364 days left of my 20’s.  A decade marked in moves so vast they seem like different lives.  A decade of true humility.  Of change beyond reason.  Of diploma’s and a marriage testimonial and birth certificates and other official papers.  Of giant hikes and giant leaps of faith.  Of birth and new-found strength so deep inside me I couldn’t have predicted it existed.  And of drunken nights and drunken bike rides all the same.

The first half and the second half are nothing if not polar opposites.

Oh, I sit here while my youngest son makes raspberries on my leg laughing like sixty and I couldn’t imagine having done a damn thing differently.

Having skipped over any sort of grown up life in between kids and being a kid, I think (and hope) that I was able to keep some of that inside me.  Some of that unbelievable laughter and at times laughable believing.  Running outside to let my chickens out before the sun comes up, getting my feet all wet with morning cold is still awesome.  Singing Fat bottom girls at the top of my lungs and all the other amazing Queen songs that go with it, the whole way home brings me back.  But, the truth is I never left.  The woods are still magic.  The sky still surreal.  The ocean still so giant and glorious it’s scary.  I hope these are not just childhood things, but grown up things alike.  I hope that others feel this way too.  Because it feels so nice.

My birthday fell so perfectly on an evening that the monthly Savannah Ladies Dinner Club meets up.  (If that is not fancy and grown up and screaming almost 30, I don’t know what is!) After spending the afternoon (my boys graced me with a dual 3.5 hour nap) trying on outfits and actually brushing my tangled mane, I was itching to get out the door and wander the streets of the city.   As soon as that glorious hunk of man who I get to call my husband pulled in the drive, I quietly escaped for an evening of my own.

A few hours of thoughtless window shopping, discovery of eleven dollars in my jeans pocket followed by an immediate stop into a tea shop for an ounce of cinnamon plum tea and some crystalized ginger to munch on while I strolled, then a glass of wine and a few chapters later;  Nine sweet mama’s met up with me for a shared meal.  Mountains of mushrooms prepared in ways I can’t explain, brothy saffron rice that made your eyes close without thinking about it, and to top it all off, the restaurant sent me out a chantilly something with chocolate mousse cake that just made me swoon.

 Upon coming home I kissed all three of my boys and crept into bed chatting with                                             my love about nothing much.  

A simple day I wouldn’t mind repeating.  And the wonderful glory of it is, I get to.