When I was a little girl, around 8 or 9 years old, I remember pretending to be 31. Maybe 30 sound too easy or fake? It was always 31 in my mind. My little imaginary future world included two kids, a husband, and a dog. I also drove a limousine and was a paleontologist and could play the piano in my pretend dreams.Age 31 looked good to this little girl. And, now that I'm here, even though I never did discover any famous dinosaur bones, 31 is everything I could ever dream it would be.
Last weekend I realized just how much there really is to celebrate. Here I am, and with each year of life I feel more full, more love, and more content. By the time I'm 60 my head may just explode from sheer happiness! The week of my birthday could not have been any more beautiful than what it was. Returning from a Michigan trip, sharing time with my most favorite people, eating delicious meals, and being pampered were all on the agenda. On Friday, we celebrated. Big time.
You know the kind of night where you wouldn't change a thing because everything in the whole world just lines up and you're happy and your friends are smiling at you and you just feel really content because it's summer and warm and you love your kids and your family is doing well and your best friends gave you friendship owls and gift cards and you hold your husband's hand and you are happy to finally have a brother and sister after a lifetime without them and you aren't worried too much about anything else except a nice dinner? That was my night. (And yes, I know that was a huge ass run-on sentence. It was for effect.) And here's the money shot folks: