thirty.

word of the day: thirty \ˈthər-tē\ the number 30.

Jake turned thirty yesterday, and (par for the course) I found myself more affected by it than he was.

I met Jake when he was 20.  A whole decade ago.  Back then, he wore bandannas and cut off dress shirts; I wore Crocs and ate vanilla pudding like it was a major food group.

This is the first picture we ever took together, and for the sake of authentic writing, you should know that it took me over an hour to track it down tonight.  Presently there is no direction to my thoughts, but because of the sheer effort I've already put into this post, it'll end up finished somewhere.

That picture is just shy of a decade old.  Since it was captured, I've celebrated 8 birthdays with Jake.  

I don't really remember any of them, though, which suddenly spins my thoughts into a totally different direction.  Let the stream of consciousness ensue.

(another early picture)

Jake is always saying that birthdays are just another day; he's never too hung up on the sentimentality of them or the need to make everything perfect for those 24 hours.  He just goes about the day per usual (although this year he did complain about some added soreness and loss of vision).  

I know that I've worked hard to make each of Jake's birthdays something memorable, so the fact that I can't really remember any of them makes me laugh.  

I guess for me, birthdays are starting to become more about the passing of time.  I find myself drawn to the thought that I've now known Jake for one third of his life.  In another decade, I'll have known him for one half of his life.  Then, from there, the time I've been with Jake will start to dwarf the time I ever lived without him, and those are the birthdays I think I'll really get on board with. 

Each passing year means one more that we get to spend together.  It's not about the specific day in time, I suppose, but rather about the fact that we're in that chapter, that moment, that season together.  That even though change is the constant that moves with us throughout each passing year, Jake is a constant, too. 

As is the white bandanna on top of his dresser and the two snack packs of vanilla pudding currently in the fridge.    

Old habits die hard, you know?

30-years-old.  Here's to more birthdays and gaining on those years before you gave that little homebody from Iowa a second glance.  It's going to be a good year, Dr. Flinkman.

end.

word of the day: end \ˈend\ a point that marks the limit of something : the point at which something no longer continues to happen or exist

I have decided that the worst thing you can do as an overly sentimental person is have kids.  Suddenly the “This-is-the-last-Saturday-of-June-in-2014” moments bear greater weight when you’re not only feeling the need to make the most of them for yourself but also for the little person grabbing on to your ankles. 

The end of summer makes me feel sad, but not necessarily because I have to go back to work.  It’s sad for me because it marks the end of a period of time that I will never again recreate.  Summer days of just Lily and me are now a thing of the past and the year ahead promises more change than I can sometimes wrap my brain around.  Those two things coupled together turn me into a little bit of a nut case as I try to squeeze every ounce of memories out of a few short days. 

In the past few days, I found myself wanting to do all these things to “end summer with a bang.”  Lily and I were going to spend whole days together and get frozen yogurt and go to the splash park and read books and take advantage of all the things summer is before summer is not. 

Then I had this moment where I let myself off the hook.  I reminded myself that one more trip to the splash park wouldn’t make or break our summer together and that we could actually still get frozen yogurt together once school was back in session. 

It’s all part of the same story, isn’t it?  Sometimes I think I’m so quick to think of my life as individual chapters that I forget to think about the story as a whole.  That in the future moments of my life I’ll probably look back and think, “I’d rather be right here.”

It has been a good summer though—a summer that, per usual, came and went slightly surreptitiously. 

So, in sentimental fashion and in honor of the summer’s end, I’ve been spending my evening looking through all the things we’ve done. 

And, I’m okay with moving into the next chapter because I see now that it’s really just a continuation of where we are now.   Change is good [said the small voice inside my head].