Am I really half way to 70?

My husband left today to go to Atlanta for the weekend for work. This getaway of his affords me plenty of time to contemplate the fact that in just five short days I will be turning the ripe old age of 35; not as much fun as it sounds. For anyone who knows Mike, you know that the only benefit to him being gone is that I get to avoid his constant reminding that as of Tuesday, according to his slightly warped mind punctuated with his obvious lack of math skills, he will be two years younger than me (for two whole weeks).

It's a funny thing getting older, it seems that the more birthdays I have, the more they become an introspective sort thing while morphing into, on occasion, the inevitable question of should I be doing more. I mean, hell, the woman running for VP is only nine years my senior and she has five times as many kids as I have (not there is much evidence she was doing a whole lot at 35; had to get my party loyalty dig in there). I think it's safe to say that no one will ever consider me for second-in-commander to the leader of the free world no matter how comprehensive the vetting process. I'm not even sure how much power Sadie thinks I wield. My job is OK on its best day, I couldn't say with much certainty which state I will be living in in six months and Zoe prefers fake chicken fingers over any "culinary masterpiece" I am able to eek out in the kitchen. Maybe I am watching too much Entertainment Tonight to be based in reality and have begun to see the likes of Angelina Jolie (two years my junior by the way) as "normal" as she globe trots and saves the world all while eight months pregnant, covered in adopted children and lousing with humanitarianism. I, on the other hand, feel like Mother Theresa when I give blood once a year.

Some of you may be wondering if maybe I've hit the bottle of whisky and begun listening to too many county songs (save her from the south!). Some of you are happy to get the reminder to send me a birthday card (hint, hint). And others of you are thinking out loud what in the world does this have to do with Zoe, the only reason you take the time to read this blog. Well, no whiskey is being had (although I wouldn't discount a glass of cheap chardonnay this weekend) and this entry is written, in part, as a subtle reminder that my readers may want to hit a Hallmark this weekend.

And as for the last question, it has everything to do with Zoe. I've decided when I turn 35, my goal will be to become her. Not in the literal sense you understand. Her incredible use of ketchup is nothing short of nauseating and she is entirely too obsessed with Elmo for my liking. But I'd like to incorporate more moxie into my life, much like her. I'd like to become braver just like she was when entering her new daycare for the first time. I'd like to meet new friends in the same manner as she does, by simply walking up an introducing myself just because they seem nice. I'd like to be able to say "no" once in while when I really don't want to do something with no guilt and no excuses (but maybe without the screaming, fall-down, red-faced tantrum). Conversely, I like to be able to just flat out ask for something I want without the "adult" in me getting in the way. I'd like to be able to try new things constantly without a week-long calculation of what might happen if I fail. The bottom line, she is awesome and for my birthday, I want to be awesome too.

Take that Angelina. Happy birthday to me!