I'm even managing not to have a third-life crisis

When my birthday is approaching I tend to think big. I dream of having my own sewing machine, receiving a gorgeous new necklace, or being surprised with a mint green cruiser. I picture myself cruising around the neighborhood on said bike, my hair blowing behind me, showing the world that 30 is still young.

{feel free to roll your eyes.}

But once the day actually comes (it's here! I'm 30 today!), I find myself far more content, and my dream wish list sort of just disintegrates. I'm happy to sleep in, nurse the baby in bed, and welcome the older two boys--pajama-clad and bed-hedded--to join our snuggle when they come downstairs. I'm content to work on laundry and wipe counters and plan a park outing. (And break up fights and clean up spills and wipe away tears.) I'm thrilled to have a mellow day to just marinate in my life.

Seven years ago this month I completed my eighteen month stint as a Mormon missionary. I came home, started dating my best friend, and got engaged within six weeks. I remember one night, after returning home from a date with Taylor, I burst into tears, picked up the phone, and dialed his number. It went to voice mail. After the beep I blurted out, in between sobs, "I just want to say that I'm so happy! All I ever wanted to do in my whole life was be a missionary and marry Taylor Cropper! I can't believe I got what I wanted! I am so grateful!"

And it just keeps getting better and better.

Who needs a wish list?




Not me.

xoxo,
anne