Celebrating 30 in style

My birthday is coming up in a little over a month. And, no, I'm not sending out a giant hint to all my friends and family. See, I'm turning 31. Blech. At least 30 was a big deal. 31, you're just in your 30s. Nothing special and not even deserving of a big party. I've always had a love-hate relationship with my birthday. Not that I've generally had a problem with getting older (that is a recent life development), but it is when my birthday takes place that causes me such consternation.

It is November 28th, and most years, that places it smack dab in the middle of the Thanksgiving holiday (American Thanksgiving that is). Sometimes, it even lands on Thanksgiving day. As a child, this meant my family mercilessly teasing me by putting four candles in a turkey and insisting that it was my birthday cake. When I got a little older, I could never have a party around my birthday because all of my friends were celebrating with their own families. Even my 16th birthday, which, of course, was on Thanksgiving day, was a total disaster. Think massive snow storm, people not being able to come, and others getting into crashes trying to drive to my house. Just a mess. Do you have a mental image of a sad girl sitting alone with a table full of uneaten food, trying not to cry? If you do, then you are remarkably intuitive, 'cause that's pretty much what that night looked like.

Anyway, all of that back story to say that I've become adept at having very low expectations for my birthday. Last year, when I turned 30, Cory told me that he was going to plan it all. That was fine with me, because then I didn't have to worry about things not turning out right. He far exceeded my low expectations. He surprised me with not one, but two amazing parties. AND, he arranged for childhood friends and family to come from around the country (North Carolina, Oregon, Minnesota and Texas) to surprise me. It was literally my best birthday ever, and totally made up for my disaster of a sweet sixteen party.

The search for precious medals

Lately, a lot of our weekend hours have been spent in pursuit of one thing. It's round, shiny and hangs around your neck. Nope, it's not a diamond necklace. (Though, I wouldn't turn up my nose at a sparkly bauble should someone offer me one.)

I've been spending many hours these past few weekends running in races around the city, and I'll let you in on this dirty little secret of mine.

I like to win medals.

I know, I know. I should say I run for the sense of accomplishment I gain from all the hard work. And, that I run in races to raise money for worthy charities. And, that I run for the camaraderie of the running community. And, all of that is true. I do love crossing the finish line, even if I don't place. And, I even enjoy the training. Most of the time. But, I've gotta tell you the truth: I really like to get medals, too.

What's in a neighborhood?

Tonight, our driveway was covered in chairs, tables, people, food, and children laughing and running. Tonight, we played host to the neighborhood block party.

When we first moved into our house 8 years ago, we had no idea what we were getting in to. And, I mean that in the best possible way. We were young, had been married less than a year, and had had only lived in apartments. We went house hunting with the concrete knowledge that we would only live in our starter house for 5 years. Tops. Ha! I laugh at our silly younger selves. Because we weren't planning to stay that long, we didn't really look into the schools that much. We didn't care that the house was on a cul-de-sac. And, we definitely didn't consider what kind of neighbors we were getting. Man, did we luck out.

In good weather, people are almost always outside. Kids run up and down the street. Molly and Charlotte have lots of other children to play with. We've gone to block parties, Christmas parties, pumpkin carving parties, Easter Egg Hunts, and wine tastings. My running partner lives right across the street from me. It's been 8 years, and frankly, we are scared to move. I can't imagine moving to another neighborhood.