Turning 32

I turned 32 earlier this month. It didn't bring about the panicky feelings of turning 31 (I guess if you "sit with it" for a year, it doesn't feel so bad). All told, it was just another day.

So I celebrated by taking a day just for me—sans kid, sans work—and wandered aimlessly for a while. I strolled through Barnes & Noble and stocked up on discount Stephanie Plum novels (I've missed all the between the numbers ones). And then I sat in Starbucks with my latte, cracked open Plum Lucky and read for an hour while the sky outside poured buckets of rain.

I met another Stephanie for lunch—a dear, old friend of 20-something years—and we talked and talked our way through Panera sandwiches as the surrounding guests came and went.

When she left for a job interview (of all things!), I hopped over to Best Buy where I hoped they could repair my camera David had bought for me there two years ago. Instead they told me "that wasn't possible," and I'd just have to get a new one instead. So I upgraded for just $30 and walked out with a working, snazzy new Canon. Score.

More ambling eventually led me to the highlight of my day:


Really, anything I do at a spa is my favorite thing, and this once a year pedicure treat makes me all sorts of relaxed and happily mushy.

I asked to skip the cake this year. After Noah's THREE cakes of all kinds, I was caked-out. But I surely did enjoy my gifts: a bottle of ice wine, a single-serve brownie treat, and tickets to see Wicked! Nicely done, David.

It's really not so bad, turning 32. I think I'll stay and hang out here a while.