When did we get so... boring?

Last week, I turned 34 years old. I "celebrated" by taking care of my daughter, bringing her to dance class, cooking dinner, and pretty much anything else I do on any given Wednesday. My husband had to be out of town on business, but I knew he had the upcoming Friday off for our mini vacation. So all was fine. Not exciting or elaborate, but just fine.

Today, my husband became a 36-year-old. He went to work, took part in some meetings, and came home after 6:00. Now he's off to a softball game, his weekly springtime moment to be a kid again (albeit a little slower with weaker knees...). No big elaborate event today, either. He remarked that he is now more than halfway to seventy years old. And by the way, he finds it is now much more difficult to read up close.

Good times.

Good times.

Happy birthday to all the thirty-something's out there!
Let's get together and party sometime.

(As long as I can be in bed by 11:00.)