29

at 29, getting a new washer and dryer is THE coolest.
apparently it's pretty cool when you're three, too. 

Yesterday I turned 29. This seems both impossible and totally reasonable at the same time. It seems impossible because I still feel like I should at least be in college or maybe even a senior in high school, yet here I am with two babies. Strike that. I have a three year old. Impossible.

However, it also seems totally possible because my body feels like I've given birth twice, I can't bench press what I used to  anything, and life before Brent seems to be getting foggier and foggier.

But, if I really am 29 you would think that I would know what the heck hairstyle I want or that I would remember to bring the clothes in off the line before I go to bed and it is going to rain [umm, this may have happened last night. And they may still be hanging on the line because I don't want to deal with them <<< again, is this how a 29 year old acts?]

I recently read somewhere that life moves in mph as fast as your age. So, at age five, you're cruising along at 5 miles per hour. At 18, you've picked up the pace a bit but it's still relatively slow. Here I am, a steady 29 miles per hour. That's pretty fast. Those of you going 60+ mph, is it exhilarating or terrifying?

I know that 29 is the age that everyone says they are for the rest of their life as long as they can pull it off. But I think 30 will be good too. And 43. And 58. Different, but good. I think we should wear our ages well. Does that mean I'll stop wearing cover up or stop cringing every time I pluck a gray hair? No. But I want to continue to embrace all the ages I've been.

I want to always remember the feel of the spring air cutting through my hair and my hands as I rode my bike down the bumpy brick street at age 7.

I want to always remember climbing into that lilac bush, and sitting cross-legged while pouring over the pages of a book at age 11.

I want to always remember the sound of the basketball hitting the pavement then my rough, raw hands, then the backboard as I shot free throw after free throw as the sun set in the sky at age 15.

I want to always remember the anticipation of my first kiss and the warmth of his arms around my waist  at age 18.

I want to always remember the buzz of studying for hours in a cramped space in the basement of the library, then stretching out into the Iowa sun, laughing with other girls who were becoming women at age 21.

I want to always remember the exhilaration and fear of teaching and learning with my first year of students at age 22.

I want to always remember the simple beauty of that one bedroom apartment with my new husband, trying out new recipes and snuggling on the couch at age 23.

I want to always remember the shock and beauty and grace of becoming a new parent, quiet midnight feedings and not so quiet ones, dancing in the living room and crashing in exhaustion at night at age 27.

And I want to always remember that things seem less stressful and more stunning in hindsight, and how perfectly unfigured out life still is and how fun it is to dream about the unfilled in parts at age 29.