thirty seven began very well, over paper plates of oozy crepes with a dear friend. we broke at least four plastic forks cutting into them, while digging deeply into conversation that left me a little weepy, in a good way.
i spent the afternoon with my husband, splitting tasty sandwiches and sucking down basil lemonade through a straw. we talked uninterrupted, something we seldom get to do. he even helped me shop. and then we came home to the two sweet, sticky little imps---eager to show off helicopters made with boxes, crayons, folded paper and broken twigs, and eager to be hugged.
there was cake. and dinner out of Julia's cookbook after the kids' bedtime, something ridiculously rich with cream and port wine and tiny bits of onion that we soaked up with torn pieces of sourdough bread. we drank the french red wine we used to drink when we were dating, and decided neither of us like it very much anymore.
the day, all in all, could be described as rich. rich with indulgent food and drink. rich with meaning and conversations about real things, even sad things, but true ones. and rich with family: these three people who i love so dearly that it leaves my chest knotted most of the time.
i finished the day, listening to my husband softly snoring on the bed, an empty cake plate next to him, while i scrolled through photographs. last week, we had these family portraits taken at our house, and i couldn't believe how well this amazing photographer captured our lives. looking at them from this angle, outside in, made me fall in love with our house again. sometimes living here, all we see are the shabby places, but she somehow made the dust and chipped paint so beautiful.
looking into my children's faces, with their big, inquisitive eyes, i feel sure that this is going to be a year filled with good, messy and important moments to reflect on when i turn thirty eight.
