a sense of urgency that I no longer had all the time in the world to do and learn the things I wanted. Something that also comes with being 35, I think, is the insight to realize what is most important and it gets easier to focus on that and not be distracted by other people’s expectations or approval. Many of these posts you have written really resonate with me. I’m turning 40 soon and, yes, that number freaks me out a bit. But I’m grateful to be going into 40 with some experience and maturity under my belt. I’ve got great plans for the year too 🙂 I hope you enjoy every minute of it!


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