A Tardy Weekend Update (Sawyer Turns Two!)

Sawyer turned two yesterday and instead of a party we took him to the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach. I had never been and while I thought it was neat, I won't be in a huge rush to go back. He enjoyed it, though! We went through the place in maybe ninety minutes, which doesn't really justify the hour drive frequently. But I'm glad we went once! 

We of course did the whole cake and present thing. Now I need to to the whole clean out the old toys thing.

Sunday the kid and I drove down to Carlsbad to see the Flower Fields. I have never been in the middle of the afternoon and it was horrible to find parking (like to the point where I almost turned right around and drove the ninety minutes home). Once we were able to get a spot we took a tractor ride around the property, which Sawyer was convinced was the only purpose of going to the place in the first place. Once he accepted that it was in fact not, and mommy wanted to walk around and buy flowers, he had a blast. 

[ranunculus for days]

I met an older couple on the infamous tractor ride that for once agreed with my sentiments about kids getting older. They were going on and on about how much fun it is to watch your child grow up, instead of lamenting past stages. I find each age more fun than the one before, and while I did love my squishy little ball of baby Sawyer chub, along with his gummy smile, I much prefer having a toddler. I'm excited for him to grow up and do cool things with me that I haven't been able to make anyone else do, like go to the Smithsonian, hike around Yellowstone, visit the Grand Canyon, and whatever else I'm able to persuade him into doing. Plus it'll be exciting to see where his interests lie and to have actual two-sided conversations with him.

Not that having a toddler is always a walk in the park. He can be a picky eater, an inconsistent sleeper (still! He was doing really well for the past few weeks, but birthday weekend has apparently disrupted his schedule), and feisty as hell. But nothing that working with teenagers hasn't prepared me for! 

Happy birthday, kid. You're the best. 

32.

Certain times of the year make me nostalgic. New Year's Day. The end of the school year. Sawyer's birthday. But mine? Not so much. The older I get, the less I care. 

That being said, the sweet texts, posts, gifts, and visits I received yesterday were touching. Time is such a valuable commodity, so whenever people are willing to share a little on my behalf I'm honored. 

The day itself was simple, but pleasant. I got to sleep in, which by itself would have been gift enough. I enjoyed a long walk with Sawyer around the duck pond, got coffee, and went grocery shopping (I honestly really enjoy doing this every week, which is probably crazy). I had a few visitors stop by and then read while Sawyer napped, as opposed to grade or clean, as I normally do. And then we had burritos for dinner and watched Jane the Virgin. 

I know. I party hard. 

I am admittedly excited about the books my husband got me. We don't mess around with guessing what each other wants for birthdays and Christmas. Again, time is limited. So, we set limits and give each other lists. It's super romantic. But it works really well and we generally throw in a surprise here and there. 

And that's it. I'm 32. I need to start using my eye ream more diligently. 

It's My Birthday and I'll Blog if I Want To: 30

[JFK died so that I could live. Source]

I've been dreading turning thirty for, well, the past thirty years. When I was a teenager the number was synonymous with "old," and I assumed my life would basically be over. And while that obviously isn't true, I'm still not completely jazzed, although I'm not as depressed as I thought I'd be either.

I think my biggest point of contention has been that my twenties were just so... fantastic. So many life-changing events went down and there was so much fun had. I met and married my husband and we eventually bought our home, all by ourselves (I will forever and always be so very proud of the fact we did it without any assistance, FHA excluded). We became owners of two awesome dogs and have worked hard to live comfortably, but responsibly. I've gotten to travel some, destinations including Italy, New York City, Hawaii, Chicago (sort of), and the Caribbean. I got serious about my health, running eleven half marathons, climbing Half Dome in Yosemite twice, and beginning yoga. I graduated from UCLA, got three teaching credentials, and a Master's. I made some of the greatest friends ever after moving to a new city, while still maintaining close relationships with my mom and siblings, despite the distance. I've tried to cultivate new hobbies (sewing, cycling, blogging), while still holding on to old ones (cooking, reading, worrying). I've made an effort to spend time with friends and have also tried to "get out and about" in the area, going to readings, museums and other fun events once a month. I've gotten really drunk, but I've also mastered the art of cooking quinoa. I've done turn-around trips to Vegas, but have also spent long weekends reading on the couch. My twenties have been exactly what they needed to be.

Not to say this decade was easy. I've spent thousands of hours worrying about things, both controllable and uncontrollable. We've had to deal with job loss and the threat of job loss. I've had to move schools three times and I've had to work at creating a social life from nothing (friends are important to me, what can I say?). And a whole bunch of other stuff that I won't dwell on because there's only so much I can share with strangers.

Being pregnant has softened the blow, I have to admit. I always said I wanted to either have my first baby or be pregnant by the time I was thirty, and for quite some time that was looking like it wasn't going to happen. The possibility of not hitting that checkpoint during the allotted time was quite unsettling. This wasn't some arbitrary number I had set- I was serious. But then things changed and the impending gloom of the notorious 3-0 wore off a tad. Another item to check off the life to-do list.

And here we are. I'm not happy about it. I know your thirties brings more grey hair, a slower metabolism, and worse hangovers. You can't fuck up and blame it on being young anymore, and the next decade, the forties, will make you officially middle-aged. But being the realist I am, I know there's nothing you can do to stop aging. I'll work just as hard to stay healthy, active, social, and aware of the world. It's all I can do.