Today is my thirty-fifth birthday. First, a little bit of honesty: I have been dreading turning 35, for a long time. Probably ever since I turned 30. It seems silly to say, especially because I'm married to someone ten years older than me. But this was the first age I wasn't looking forward to. (Some people it's 30, some it's 40. For me, 35.)
But you know what happened? The days just kept progressing towards it, and now here I am. 35 full years on this earth. And you know, they have been 35 pretty great years.
On Saturday, I received a package from my friend Ginny. Sweetest thing ever. I'm so looking forward to starting this next cross-stitch adventure! (Also, she wrote the funniest thing in the card about researching hobbies appropriate to those who have reached "advanced maternal age" [what we've been calling 35 for the last year as we both approached this age with some trepidation], and cross-stitch being the best. So funny.)
It snowed a foot yesterday. Today everything is sparkling and white and beautiful.
Last night, I enjoyed a homemade cherry pie with 35 hand-dipped beeswax candles. (I teach until late tonight, so we opted for birthday celebrating last night.) I blew them out in one breath.
And today I don't feel nearly as bad about being 35.